Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s so cold. 

For a while - a long while, spent huddled up against ice-covered bricks with his body pressed to a ceramic floor - it’s all he can think, over and over again. He’s so cold. Octavia…is Octavia this cold? The egg cannot survive the cold. 

Via….

Images of trial flash in his head. Try as he may, he couldn’t bring himself to regret throwing his neck on the blade for the life of his beloved. He would do it again, now, even knowing all the risks - perhaps, even knowing he was killing them both…

Perhaps he hadn’t been thinking clearly, but what was done was done, and his fate had been sealed by the Goetia council. Disoriented from the pain of his magic ripping from his body, all he can do is blubber worries of his precious Octavia; “ What about my daughter?”. That cursed Andrealphus swooped in and revelled in the defeat, of course. No doubt this whole elaborate scheme had been orchestrated by him in the first place; it was too complicated for Stella to have ever dreamt of.

Hiis powers were to be withheld for one-hundred years, and he was banished to the dungeon. Few Goetia had ever been down there, below the courthouse, and those who had been given the sentence were never seen again in the public eye. It was the council's way of sweeping the rare undesirable under the rug - hiding them away until the shame has been either forgotten or buried by the family. Then, kill them off when the press has died down and everyone has forgotten their existence. 

Stolas wasn’t stupid. This was a decorated death sentence. Would he die before the unlaid egg inside him decides to join the world? Would his precious owlet be born into a cold cell? Will they die alongside their father, a poor excuse of a man who chose whimsies and fantasies over protecting them? Over their very life? 

A wave of Satan’s arm had dozens of Hellhounds stronger than Stolas - a powerless Stolas, a mortal Stolas - scooping the owl up and dragging him to the front of the courtroom. Metal cuffs, all attached to each other by a thick chain, are strapped to his wrists and neck, and the added weight has Stolas slouching downwards. His head is spinning.

They throw open the large doors to the courtroom, and Stolas keeps his head down from a mixture of shame, weakness, and exhaustion. He can hear Blitzo yelling - “Stolas!! Stolas!! Sto- Where the fuck are you taking him? Hey! HEY!! You fucking asshole, answer me!!”

The hellhounds dragging Stolas along exchange a simple look, and then the owl is being handed roughly to only one of the hellhounds - who still grabs and holds him with an impressive amount of ease. The other steps over to Blitzo, who’s still scrambling over to them, fighting off Moxxie and Millie’s attempt at a restrictive hold. Using his size to his advantage, he tries to throw his body past the barricade, arms stretched towards the owl, but the bodyguard Hellhound catches him with only one arm. 

“It’s time for you to go.” The guard rumbles with a markedly bored expression. Blitzo’s arguing, continual and much more insistent than Stolas deserves, begins fading into the distance as Stolas is carried away. With each step of the hellhound whose shoulder hes been tossed over, the comforting sound of Blitzo’s grows fainter and fainter, until he can’t hear his love at all. He does hear the steady drip, drip, drip of a leaky ceiling, though. It’s far less comforting. 

Loud creaking metal assaults his ears and then he’s being thrown, not so gently, onto a hard ground. Some pathetic sound of defeat “hmmf!”s out of him as his hands attempt to cushion his fall - first and foremost around his stomach. Once he’s scrambled into a sitting position, his arms fully wrap around said bump, curling forward, protecting it with his torso. 

The door hasn’t closed yet - for one desperate, crawling second, he lunges at it, flailing to somehow fight his way out - as if he would ever be able to do that. But his daughter, and Blitzo, and their baby…

It doesn’t matter, because the metal-gated door is slammed in his face right as he reaches it. A pole makes perfect contact with his cranium, and he stumbles backwards, right onto his ass. Fuck. 

The world spins once on it’s side and a sharp pain screams from his lower back for one long moment before dulling into a softer ache. It takes him a few moments - everything feels wrong and off, like he’s drunk, high, or worse - but he still fights to scramble back to his feet, even if he sways for a moment or two. He cries, with a little more desperation than is becoming of a prince, “Please, you can’t do this! What about my daughter?!”

Behind the hellhound, the familiar tap, tap, tap of pompous footsteps echo from the hall leading to the cell. Stolas really fights to keep the dizziness at bay as he sees his cursed brother-in-law walk up and place a hand on the guards shoulder. 

“Leave us be.” Andrealphus snapped shortly, and Stolas watches as the hellhound retreats back up the dungeon steps. The heavy metal chain around his neck was attached to a large hook on the ground, at some point, although the bird can’t recall when. Having his magic ripped from him had been painful above all else, but it was also disorienting. The dull ache in his lower back is pulsing, thrumming. Still, he stands tall, and faces Andrealphus, settling on giving him the death glare of a fucking century, because that’s all he can do. We both know he’s won. 

“You look pathetic.” Andrealphus spoke first, spitting the words like a curse. “My poor sister. We’re lucky that you’re so weak, so impulsive. Easy to exploit. You really do let your emotions rule you, Stolas.” His eyes flickered downwards, and the owl uses the weight of the chains to hunch himself forward even more. If Lucifer is watching over him, the white tunic - the prisoner’s garb the guard had shoved into his arms and barked at him to change into - bags in all the right places, and his protruding stomach is hidden. He is never, ever that lucky. “We know of the freak growing inside you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Please do not hurt my child. Please do not hurt my child. Stolas has the wherewithal to take a singular step backwards, but just one. “I just want to see my daughter. Even you and Stella can’t be this fucking cruel!”

“Hah! Just you wait and fucking see ” Andrealphus smiles, hands clenching into fists at his side. For just a moment, Stolas imagines what it would be like to turn his fists on this wretched bird for once. To throw him to the ground and beat him up, make him feel as small as he does Stolas. No physical forms of justice Stolas could ever deliver would be enough to make up for all the years of shit Andre and his sister put him through, but at least it would be a start.

Instead all he can do is stand there, inside a cell he’s been banished to die in, with all of his cards forcefully on the table. There was no way in Heaven the Goetic Counsel are going to let him out; not if they know his precious secret. He’s defeated, chained, and pathetic. All he can do is continue to glare at Andrealphus, and say nothing. One foot forward, one foot back. Still standing, despite it all. 

Andrealphus lets out a badly veiled, frustrated huff after a few long moments of a rather pathetic staring contest. The feathers around his neck flare outwards. “It’s no matter. You and that abomination will die where you belong - in here.”

“What about Octavia?” The chains clink as Stolas shifts. “You cannot do this to my daughter.”

“Uhm - wrong! We’ve already done it, dumbass.” Andrealphus’ grin was wide and entirely punchable. “She’s safe with us, fuck. The only person you should be worrying about here is you, Stolas. And that, uh…” he waves a hand in the general direction of Stolas’ torso, “thing. Whatever it is. Thank Lucifer I’ll never have to see it.”

The marquis turns on his heel, waving a few fingers and whistling a “Toodaloo~” through his beak as he descends back down the hallway of the dungeon. Stolas considers crying to him, for a moment - perhaps getting down on his hands and knees and begging could spare him and his daughter from this fate. But he knows it would do him no good. Andrealphus has never had an ounce of kindness in himself to give Stolas, not a single time since the owl has known him - and Lucifer knows he wouldn’t start today. So, instead of crying, he just gives a low, long, painful yell, deep and rasped, which slowly tapers off into a hoot, then a broken sob. He’s close enough to the bars to grab the bars, so he does, trying for one pathetic moment to rip them out with his nonexistent magick. Of course, nothing happens. Resigning to leaning against them, instead, he rests his forehead first, then his face, his torso, and slides down, slowly, slowly. Some loose feathers flutter down around him, especially around his torso. His back aches so loudly. 

One sob leaves him, to his own surprise. As more escape his lips, cushioned in between sad hoots and low noises of pain, he reaches up to touch his cheek. Everything feels numb, but he’s crying. He twists and awkwardly arranges himself with the chains on the floor so that he’s leaning with his back against the leftmost side of the cell, right beside the bars. His knees bend and tuck up underneath his chest and Stolas rests his face in the cushion. Shaking and sobbing, he cries until he’s dry heaving, hands shooting downwards to support his body from careening forward. His elbows shake. Talons dig into the cold ground of his jail cell and the dirt that works underneath the nails feels even colder. At least there’s no guard watching his cell. Only alone would he ever allow himself to break down in this fashion, even despite the circumstances. But, break down he does. 

Time continues in a blur. Even with his eyelids heavy from his sobbing and feeling as emotionally and physically spent as he possibly can, sleep does not find him. Octavia and his unborn egg plagued his thoughts, and when he tried to sleep, his mind would immediately fill with visions of them. A few times, he became so exhausted that even that wasn’t enough to fight off sleep - but then the weight of the chain around his neck or the digging of a particularly sharp brick in his back would wake him right back up again.

Only once did he move - when a guard came by the check on him, just once, and he immediately, half-consciously, moved himself to the opposite wall of the cell. When the guard left, he found he had no energy left to move back.

Cramps, probably from not eating all day, bit at his stomach and back. Silent tears continue to track down his face, and he turns himself towards the wall so nobody may see. With how cold it is down here, they freeze before they even drip down his face, creating icicles across the crests of his faceplate.

Idly, he wonders if he’s to die tonight. He was exhausted and confused, his stomach hurt, it was cold, and having his magic ripped from his body had left him disoriented above all else - like he’s five or six bottles of absinthe deep. Any fight or resolve that roared in him at the sight of Andrealphus seeped out like molasses as the pain of the day couples with the biting cold of the dungeon cell. The thin white shirt the guard threw at him - thank heavens they didn’t change him themselves, thank Lucifer - does little to protect him from the dropping temperatures. 

One arm goes to wrap around his torso in a weak attempt at warming himself, and the other rests across his belly. “I’m sorry, little one.” He croaks into the quiet of the brick-walled room. Eyes droop as he stares up at the small, small window, perhaps a foot in length, with eight metal bars across it. Still, the flames of hell peek through in licks and flashes, and his hazy eyes track them as the palm of his hand rubs over his bump, over and over again.

“I’m so terribly sorry you were given to a demon with such emotional tendencies of frivolousness. I love you, dearly. I’m sure your father, Blitzo, would love you just as much. More. He doesn’t deserve to be shackled to me in that way, not anymore, but he’s a wonderful father. I don’t doubt that he’d step up for you. He’s so good.” A low sigh leaves his beak at the minute pressure a massage brings his tense form. “I‘ve no doubt that if he were the one carrying you, you’d be born healthy and happy. And he’s an assassin!” He lets out a pitiful chuckle. “Yet I, a cushioned prince, couldn’t protect you. I’m…” his voice cracks and tears spill from all four eyes, tracking down his forehead and cheeks, yet again. He clenches them closed and wills it all away, all deeper. Pitiful Prince, why are you crying so damn much?  “I’m so very sorry, my owlet.”

“I’m sorry, what the fuck?”

Blitzo’s voice, rough and familiar, is like a bucket of cold water over his head, clearing the ringing from his ears. His head turns as quickly as it can - which isn’t nearly as fast as normal - and he sees Blitzo, standing in the exact same place Andrealphus stood earlier, right up to the bars of the cell. He looks…his expression is hard to read. And Stolas’ brain still feels muddled behind his eyes, although the sight of his lover gives him the most clarity he’s had in hours. Sweat is puddling along his forehead and above his beak. 

“Stolas?” The imp steps as close as he can to the bars and grabs them, glaring at the locked door with pinched eyes. The owl immediately goes to rise, to go to Blitzo, but he’d almost forgotten about the chains in his stupor, and they throw him off now. For a moment he collects them and himself before beginning the process of dragging the heavy chains across the dungeon floor. 

Blitzo is wincing now, about something - the sound of the chains. They’re loud. Stolas leans over to pick them up, but a dizzying spell has him catching himself for a moment before he can even attempt to. His back pinches. He just drags them the rest of the way. He’s so pathetic.

The entire time, Blitzo watches him anxiously, tail swishing. Occasionally his eyes will dart away to inspect each corner of the cell, but they always return back to Stolas quickly. Said owl gives his imp a worried once-over. “Darling, you must go. Now! What will you do if Andrealphus finds you? Or Stella?”

Blitzo’s tail swish, swishes behind him. Now that Stolas is so close, he’s inspecting him with even more vigor, but his eyes catch when they land on his torso. They widen. 

Only belatedly does the owl realize he never adjusted his shirt or made sure his belly was hidden. Fuck. Fuck. No, no, no, no. No. He goes to hunch over and hide himself, but-

Blitzo reaches out and touches Stolas’ hand. There’s a swarm of emotions in his eyes and he’s staring straight at the owl’s tiny stomach bump like a deer in the headlights as he stutters out, voice shaking, “…You were talking about me being a father. A good father.”

“I’m sorry.” Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh my Lucifer, you stupid, useless idiot! Why did you let it happen like this!? “I'm so, so sorry, Blitzo, I swear I- It wasn’t intentional, I don’t- I didn’t even know!” Stolas is the monster he once feared becoming, trapping Blitzo in a situation he never once indicated he wanted. When would he stop being so foolish? When would he learn? “I didn’t know I could, I’ve never- I mean it’s been done but I’ve never-“ 

“Stolas, it’s okay. Take a deep breath- Stolas-”

He’s going to leave. At least, if I die here, Blitzo will not have to worry about me, or the egg. “I don’t even know how it happened, no one does, and I found out after that horrid party and I-I-” And how foolish he was, drinking that night. He was unaware of the egg inside him at the time, but that doesn’t matter. Even if he hadn’t ended himself in this cell through his own tireless mistakes, he still found a way to hurt their child regardless. 

“Stolas, holy shit. Stolas.”

This is for the best. Blitzo can live his life as he should, and that is a silver lining. Perhaps he’ll even take care of Octavia for me, check in on her from time to time. He has a good heart - he probably would.  “I’m so sorry, Blitzo , I-“

“-ols. Stols. STOLAS!” Blitzo’s hands are holding him through the bars of the cell, grabbing his hands, intertwining their fingers, and lifting his wrists up enough so that Blitzo is taking on the weight of the cuffs around the owl’s wrists instead of Stolas. He’s squeezing his fingers tightly, looking him dead in the eyes. “I need you to breathe, pretty bird. C’mere, with me, now. In,” he takes a deep, exaggerated breath, and doesn’t stop until Stolas does the same, “and out. Just like that. One more time. In, and out.”

Stolas doesn’t even realize he’d been panicking until his senses begin to level out and the thudding of his erratic heartbeat in his ears and head becomes much clearer. When the fog clears, and he can process anything beyond his rapid-fire thoughts, he takes in Blitzo’s expression. Instead of hatred, or disgust, or even pity, the imp just looks worried. His eyebrows are pinched and his lips are pulled in a frown, but his eyes don’t hold any pity or disrespect in their sadness, like he was expecting. It’s entirely confusing. 

“There you go. Good job, Stols.” A thumb traces back and forth, back and forth on Stolas’ hand, applying a gentle pressure. “Uhm. Okay. One thing at a time, okay? So. You’re, uh…” he waves his hand towards the other's stomach.

“...I’m gravid, darling.”

“Wha- huh? I thought you were, like, pregnant? Dude-pregnant?”

“Dude pr-? ‘Gravid’ is the term used in avians. I’m carrying an egg, not a live child, like impish pregnancies.”

“Ooh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s kind of…” deep breath in, “a lot to take in. I mean, uh, zero offense by this question, birdie, but…you sure it’s mine?”

Stolas looks at the other with his eyes blown wide in bewilderment. “What? Whose else would it be? Certainly not Stella’s.”

Blitzo, despite the circumstances and the look still swimming in his eyes, barks a laugh. “Yeah, no. Didn’t think that. No, I mean, you got pretty close to that guy. At Ver’s party.”

Stolas has to think for a moment. “Oh, him? He was nice, I guess. A fine kisser - too little tongue for my tastes. But no, darling.” Is this a bad thing? Would Blitzo prefer if there was a chance it wasn’t his? “The egg is yours. There are no others.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Blitzo physically deflates, and the smile he gives Stolas is gentle and reassuring, two things the owl prince certainly does not deserve. Their hands are still intertwined through the small gaps in the cell, gripping each other like lifelines. It’s been months since they touched, and now Blitzo is holding his hand with so much tenderness. Vaguely, Stolas wishes he had more wherewithal in him to process it. “I mean, I would’ve been there for you either way. You got my full support no matter what, birdie. But admittedly it is easier for me to start settin’ things up at home without having to think about shared custody, I guess.”

“…Setting things up?”

“Yeah! I mean, this is like, fucking crazy. Yes. Entirely. We agree on that. And maybe I’m in a little bit of shock? But I…” He looks at Stolas, swallows, then looks away. The owl prince isn’t quite sure what to make of that. “The only thing I know for sure is that we’re gonna get you out of here, Stolas. Tomorrow. All of us have been up all night planning, but I couldn’t sleep because I needed to see you and-“ his grip tightens on Stolas’ hand again, “and make sure you’re okay. We’re gonna get you out, tomorrow, and when we do, you’re gonna come home with me, and you’ll be safe. And warm. And we’ll talk about - holy fuck - whatever we gotta talk about. Everything; I don’t give a shit, whatever you want. Okay birdie? I’ll take care of you. I promise. We’ll get you out of here.”

Stolas wants to give the other a tired smile, but it would be a lie, and he’s a little too muddled in the head to pull off anything convincing, anyways. He settles on giving the other a straight, strong gaze, even if the pained expression Blitzo wears hurts his chest. When he gives the other’s hand, still warm in his frozen fingers, a gentle squeeze, and a much fiercer one returns it. “The most important thing for me is that you’re alive, and Octavia is safe. Little else matters.”

“But what about you?” Blitzo whines like he himself has been hurt, and Stolas can’t help but reach out, catching and cradling the others cheek. The ex-prince holds him like a piece of fine China, thumb running gentle traces underneath his eyes and collecting stray tears on his thumb. He doesn’t deserve them, and he isn’t sure why Blitzo is shedding them over him, but he holds the other all the same. 

Immediately Blitzo responds to the touch, pressing his cheek further into the palm; borderline nuzzling him. His tail curls behind his body in such a cute way, the way it does when Blitzo’s happy and the imp thinks the owl doesn’t notice. He studies it, now, in case it’s the last time he sees it - wishes he could rub his thumb over the spade one last time. “I can’t leave you here, Stols, I can’t.”

The imp’s eyes dart to Stolas’ stomach and the owl feels that familiar guilt gnaw at him again. “I do not want you to feel indebted to me over this egg, Blitzo. I knew of the baby’s existence, I have for about a week now. And I still chose to throw myself in front of that blade. You…you are worth so much to me, Blitzo. To so many demons. Losing you would hurt so, so many people.”

“Oh my god, fuck you, you’re gonna make me cry. Shut up.” The imp turns, and they aren’t touching anymore, and Stolas worries for a moment that he said the wrong thing. But the assassin just begins to rumble around in the backpack he had before him - Stolas hadn’t noticed it before - until he pulls out something large and bulk. Blitzo lifts it - a blanket, especially soft looking and larger than anything an imp would realistically need. 

“People were worried about you, too, asshole. I…was scared.” An awkward amount of shoving leads to the fabric being wedgied and forced through the metal bars, and then even awkwarder fumbling has Blitzo throwing the blanket securely around Stolas’ shoulders. A small amount of fussing follows, with the imp pulling the downy fabric as tight around his owl’s shoulders as possible and tucking in rouge feathers. Said owl can’t help but snuggle into the fabric - it’s the warmest he’s been in hours. A low sigh leaves him.

“There.” Blitzo says with a sense of pride after he deems the prince - ex-prince - well-wrapped. “Is that better?”

“...Much. Thank you.”

“Good. It’s just one night, Stolas. Just one. We’re gettin’ you out tomorrow, okay?”

The sudden warmth of the downy throw is like pouring molasses into Stolas’ exhausted brain and he has to blink to process an answer instead of falling right asleep. “You have to go, Blitzo. You’re…not safe here.”

The blanket is readjusted around his shoulders so it’s as tight as possible again. “Try to get some sleep, birdie. Here - lean here.” He’s guided against a wall, but instead of the biting cold of the bricks against his back, he has the soft plush of the blanket cushioning him instead. It smells like Blitzo and a light, gentle perfume. His eyes are closing. “That’s it. Close your eyes. Get some rest.”

His last thought, as he falls asleep, is of his daughter, and where she’s sleeping tonight. He doesn’t feel the press of warm lips to his temple - he’s already sunken deep into dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Blitzo has had some really, unbelievably, record breaking shitty days. While this last twenty-four hours still wasn’t the worst of his life, it probably took number two. And that was a fucking feat. 

He’d been dragged through the courtroom doors kicking, screaming, and cursing until the cows came home. They’re honestly lucky Satan didn’t throw them all on death row again for the insults the imp hurled. “You fat fucking- Stolas! Loona , let me go- I have to fucking- Stolas!!! Stolas!!!!”

Like a sack of potatoes he was thrown into the company van by his daughter and colleagues. He’d never hurt any of them - would’ve died for ‘em twenty minutes ago - but he certainly isn’t against attacking a car door, even if it’s his car door. Millie has the foresight to slam it shut in his face before the imp can chuck himself out of the vehicle and throw himself back up the courthouse steps, snarling and yelling until they can’t ignore him anymore. His growling turns on Millie, and she gives him an entirely unamused glare, coupled with a hand on her hip. 

“Dad, you’re being stupid, calm down.” Loona snarls as she climbs into the car on the other side. Blitzo continues to assault the door and Moxxie climbs into the drivers seat, “You won’t save Stolas by acting so fucking crazy. Do you really think you stand any chance against Satan? We need to go home and fucking- think for a second.”

Blitzo whines low in his chest as Moxxie turns the engine on and starts fucking driving. What is wrong with everyone? Why are they all so okay with leaving Stolas behind when he saved all of them? “Loona, you don’t- we can’t. I-we can’t.”

The car hits a bump in the road as they pull away from the courthouse and Loona’s ears flit backwards. “We’re not leaving him, Dad. We’ll come back tomorrow. But we need to have some sort of plan, or we’ll just get ourselves put on trial again.”

“She’s right, Blitzo.” Millie says from the front seat, the first to talk since their group hug in the hallway. She peers at him through the rearview mirror, and Blitzo meets her eyes with his heart thudding in his chest. “Let’s go home - get some reinforcements. We’ll be back tomorrow.” Her hand reaches back, through the gap in the leather seats, and she intertwines their fingers. Resting their hands in Blitzo’s lap, she gives them a firm, long squeeze. “We’ll get him back. We won’t stop ‘till we do. Promise.”

“Please.” Loona whispers. “We just almost lost you. Don’t be fucking dumb.”

Blitzo nods after a few long seconds of silence, but he feels like he’s been dunked underwater and waterboarded a couple times. Everything is far away and distant, like his brain had been locked up along with his bird. In the car, the rest of I.M.P. begins to construct the rough beginnings of a plan, talking about exits they saw and the layout of the courthouse. 

All their supposed leader can do is watch out the van window as the courthouse disappears into the distance, taking his bird with it. 

He stays like that the whole ride, staring out the window until they pull into their shitty apartment complex and file out the van accordingly. Moxxie has to take his arms and help him out and Blitzo doesn’t even make any moaning sounds, which has M&M exchanging a look. From his back pocket, his phone rings, and only after a few repetitions of “Dad. Dad.” from Loona does he pull it out and toss it to her. Stolas is alone. It must be cold in that jail cell. This is all because of me.

The apartment is colder than usual tonight, like from before Blitzo adopted Loona. Back then, when it was only here, this place felt freezing every night. It still has a draft, but the scent of Loona’s light perfume and the sound of music drifting from her bedroom is usually enough to drive away the cold. 

Even with his whole family crowded around the coffee table, Moxxie sprawled over a hand-scrawled map, it feels so lonely. Like there’s this giant gap right next to him that’s meant to be filled by feathers and lavender and a shitty romantic novel. 

Stolas hasn’t even been to his apartment. The last time they actually spoke was at Verosika’s party, and they certainly didnt end on what Blitzo would consider good terms. For so long, thoughts of love surrounding the owl terrified him - left him feeling so exposed. Now, none of that feels like it matters, because the fear of losing Stolas is so much worse than the fear of loving him. This little voice in the back of Blitzo’s head keeps repeating, over and over again, that having never loved Stolas at all would be so, so worse than loving him and being hurt in the process. Who knows if Stolas even still has feelings for him?  Blitzo certainly wouldn’t blame him if he’s moved on. 

Still, none of this matters until the bird is home, and safe. For the past few months he’s yearned for his owl back, but now he needs it, like water and food. Is it too late? Has he thrown it all away? Stolas threw himself in front of a blade for Blitzo, and Blitzo left him in a cell. That is what he’s best at, anyways - leaving people, abandoning them, coming into their life just to leave it worse than he found it-

Thoughts continue to swarm. An undetermined amount of time more passes before a loud, panicked knock echoes from the door, startling him from his stupor, if only momentarily. Loona rises immediately, and Blitzo watches, trying to blink the world back into focus, as she opens the front door.

“-is he? Where is h- Blitzo! You asshole!” 

Something big and heavy enough to knock Blitzo over slams into his side and sends him, and it, down onto the couch cushions. The thing - an imp, Fizz - is full-body wrestling him into a hug so fast it knocks the wind out of him. Metallic arms hook around his neck and yank him into a warm chest, earning an “ Oof!”, quickly followed by a “Fizz, I can’t breathe.”

“You fucking asshole, oh my God, I thought you were dead!” Fizz holds him a few moments longer, nose burying into Blitzo’s neck. Something snaps in the back of Blitzo’s mind to get his ass into fucking gear, so he slowly reaches up, giving Fizz’s back an awkward pat, and then a more genuine rub, up and down. Fizz exhales shakily, and Blitzo doesn’t miss the wobble, the poorly hid hysterics. It makes his chest feel tight and uncomfortable.

They only pull apart after a few, long moments of a hug, and even then Fizzarolli immediately moves to hold Blitzo’s face in his hands. With cheeks cupped in his palms he inspects him closely, as if checking for injuries, for scuffs or bruises he didn’t notice before. No, I’m fine. I’m not the one who's suffering right now.

Their eyes connect, and Blitzo just stares at Fizz. Seeing him right now feels like a warm fire; like curling up under a duvet after a long day, like home. Tears, big, fat, and traitorous, begin dribbling down his cheeks. First they come in little puddles that well up around his waterline, then in rivers down his cheeks, then waterfalls. He grabs Fizz by the underarms and pulls him in close again, snuggling against his familiarity, his comfort. A little sob leaves him, then two. 

“Oh, honey.” Fizz croaks. “Shh, shh…you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Fizz pets the top of his head, right at the base of his horns, again and again, with applied pressure. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay now.”

“N-No it’s not.” Blitzo blubbers like a child. He can imagine him, Fizz and Barbie, all huddled around each other in the corner of a tent when they were barely big enough to spell. Not that they were ever really taught how to spell, but that’s besides the point. Barbie or Fizz would be smoothing a bandaid over Blitzo’s - always Blitzo’s - knee, with Barbie telling her brother to suck it up and stop crying and Fizz gently shushing him, exactly like he is right now. 

Except Barbie isn’t here, and he’s just ruined another person's life. “He’s alone, Fizz. What’re they gonna do to him? What if they fucking- hurt him, Fizz?”

His childhood best friend studies his face. Whatever he finds, it makes him lean back and gently whistle, “Damn. Fuck. You really like him.”

The tears continue to dribble down Blitzo’s face as he whispers, desperation cracking in his tone, “ I really do.” 

He thought, months ago, that when he said those words, some disaster would strike. A hole would open up in the earth and take him, or, worse, someone he loved, again. So he ran, like he always does, and Stolas still took the fall, despite everything. Running didn’t save him or the people he loved. 

Still, the world doesn’t end when he says the three words aloud. It ended earlier, when he was screaming Stolas’ name loud enough to make his throat bleed as he was being dragged through the courthouse doors on a chain. Now, it doesn’t even tremble when he whispers, just loud enough for Fizz to hear, “I love him. I think he’s the love of my fucking life, Fizz. And he’s in there because of me.”

“Oh, Blitz…”  A metal hand touches his face again and wipes his tears away. “First off, this is not your fucking fault.” His eyes soften. “You’re kind of a dumbass, and you have a way of getting yourself into complicated situations - that’s true. But that doesn’t make this your fault. Stolas came to rescue you because he made that decision, and now we’re going to decide to save him, okay? We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this.” 

Fizz took Blitzo’s hand, placed them in the other's lap, and gave them a gentle squeeze. Millie, Moxxie, Ozzie, and Loona are all still gathered around the coffee table, politely ignoring their interaction in favor of sketching out rough courthouse maps. 

“You know, I have some experience with loving someone waayyy above your status.”

For the first time that night, Blitzo cracks a smile and a soft huff of a laugh, hurrying to wipe away tears with the back of his hand. “Yeah. This shit is… so…complicated. ”

“Hmm." Fizz gives him an exaggerated side-eyes. "Interesting. But, keep in mind that complicated doesn’t mean broken. Especially if you care enough to try."

So he takes a moment, leans back, and stares at Fizz - hard, like one of his creepo stalker fans. Not every relationship that’s damaged is unfixable. 

With a breath in and a deep breath out, accompanied by a desperate and ragged scrubbing at the eyes, Blitzo sits back. “Okay.” He breathes, low and even, closing his eyes, then opening them. During his state of shock, their coffee table had been converted into their base of attack. A map dons arrows with “Millie go here” and “Loona knockout this guard”, to name a few, all in Moxxie’s neat (read: girlish) handwriting.

“Okay,” he repeats, cracking his knuckles in his lap in a way he hopes comes across more badass than anxious. “What’s the plan?”

Ozzie steps around the coffee table from his spot peering over them all and comes to sit on the other side of Moxxie. 

“May I?” He asks the imp, who, mouth wide open, hands him the sharpie marker like it’s a golden chalice. Asmodeus politely ignores the gesture and looks down at the infantile plan they had scrawled out. He clicks his tongue. “I urge all of you not to undermine a palace full of Goetia, nevermind Satan . Even the weaker of the Geotia’s, like Andrealphus, could kill any one of you with ease. Stolas was stripped of his powers and is no longer capable of protecting you. You’ll be of no use to him dead.” He looks directly at Blitzo with that last line, and the other scoffs. 

“Andrealphus is a weak Goetia?” The imp asks. Interesting. 

“Hah! Andre’s a fuckin’ pussy, honestly. Stolas could’ve beaten him on the playground when they were in diapers.”

“Fuckin’ ‘course he coulda.” Blitzo mumbles, more to himself than anything. Millie and Moxxie give each other the look and he gives them a middle finger in prompt response. 

The next few hours follow much the same, with Asmodeus giving priceless information on the courthouse’s layout, security schedule, and alarm systems, as well as offering to distract Satan in tomorrow's Sin’s meeting. If Blitzo weren’t coming to some serious romantic realizations lately, and if Fizz weren’t dating the guy, and if he-if he hadn’t been hardcore flamed by him on a date night…okay, if a lot of things were different, Blitzo would kiss Asmodeus  for helping so much. On the lips. Probably. 

Around two a.m., Loona calls it, and barks at everyone to go to bed. Blitzo protests - now that he’s actually doing something, putting his restless energy towards doing something productive for Stolas, he doesn't want to stop. 

Loona flicks him on the forehead and reminds him that sleeping will help him actually save Stolas. “The sin’s meeting is at ten am. The plan is well established - we’ve worked out all we know about the courthouse. There’s nothing more we can do until the morning but wait. Try and get some sleep, Dad.”

Begrudgingly, he agrees, but only if they set an early alarm to get up and look at the plan again with fresh eyes. Loona agrees and goes to her room, and he, Moxxie, Millie, Fizz, and Asmodeus sprawl out around the floor of Blitzo’s shitty living room, in his shitty apartment. He would feel bad about being a shitty host - maybe - probably not - if his thoughts weren’t so centered around Stolas, Stolas, Stolas. He hasn’t even processed that he’s having a deadly sin over for a sleepover. 

“So,” he says, eventually. Everyone’s a little too tense from the day to fall right asleep, anyways. “You and Stolas know each other?”

Ozzie, in his v-neck sleeveless sleeper tee that shows his whole chest and makes Blitzo understand Fizz entirely, rolls over from his place on the ground and gives the imp a resounding shrug. “Loosely. I wouldn’t call us friends, but we saw each other often at functions when he was young. I found the other Goetia children rather spoiled and loud, but I liked him. He was sweet.”

Blitzo laughs, gently. “Yeah, sounds like him. God, high society must’ve loved him. All prim and proper and behaved.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Ozzie frowns. “I recall the other children being quite cruel to him, honestly. And his father was…” the Sin huffs. “I despise Paimon. I think the way he conducts himself is revolting.”

Blitzo sits up a little straighter. In the back of his mind, a memory tickles at him - of that day at the circus, and a big, scary looking bird hitting the little baby puffball that was Stolas over the head. Even though it hasn’t come to him till now, Blitzo finds himself mad at the recollection. “I didn’t know that.” he huffs. “And that’s fucking stupid. They didn’t like him ‘cus he was nice.”

“The worst was always Stella, honestly, but she didn’t come around ‘till later.”

“His wife?”

“Ex-wife. I was shocked it took that long. I once watched her hurl a dessert platter at his head because he got a little too excited talking about something at a function, and she thought it was unbecoming. She’s one crazy bitch.” Ozzie clicks his tongue, and then lays back down. Silence falls over the group, but Blitzo suddenly feels really, really fucking nauseous.

It’s not something he hasn’t dared to consider before. At first, he thought Stolas was just some cheating, rich asshole; some prick looking to get dicked down while his wife and kids were at the mall, or something. But he had started to collect, through the Full Moons they spent together, that perhaps things were not as black and white as Blitzo once believed. 

If Stella threw a fucking plate at him in public, what is she willing to do behind closed doors? Blitzo’s tail wraps around his own ankles and curls himself smaller. He’s never seen any marks on Stolas’ body, but did he look hard enough? Does Stolas just- heal so fast that no one’s ever noticed?

Sleep doesn’t come to Blitzo. Ozzie’s words keep repeating in his head over and over again as he lays on the floor - Millie and Moxxie took the couch - and stares up at the ceiling. He knew their relationship wasn’t sunshine and rainbows - you don’t get a divorce if you’re happy! - but he didn’t think it was that bad. How often? How bad would it get? Was it verbal, too? It must be - Ozzie says she was horrible to him. Oh, Blitzo would have that bitches head on a fucking stick. 

She wasn’t at the trial today - her brother did her dirty work, which, from the story Blitzo is beginning to paint in his head, isn’t surprising. Where is she now? He knows where Stolas is; in a dark cell, cold, alone. Hopefully safe. Please, Satan, safe. 

What if Stella’s there? What if Stella’s hurting him? What if this was all a part of a plan to get him alone and- 

Blitzo can’t fucking stand it anymore. In one angry swipe, he grabs the blanket off of himself, silently huffs towards the front door, and slips out. 

He wouldn’t be stupid. He just had to see him.

The second that Stolas’ eyes close, Blitzo does a couple things. First, he double - quadruple - checks to make sure the thick blanket is wrapped as tightly around his shoulders and torso as it can be. Anywhere it needs it, he tucks it a little closer to the feathered body. 

He only grabbed this particular throw because it was the one he was sleeping under, but how he’s deeply grateful; none of their others were anywhere near as thick as this one. It was a present from Millie, six months after the office had opened. The memory feels distant. 

Second, Blitzo gives him a kiss on the forehead. It’s soft, impulsive, and stupid, but it makes him feel better, for a fleeting second, to kiss his bird again.  

Then, third, he stumbles to his feet, walks ‘round the bend of the hallway, rests a palm against the cold brick wall, and throws up onto the ground. Then he throws up a little more, although that was more bile and spit than anything else. 

Maybe he was hiding his nerves from Stolas just a little. The poor guy had been through way too much in the past twenty four hours to deal with Blitz's impending breakdown. And breaking down he fucking was, holy shit. 

He was going to be a dad again. Holy shit. Holy shit. How would Loonie react? How is he reacting? Stolas mentioned not knowing it was possible, somewhere amongst his ramblings. How did it even happen - and why now? They’ve had this deal bullshit going on for over a year now. Subconsciously, he grabs the wall to steady himself. 

How long? Stolas had mentioned not knowing he was pregna-gravi- whatever, at Ver’s party, and that was about a month ago. But Stolas also swore up and down it was his, and call Blitzo fucking crazy, but he believes him without a shadow of a doubt. And the last time they slept together was before that night at Ozzie’s. Like, five fucking months ago. 

Was Stolas carrying an egg while Blitzo screamed at him under the chandelier? After he was strong enough to show his feelings to Blitzo, and, in turn, was called a “selfish, rich asshole”? He must’ve been. Was he carrying Blitzo’s fucking child while he was bleeding out all over the back of Blitzo’s van? While Striker was torturing h-

His body tries to throw up again, but all he has left to give is a series of choked up dry heaves. Spit dribbles from his mouth and he lets out a croaked sob. Three is way too many times in one day to cry, and he keeps thinking he’ll go numb, run all out of tears, and then his body proves otherwise. 

Now, Stolas is here, with Blitzo’s egg, cold and alone and in fucking jail all because of Blitzo! Holy shit, holy shit. How could he have fucked this up this hard again? Without even knowing? 

Over the sound of his own gagged heaving, Blitzo hears a light, gentle creaking echo from down the hall, and he’s immediately jumping to his feet. He’s in front of Stolas’ cell again in record time, slammed right up against the bars, with his eyes darting around each corner. What was that noise? Is Stolas safe? 

Said bird is still curled into a feathered ball against the wall, exactly where Blitzo left him, eyes closed and expression showing mild discomfort but asleep all the same. The low creaking continues, but it’s coming from somewhere down the hall and above them - far away, nowhere near his bird. Blitzo just stares at him for a few moments longer, though, just in case. Runs a hand down his cheek and cups his jaw in palm for the same reason. 

When he decides that, yes, Stolas is okay, he walks over to the opposite wall of the ex-prince’s cage and presses his back against it, sliding down until he’s sitting on his butt. Arms wrap around himself for warmth and he pulls his legs up, too, securing everything with a few loops of his tail. With his knees tucked up to his chin and only his eyes peering over them, he sits, and watches Stolas. 

And sits. And watches. 

The first thing he did when he broke into the Geotia’s dungeon was look for a way to get his birdie out. He considered doing it himself, then and there, multiple times - why does he keep telling Stolas tomorrow if he’s here now?

Asmodeus’ sentiment keeps echoing through his head, though - the Goetia are dangerous, and he’s no good to Stolas dead. The fear of leaving his birdie sitting in this jail cell with no one coming to rescue him chases impulsive decisions from his mind, for once. 

Still, though, he can’t be useless. So he spends his time sitting there strengthening their plan. The large metal door to Stolas’ cell wasn't impenetrable, but they would need Moxxie’s high-grade metal cutter to get through it. Same for the chains around Stolas’ neck and arms, but they’ll have to find a smaller tool so they don’t hurt him, too. It would probably take three minutes, maybe five to saw through, and that machine isn’t particularly quiet, so Ozzie’ll have to be loud with his distraction. Fizz has no idea how to fight and can’t help Asmodeus, so he shouldn’t come, but maybe he can stay at home and be in contact to send an emergency vehicle or something-

Hours pass, which he only knows because the night-time fires begin to burn brighter outside the dingy excuse of a window Stols has in his cell. His cell. That sounds gross. Stolas should be rolled up in the comfiest blankets, sleeping ‘till noon if he wants to, eating a big breakfast whenever he rises - one big enough for two. Get massages and foot rubs and all that other stuff pregnant people get. He shouldn’t be fucking here. 

His thoughts keep boomeranging between Stolas’ news and breaking him out of jail. How’s he going to be a Dad again ? Loona is his pride and joy, his baby girl, and he’s made so many mistakes with her. And he didn’t even raise her from a baby - there’s so many more opportunities for him to hurt this kid. Starting with getting their Dad thrown in jail, idiot.

And anyways, what about Loona? There’s no way she was going to take this news well, and why would she? Being abandoned time and time again gives anyone trust issues, and now that she’s finally calling him Dad occasionally, he goes and knocks someone up? 

It’s not just someone. It’s Stolas. Okay, fair. But, still, irrelevant for Loonie. Hopefully she doesn’t take it out on the owl too hard - Blitzo was the one who didn’t wrap it. Neither of them knew this was a possibility, sure, but he should’ve been wrapping it the second he took off the birds pants and saw anything remotely resembling a puss down there. 

Thing is, he could’ve wrapped it at any time, and he considered it on a few separate occasions, at the beginning. That kind of connection was way too intimate, too close, and it was starting to make him uncomfortable. But then Stolas would hoot in a ridiculously cute way, and a few months passed, and Blitzo found himself yearning that closeness instead of avoiding it. He should’ve known, then and there, that he had fallen, but it was too scary of a reality, so he closed his eyes and pushed forward, like he always does.

Even now, when his head is swimming with the news, filled with fear and apprehension, he’s happy. A baby with Stolas feels like a distant dream, like the ones he would have about him, Stols, Loona and Octavia all celebrating a holiday together. Never once did he imagine the fantasies he would chase while asleep - the same ones that would make him cry when he woke up - could become real. Beyond the fear and stress of how much has to be planned, and reactions, and everything else going well, there’s a growing spark of excitement. And that, in and of itself, sets another anxiety off in Blitzo.

Is he excited to baby trap Stolas? There’s this voice in his head that keeps repeating, over and over again, “You will keep seeing each other if you have a kid together. You’re not losing him. Not yet.”

Sure, Stolas had feelings for him at one point, but whose to say he still does? Blitzo hasn’t exactly been receptive or emotionally intelligent these past four months and he certainly wouldn’t blame the owl for losing feelings for him. He never expressed wanting to get rid of the egg, but Blitzo shouldn’t just assume that isn’t an option on the table. If it’s five months along, there may not be a choice, but the imp knows fuck all about normal imp pregnancies, nevermind hybrid ones. He’d support Stolas in whatever he wants, of course, of course. But… he thinks he wants a baby. 

Is that bad? Being excited that a child will bring him and Stolas close again? He doesn’t want to use the child, or Stolas, for any of his fucked up whims - that’s shit his dad would do.

And, fuck, what if he’s like Cash? He wasn't with Loona, but the worry that his father lays dormant in his veins, just waiting to lash out at the world, always follows Blitzo wherever he goes. What if he accidentally hurts Stolas, or the kid? What if he gets cross with them, or abusive without realizing?

Images of a blue fire fill his mind and he tucks himself further into the ball he’s rolled into, trying to focus on the rise and fall of Stolas’ chest instead of the indescribable panic that’s rising up in his throat, as well as more bile, somehow. What if he hurts Stolas, or, fuck, his kid, like he hurt his Mom?

He stews in his own worries until the fires licked bursts of flames up the dungeon walls too bright to ignore. Even though Blitzo had been the one to push for an early alarm, the need to sit and stare at Stolas a few hours longer is making him regret it now. Regardless, if he listens closely enough, he can hear the quiet thumping of courthouse employees moving around upstairs. It was a miracle a guard or Goetia hadn’t come to check on their prisoner already, and Blitzo had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t remain lucky much longer. Still, the light protection around Stolas is useful for their plans. If Andrealphus is going to be so cocky he barely even bothers to protect what he stole, then Blitzo is going to take him back, thank you very much. 

Still, not now. He needs Mox, Mils, everyone else. It hurts him to leave, but it’s about six or so now, and the sins meeting is at ten. Four hours. Stolas will be fine for four hours. Right? He has to be. 

Blitzo’s bones crack and creak in protest as he rises to his feet for the first time in hours. Even though he’s been staring at Stolas this whole time, he still double checks the bird first thing. Comfort finds him in the form of the others' light breathing and closed eyes. He readjusts the blanket around Stolas’ shoulders; for a moment he debates taking it, so guards wouldn’t know someone else was here, but taking the warmth away from the bird is quickly not an option. So, instead, he tucks it up close around the belly - and pauses. 

There, under his palm, barely noticeable, he can feel a firm and round bump. Stolas’ breath hitches when Blitzo’s palm brushes his stomach, but then quickly settles back in, breathing low. The assassin can’t help but stare in wonder as he presses three flat fingers against the bump and feels the hardness of it, how real it is. 

“Hi.” The word comes out painfully quiet. “I’ll be right back for you two, ‘kay? Promise.”

If he presses one more fleeting kiss to Stolas’ cheek before he pulls away, then that’s just between him and the bugs in the wall. With one last lingering look towards his bird, he slips out the dungeon.

The door clicks behind Blitzo as he practically collapses back into his apartment. Hate as he may to admit it - except not really, because of course she was - his precious Loonie was right. A few hours of solid rest would’ve done him some good. 

Speaking of the devil, his daughter stands in the kitchen, quietly cooking a half dozen eggs on the stovetop. The toaster ticks as it toasts some bread. Every movement is slow and quiet to keep their four - actually, two, Fizz and Ozzie must’ve slipped out - sleepover guests asleep in the living room, even as she peaks her head backward, around the hallway wall, to see who came in. He’s greeted with an entirely unimpressed glare. 

“Dad, you look like shit. I told you you should’ve fucking slept- where’d you even go, anyways? If you went back to Stolas-“

“Loona, Stolas is pregnant. It’s mine.”

The eggs pop in the pan. Someone shifts on the sofa - Moxxie, probably - and it creaks loudly. Loona stares at him.

Then, she laughs a little. “Hah. Funny joke, old man. Kinda mean after yesterday, but-”

“Loona. I’m not joking.” How did this all get some complicated? “ I know it’s fucking crazy a-and neither of us know how it happened. But he’s carrying an egg and it’s mine.”

Loona stares at him. And stares. Then, calmly, she reaches down, and turns off the stove. Placing down the spatula she was using to rotate the eggs, she walks past Blitzo, into her room, and slams the door shut behind her. 

Blitzo winces but he also sort of feels like letting the ground open up and swallow him because, yeah, he definitely deserved that. Loona has not had an easy twenty-four hours, and dropping that was probably stupid, but if Stolas was going to be coming here, she should know. Still, he could’ve made sure that decisions happened when he was functioning with a bit more sleep. 

He stares at her door like a fish out of water as more movement begins to shift from the couch. Moxxie sits up, Millie following close behind, and both groan in tandem. At the same time, the front door to the apartment opens, and Ozzie and Fizz walk in holding six different coffee orders in their hands. They all exchange a look and Fizz is the first to ask, “What? What’d we miss?”

Blitzo looks between his friends, then to his daughter's door. He should tell them, rip the bandaid off at once like they say, but… “Ah, nothing. Loona’s…mad at me for leaving. She’s right - I’m beat. I visited Stolas last night.”

“What?!” Fizz blanches, placing the tray down on the table. Blitz grabs his coffee and chugs half of it in one go, which earns him a grunt of disgust from Moxxie. Fucking hater. “Ozzie said that was insanely dangerous. Why’d you do that?”

“Had to see him.” Blitzo chugs the rest, then goes to the kitchen and begins making another cup  of black coffee with the hot water from his tap. “I have a much better idea of how the place is laid out now.”

A hand on his shoulder pauses his movements for a moment, and Millie is…looking at him. Really looking at him, hard, in the way she does when she knows something is up. There’s something in her face, too - a look in her eyes that Blitzo both doesn’t recognize, nor like. He’ll talk to her soon as he can. For now, though, she’s talking to him - more at him, because he’s still tired. Stupid caffeine. Work faster, damnit.

“-ake a nap for an hour, Blitzo. Mox and I hav’ta run to the office anyways to grab the weapons we need, and you look dead on your feet. We’ll wake you up soon as we get back - promise.”

“We’ll keep working on the plan.” Fizz offers.

“I should help you, I saw more of the dungeon last night.”

“Explain to us what you saw and we’ll remember it.” 

His childhood best friend and current best friend both give him hard looks, and he shrinks back a little. They’re ganging up on him, lil’ pieces of shit. He’s so proud. “Okay, alright, fuck. I’ll crash for twenty . Wake me up as soon as everyone’s back.”

He’s out before his head even hits the pillow on his couch. 

Two and a half hours later, they’re all swarmed around the coffee table again, with Blitzo’s eyes looking ever so slightly less blurry - a third coffee in his hand was also doing some serious legwork, there - and all the needed weapons stacked on the couch behind them. Blitzo demanded they grab a lot more than necessary from their mildly destroyed office, because there was no way in fuck he was letting them get caught off guard.

While said imp was leaning his full body across the scratched out paper plans, Loona’s door slowly opens. Her ears are back, and she refuses to look at them, but she does come out of the room, slowly. She walks over to the coffee table and peers over Moxxie and Millie’s shoulders, staring down at the plans for a few long moments before making a low grunt. She points at the plan. 

“Millie and I should be hidden on top of this beam, not that one.” She moves her claw so she’s pointing at a different rafter in the ceiling, the one where Millie and Loona are scribbled to be hiding on. “The beam over is in view of the intersecting hallways, so guards would be able to see us from their stations. I’m pretty sure the other one is hidden by the wall so it’s more secure.”

Oh, Blitzo could fucking cry . Loona takes one look at him and rolls her eyes into the stratosphere, slipping her phone from her back pocket and preferring to look at it over Blitzo. 

“Whatever.” She grumbles, low enough that only he can hear, head turned away from the others. “...Don’t forget about me, asshole.”

“Sweetheart, I could never . You're my baby. No one could ever replace you. It’s me and you, okay? Even if our family grows, I would never leave you behind. Ever.”

Loona’s ears flick while Blitzo talks, even though her eyes never leave her phone. She starts tapping, and the imp thinks the conversation is probably over, but she mutters, after a few more minutes, “Okay. I’m trusting you, I guess.” Then, she turns back to the plan, and asks Ozzie what ideas he has for his distraction. 

The courthouse is just as fucking cold as his apartment, scarily enough. While I.M.P. sneaks their way up to the building, scanning for the entrance Blitzo used last night, he finds himself faltering a moment at the sight of those wide doors, the steps leading up to them. Only yesterday his head sat on a blade, about to be killed for his crimes. And then Stolas, whose carrying his fucking kid, apparently, jumps in front of him, giving both of their lives to sacrifice his. Yesterday, when it was dark, it was easier to ignore it all - to pretend he was climbing up the palace walls instead.

But now, those big courthouse doors shine in the light of dare, staring at him. If he stares at them too long, the feeling of cold metal begins to press against his throat, sharp in the way it cuts, and the low singing of royal fucks who couldn’t give less of a shit about him fills his head. 

There’s an open window on the second floor, so they wriggle through it, one by one. Asmodeus isn’t with them, which is good, because he wouldn’t have fit. He’s walking in through the front door, dressed in a nice suit and unusually punctual for his weekly ten AM Sins Meeting, every Tuesday. 

When asked by Millie if he would be comfortable putting on a distraction in front of Satan, he had just smiled. “Oh, honey, I would love an excuse to argue with Mammon for as long as absolutely necessary.” 

They walk by a broken mirror laying on the floor in an old dusty storage room and Blitzo blanches again at his appearance. Given the abundance of cameras in the courthouse, Ozzie insisted he disguise all of them. “We will all be under heavy surveillance after Stolas is reported missing, by the Goetia and the police alike. They don’t care about him much, per say, but they hate being bested. Blitzo, going in there without a disguise was unintelligent, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. But, I can disguise all of you during the actual prison break.”

The alternative imp disguise the Asmodeon crystal gives Blitzo is buffer, more top heavy than his usual body. He was wearing a tank top, and had a speckling of blonde hair in between his horns. It felt weird and unusual - he was used to wigs sitting on top of his head, but having it grow from your scalp is…different. Itchy.

He takes a pause in the mirror, staring at himself hard. He looks…he looks…

Holy shit. He looks like the cuck Stolas made out with at Ver’s party. Holy shit, he is not unpacking that. 

Moxxie, Millie and Loona all usher him along, further into the courthouse. Fizz was home; he isn’t a fighter, but he is standing by at the ready with a car and a driver to get them out of there and bring them back to Asmodeus’ apartment. 

And there’s the next big issue - they’re bringing Stols back to Asmodeus’ penthouse, not Blitzo’s apartment. Fucking great . Asmodeus pointed out, early this morning, that bringing an escaped Goetian prisoner to the apartment of his very public fling was probably not the best idea. And, as much as Blitzo wants to argue that, no, his bird belongs at home, with him, he knows the other is right. 

So, they came up with a plan. Stolas will be given an imp disguise with the crystal and moved into Asmodeus’ living quarters under the guise of a new maid for hire. He’ll be safe there until they can figure out the next step. 

Blitzo asked if Stolas would be safe; he would, Ozzie has twenty-four hour security because of the abundance of creepos in Lust. He asked if Stolas would have his own room, and if the bed would be comfy; yes and yes. He asked if there’s nurses, and Ozzie gave him a bit of an odd look, but said yes. He refrained from asking about doctors. 

They find their positions. Loona and Millie climb high into the fourth rafter from the left, offering a great view of the dungeon’s entrance and the courthouse doors - while also hiding them from view with a conveniently placed supporting beam. Their walkie talkies are turned on, and they’re in place. 

Moxxie and Blitzo, meanwhile, hide in the twelfth rafter, the one running right above the steps leading down to the dungeon. They’re huddled against the wall, but they’re pretty poorly hidden. Ozzie would have to be fast. 

Honestly, Blitzo is panicking. He’s going on four, almost four and a half hours without seeing Stolas now, and there’s a growing panic in his guts. Especially now that he knows the bird is carrying his egg. His eggie. 

He would have to find a new schedule for a bit. Loona probably wouldn’t be against getting the apartment to herself for a bit, if Blitzo begins spending a lot of time at Asmodeus’ apartment, but the imp worries it’ll subconsciously confirm what Loona has a right to be afraid of; that Blitzo is leaving her for this new child. It’s all so overwhelming, and amazing and hopeful and awesome and everything Blitzo has been dreaming about for months, and terrifying. 

Whatever, whatever. Step one was to get Stolas back, and Blitzo could unpack everything fucking else once his bird is safe and warm and fed. 

From the courthouse, where the Sins meeting takes place weekly - because of course they have to be that fucking dramatic about it - there’s a loud bang, and then the screeching of Mammon’s incessant complaining. The walkie talkie in Mox’ hand flickers on once, then twice. “Ozzie’s signal, sir.” his employee whispers. Their usual back-and-forth snark is markedly missing. 

Blitzo nods with determination, looks down, and drops to the ground, right next to the giant entryway. He doesn’t hesitate for a moment before he’s shooting down the stairs, practically on all fours - get in, get Stolas, get out. Get in, get Stolas, get out. 

The way down is long but the trip is fast when you’re quite literally tripping over half the stairs, Blitzo finds. He lands at the bottom with a low huff. Behind him, Moxxie calls, “Slow down, sir! You’re moving too fast!”, and he sounds pathetically far behind. 

Blitzo darts down the hallway, to the left. He hooks a right, and there, at the end of the hallway, is Stolas’ cell, right where he left it. “Stols!” He hisses as he rushes down to see him. “We’re here! Told ya we’d-“

“Blitzo-” Comes a sobbed response. 

Blitzo comes to a stop in front of the jail cell and takes in the view in front of him like a pail of cold water dumped over his head. Stolas is leaning against the north wall, opposite the door, knees to the ground and hands bracing against the wall. His elbows and thighs both shake pitifully, violently.

The blanket Blitzo left him is wrapped partially around his waist and partially around and underneath his legs, which are spread. Dark black blood runs in rivers and chunks down his thighs, staining the feathers and the soft down of the blanket. 

Through how far apart Stolas’ legs are spread, Blitzo can just barely make out a white blob - a white shell - poking through the vent of Stolas’ spread and visible cloaca. It’s hard to tell how much else of the egg may be hidden by the rivers and gushes of black blood that surround it. More splatters onto the floor when Stolas shifts. 

The owl’s whole body is shaking and his weight leans against the wall as he takes in deep, swallowing breaths. Talons scrape down the brick and he’s peaking his head up, making eye contact with Blitzo. Even with eyes a foggy, dull pink instead of their usual vibrant red, he still fights to give the other a tired, wobbling smile. 

 “Blitz.” he repeats in a whimper before his entire body goes slack, and he passes out against both the wall and the soft down of the blanket. 

Chapter Text

No, no, no. “Oh, fuck my holes- Pretty bird, please! Oh, wake up…Please- fuck. Fuck!” 

Panicked breaths leave Blitzo’s chest as he catches and cradles Stolas’ face in his hands, trying to get a better look at the other. Sweat sticks the feathers of Stolas’ crown and cheeks together, with tear tracks on top of them. His top eyes are still leaking, adorned by two pinched eyebrows and a deep frown, even in his sleep.  

With motions as gentle as Blitzo can, shaking hands considered, he slowly guides the other’s unconscious body away from leaning against the wall and instead into his own lap, legs crossed to support him. The owl whimpers, shifts, and buries himself closer, pained hoots leaving a slightly cracked beak. It’s all Blitzo can do to pet the other, his face and forehead and arms, croaking out, “Wake up. Wake up, please.”

Meanwhile, Moxxie grabs Stolas’ ankle and begins sawing away at the metal castings chaining him to the ground. The owl moves like puddy, allowing himself to be shifted and manipulated, but his whines continue all the same. 

When Blitzo saw Stolas pass out, surrounded by so much blood, he panicked, hard. Like a desperate animal he had rattled at the bars of the jailcell, snapping at a poor, shellshocked Moxxie to “Fucking move, asshole!” Through the bars he begged Stolas, reaching for him, repeating “Wake up, wake up!”, and willing the space separating them to shrink. The black puddle of blood that surrounded his owl only grew with each moment, so large that the imp could practically see his own reflection through it. 

Blitzo’s heart felt like it was in his asshole. Actually, he’d shit it out, and then it was on the ground, along with all of Stolas’ fucking blood. The imp was barely fucking breathing and Moxxie wasn’t moving, too shellshocked to kick himself into motion. 

All Blitzo could think, over and over again, is Fuck. I can’t do this alone. I know this shit is weird but he can’t do it alone.

Thank Satan, Moxxie only hesitated until Blitzo moved forward on shaking limbs, struggling to pick up the metal cutter himself. His fingers shook too violently to press the on button because all he could see in front of him is black, black blood, a growing puddle. “Come on, come on.” He croaked out. “Gonna get you safe, birdie, gonna get you out of here-“

A hand covered his own, and Moxxie stepped forward, taking the metal cutter from Blitzo like one would take a toy from a rabid dog. Blitzo snarled, at first, snapping at the hands that dare keep him from saving Stolas, but pauses when he registers Moxxie’s voice.

“With all due respect, sir, what the fuck?”  A loud whirring, along with the even less pleasant noise of metal being sawed in half, fills the room as Mox began to cut away at the lock holding the door to the cell closed. Eye protection be damned. 

Instead of answering, Blitzo continues to pet Stolas’ cheek and forehead. “Stols, baby, please- Can’t exactly get into the whole story right now, Mox! Stolas has an egg, it’s mine, obviously something is fucking wrong! Stols- Stolas, wake up, please.” Pleas are matched with pets, using his fingers to adjust feathers that’re in disarray. The owl’s eyes remain closed. 

“Wha- Sir! How long were you planning on keeping this from us?!” Moxxie turns the lock left and right in his hands, pulling at it every few moments to see if it’s ready to give.

“I found out twelve hours ago! Excuse me for being a little fucking overwhelmed!”

Moxxie looks up from his work, and although he doesn’t stop - Blitzo wouldn’t hesitate to slap the shit out of him if he dared stop - he does look away and up at his boss long enough to give the other a wide-eyed look. “...Holy shit.” 

“Yes, holy shit is fucking right! Stolas! Stols, come on, pretty bird, wake up. You’re okay, you just need to-”

A loud clank is followed by a clatter as the metal locking holding the jail cell closed falls to the ground in two separate pieces, each falling and rolling in two separate directions. Moxxie wastes no time lifting his knee and karate kicking the bars, sending the door flying open with a loud BANG as it hits the opposite wall. Blitzo should snap at him about the noise, since they were supposed to be quiet, but he’s too busy falling over himself to get into the room. 

Knees burn as he skids to a sitting position next to his owl. The other's name just keeps falling from his lips like a prayer, the only thing he can think or say - Stolas, Stolas, Stolas.

With hands far too gentle for an assassin, he reaches towards his owl. The prince is cold to the touch and shivering lightly, and Blitzo uses his fore and middle finger to brush aside the sweat matting his forehead, his cheeks. Breath held, he trailed his hands downwards, to the others neck, and holds the same fingers to his pulse point. 

His heart is beating and Blitzo lets out a little sob he didn’t know he was holding in. There it is. Faint, but there; and thank fucking god because Blitzo is pretty sure the earth would’ve opened up and swallowed them both whole if he’d found anything else. Birdie is just unconscious. 

Still, though, the situation is no less comforting up close. Obviously Stolas had begun laying the egg sometime after Blitzo had left - how long after, however, he has no idea. That must’ve been so scary, when Stolas realized what was happening, and yet his birdie did it. All alone. Again. 

Fuck. 

The blood stains the floor in a wide and growing puddle, mostly coming from Stolas’ fully exposed cloaca. He had shimmied his pants down to his ankles some point, but wasn’t ever able to get them off fully. So they pooled around his ankles and stayed there, caught on the chains holding him down. Black liquid flows in rivers and streams down his usually lusciously soft thighs, staining the feathers in its wake. 

The little egg, entirely red, pokes out of Stolas’ vent, entirely unmoving. And Stolas won’t fucking wake up. 

Without really thinking, Blitzo begins to move blindly, his mind entering the same panicked list of steps it does whenever M&M get injured in the field. To be fair, he isn’t in love with M&M, but still. 

First, he situates himself on the ground, with his back leaning against the cold wall of the bleak cell. With motions as gentle as possible, trying not to make anything worse - than he already has - he pulls Stolas’ head into his lap, resting forward on thigh. Fingers run through head feathers, then, detangling anything matted and wiping off even more sweat. Now that he’s closer to his bird, he can make out the ragged breathing and pinched forehead even clearer, so he soothes where he can, there, too; running fingers through chest feathers, wiping away his face with his shirt.

None of it feels like enough. Moxxie is saying something, but he only registers the presence once something is pushed into his hands. The blanket. 

Hands still shaking something horrible, Blitzo bunches the fabric up in his fists, leans forward, and begins to clean away the others blood. As gentle as he is, Stolas still winces when the wet clothe touches the tear, and it’s all Blitzo can do to softly “shh” him. The blood coats the inside of his thighs in chunks and gets worse the closer Blitzo gets to the others cloaca. The sight of this part of Stolas’ body usually gets the imp excited and horny, but now, it just makes his heart clamber even louder in his chest. 

Blood that’s wiped away is replaced by more blood in seconds. Thankfully, the brief moments of respite, one or two seconds where Stolas’ cloaca doesn’t look like a bad horror movie, does give Blitzo a better understanding of what’s wrong. There’s a long and deep gash, leading from the top point of Stolas’ cloaca and moving backwards, towards the owl's tailbone. Despite how deep and long the tear is, the egg still isn’t moving. 

As soon as they entered the cell, Moxxie was moving, grabbing Stolas’ left arm with as much care as possible and using the same metal cutter as before to begin wearing away at the restraints. Purple, blooming bruises decorate a ring around the prince’s delicate wrist, and Moxxie gives a wince at the sight. It’s the least of their concerns, but it doesn’t look pleasant.

Blitzo’s employee, Satan bless him, obviously tries not to look at the bloodbath before him, but it’s kind of like a car crash; hard not to. In different circumstances, Blitzo probably would've taken his head off for looking at his bird’s jewels, if you will; but in that universe, Stolas isn’t bleeding out in front of them. 

“…This is bad, sir.” Moxxie says after a few moments of Blitzo’s frantic mumbling to Stolas. Using one hand to continue slicing away at the metal cufflinks, Mox uses the other to point towards Stolas’ cloaca - but stays looking away, to the left. “He tore there- and, uh, there-ish. He’s losing a lot of blood. We need to get him to a hospital, like, now.”

“How much fucking longer for the chains, then?!”

“I’m going as fast as I-” Mox pauses, takes a deep breath, “Five minutes. Maybe six. Which is- Blitz, I think it’s too long.”

“Fuck.” The word cracks at the end as it leaves Blitzo’s throat and his fingers clench desperately around the feathers of Stolas’ head. Looking back down at the owl, he leans down slowly, brushing lips across his forehead and trying to ignore the way his own tears make the feathers there wet again. “If you can hear me, Stols, please wake up. I’m here to help now, okay? We all are, so wake up, yeah?”

“S-So, he’s-he’s laying an egg.”

“Fucking, yes, Mox, aren’t you paying attention?!”

“I-fuck, okay. Uhm- Call Millie on the radio, have her come down.”

“Uhm, why?”

“She lived on a farm her entire childhood. She’s probably helped a chicken lay an egg, or something, right?”

“Stolas isn’t a fucking chicken, Moxxie!” The words bite and claw themselves from Blitzo’s mouth, saturated in anger and stress and fear. He’ll apologize when his hands aren’t shaking so bad, when he isn’t holding the blanket from his shitty living room to Stolas’ torn flesh to keep him from fucking- from fucking bleeding ou-

“Do you have any better ideas?!” Mox snaps in response, but Blitzo is already moving, fingers trembling as he gently adjusts Stolas once more. 

“Sorry, baby,” he whispers, movements slow and calculated as he repositions Stolas’ head from his left knee to his right. Using his free hand, he fishes around in his back pocket, only for his walkie-talkie to clatter to the ground behind him. Spewing a variety of curses, he cranes his arm backwards, snags the walkie, and brings it to his mouth. It fizzes to life when he starts a transmission. “Mil-Millie. Please say you’re there.”

“hh..zz-hzzzz-...I’m-…I’m here, Blitzo.” The audio crackling through the walkie is disjointed and staticed, but clearly Millie. Thank fuck because the imp was gonna bite someone if one more thing went horrendoulsy wrong and that someone was definitely going to be Moxxie. 

He presses the speak button again. “You need to come down to the dungeon, now. Loonie, sweetheart, you stay there - leave at the first sign of any danger. Anything at all, okay?”

“...zzz-What’s going on, Dad?” comes Loona’s voice. Life hasn’t calmed enough quite yet for him to unpack her change in nicknames, but he certainly would at some point or another. She’d peppered in ‘Dad’s before, when the context struck, but never this consistently. 

It feels like another reminder of all Stolas has lost so that Blitzo could gain. 

“It’s just- it’s urgent, okay? We need Mils.”

“…hzzz- I’m on my way, B.”

Blitzo lets out a soft breath as the walkie clicks off. “Hear that, Stols?” He says down the figure in his lap, stroking a thumb over the cheek once more while cupping his face with his palm. “Millie’s on her way. She’s gonna make you all better. You’re gonna be okay.”

Stolas’ wrist begins to fall through the air as the metal cuff holding him falls into two pieces, releasing their grip. Moxxie catches the arm and places it gingerly on the ground, which Blitzo is thankful for. His employee gives a wince at the blood on the ground and takes care not to step in it, staring down at his feet with each step. He moves himself to Stolas’ left foot and begins the same process of breaking the metal cuffs there. One down, three to go. 

“Stretch him out a little more.” Mox comments.  

Blitzo doesn’t even snap this time, just moves. With his own back against the wall, he pulls the owl up just a hair, so that the back of Stolas’ head is resting on his chest and not his knee. The ex-prince’s gangly body stretches out from there, knees bent and legs spread wide open. “There ya go, good job, good boy.” He hums as they move, rubbing hands up and down Stolas’ side and wherever he can reach that may provide any sense of comfort. 

Blitzo is so busy focusing and tracking the breaths of his owl that he doesn’t hear Millie’s pattering footsteps approaching the cell, although her husband does. He only becomes aware of her presence when she hisses, low and earnest, “Holy smokes.” 

“Millie!” He nearly sobs. The imp in front of him, of course, looks nothing like his co-worker, considering their disguises, but he barely pays the change any mind. “There’s no time to explain.You delivered eggs on the farm, right?”

“I- Yes?” Millie takes a few cautious steps towards them, eyebrows high with confusion and concern - but still handing it better than Mox, which, low bar. Blitzo watches as she takes in all the blood on the floor and the fucking egg - her eyes widening and her hands freezing where they are, outstretched towards the scene, a strangled “Wha-huh?!” leaving her, probably involuntarily. 

“Hngg…B…Blitzo?”

“Stolas!” Said imp practically falls over himself to look down at the owl, scrambling his hands through the air in a panic. Four pairs of red eyes, dazed and confused, stare up at him with a lidded gaze. “Oh, pretty bird, you’re okay - you’re okay now. I’m here, we’re all here.”

Stolas looks up at him, blinks, and lazily arches one eyebrow. “Blitzo…? Why do you…look like that…?”

Blitzo looks down at his disguise again - in the panic, he had honestly forgotten - and lets out a weak half laugh. “Ridiculous, right? Way less sexy than my usual ‘fits. But it’s me. We’ve come for you. And-“ Blitzo risks a quick glance at the flowing blood, but the pile is ever growing, and he can’t look for long. “You and eggie. We’re gonna take you both home, okay?”

“Oh…Yes.” There’s a swimming film over Stolas’ eyes, a sort of white hue that isn’t there usually, only adding to the dazed confusion as he looks around. He seems barely there, barely conscious, even as he glances down at the gore below his belt. “…Yes, that would be nice. To leave with you.”

The flatness of his voice matches his eyes and Blitzo totally isn’t panicking worse, nope, no, no fucking thank you.

Millie, meanwhile, has leaned over, and is making herself nice and familiar with both the situation and Stolas’ intimates. She keeps making these humming and clicking noises in the back of her throat that Blitzo assumes must mean bad news. Although her touches are brief and respectful, Stolas still winces, pushing further into Blitzo’s chest with each wriggling of her fingers. The imp, of course, lets him, pulls him closer, encases him. 

Said imps’ hands wander, both to comfort the other and himself. They find themselves entangled in chest plumage, running claws through feathers and separating them with a repeated, delicate motion.

“Just focus on me, pretty bird.” He whispers, using his other hand to tilt the other's face back up, meeting this eyes. “Just me.”

Blinking one, twice, Stolas offers his lover a slow, exhausted smile. It’s the closest thing to him he’s done since this whole shitshow started, and Blitzo could nearly sob at the sight. “There you are, pretty bird.”

“I…like looking at you more…when you’re you.”

“Pfft.” Blitzo snorts. “You callin’ me hot? Simp.”

Stolas lets the back of his head fall closer to the others chest. “Always.” He murmurs, voice muffled.

“Guys,” Millie leans back and Blitzo’s attention goes back to her, although his hands refuse to leave his bird. They’d probably have to wrestle Stolas out of his cold, dead hands at this point. On the bright side, Moxxie has finished the first foot and is almost done with the second, so only one arm remains. He continues sawing away at the metal restraints as Millie talks. “This is really bad. I think he’s egg bound.”

“Shit.” Stolas curses low, head flopping to the side, resting his cheek against Blitzo’s chest instead. The imp looks from Millie, to the owl, and back again. 

“The fuck does that mean?” Oh man, does he hate that sympathetic ass look Millie is sending him, like she knows something he doesn’t and it’s a goddamn tragedy. He almost growls at her, but catches it.

“It means the egg needs to come out, now.”

“Or- or what?” Stop fucking looking at me like that. Please, stop looking at me like that.

“Does anyone have anything, uh, slippery?” Millie asks instead, pointedly ignoring her boss in favor of turning towards her husband. Moxxie shakes his head. “Vaseline? Chapstick that I can rub over my hands? Anything?”

“Does lube work?” Blitzo thrusts a chin in the direction of his bag - there’s no way he’s moving his birdie. 

Thankfully, after giving him a mildly disappointed look for only a short moment, Millie goes over and starts rooting through the backpack. His employees are always awesome, but he makes a mental note to thank them for being so calm when he’s losing his shit. Things clatter to the floor - a horse figurine, an extra sweatshirt, a pocket knife - as Millie shifts through the bag. 

“Blitzo.” A taloned hand on his chin, asking for his attention, brings him right back to his bird, and he’s immediately looking down at the other. 

“Hey. Hey. You’re okay, pretty bird.” He says again, voice cracking at the end. Fuck. He has to be okay. “We’re here now. I’m not leaving you..”

Something softens in Stolas’ eyes as he cups Blitzo’s hand in his own, instead. Honestly, the imp just wishes people would stop looking at him like that. It’s the look he got when he woke up in the hospital, covered in scars - This is even worse than your stupid brain realizes, and we feel bad that you got yourself into it’. Even if he has zero idea what the hell is going on and is panicking, yes, he still doesn’t like it.

“My dearest.” Oh, how that nickname sits like a sledgehammer in his stomach, immediately springing involuntary tears to his eyes that he doesn’t have a hand to scrub away. Stolas does it for him, instead, using the pad of his thumb “Being egg bound is very serious. I need…you to promise me something.”

“Yeah, hold that though, okay, birdie? No, ah-.” No deathbed wishes on my watch, Blitzo wants to say, but the words get caught in his throat - speaking them makes them real, and nothing is happening to Stolas today, or ever. So, instead, he just flashes the other a confident smile that reaches nowhere near his eyes. 

“Darling.” Stolas’ hand gives Blitzo’s cheek a loving stroke, and the imp can’t help but place his own palm over the others, cradling him there. “I need you to promise me that you’ll take care of Octavia if I die.”

No. No, no, no. “No. Shut the fuck up.”

“Blitzo-“

“No, Stolas, I’m not fucking- I’m not taking care of your daughter, you are. Stop fucking around.”

“There is a real chance that I die tonight-“

“No, there fucking isn’t.” Blitzo’s hand is trembling like a leaf, now, still holding Stolas’ fingers to his face. He makes a sound like he’s been hurt when owl moves, but relaxes when Stolas pulls his hand away just enough to intertwine their fingers instead. The owl presses himself closer, bringing their joined hands to his beak and gifting a kiss to the veins in his knuckles, right over the scars. Blitzo’s tears hit the crest of Stolas’ face and dribble down in little droplets, and the imp rushes to wipe away where he’s messied something so beautiful. 

“I have held so, so much over your head, Blitzo, and I am truly so sorry I am doing it again. I wish there was another way. B-But I have to. I’m not confident that Stella won’t harm Octavia and I cannot-I can’t-“

“Why would Stell- You haven’t- Stolas, baby, I’m sorry, but I need you to stop fucking talking. Just save your energy. We’re leaving together, okay? I’m taking you and eggie home and we’ll, we’ll- we’ll-“

“No! Blitzo, I have asked for so little in life, but I need to know Octavia will be okay. Please. Please.”

Blitzo’s lips pull back in a snarl. “She’ll be fucking fine, because we’ll take care of her, together. I’ll bring you h-home and I’ll make you a nice b-big dinner and-and-” Blitzo leans over his lover, sobs overtaking his throat. “Fuck, Stolas. Please. I can’t lose you. I-I need you, pretty bird, you, I love- I like you, so much it hurts.”

When he pulls away, talons wiping the tears from underneath his eyes, he sees, instead of the lidded dull eyes from before, a soft, peaceful smile. “All I have wanted, since I was an owlet, was to hear those words. Oh, how I love you, my Blitzo. You’re my light. My soulmate.”

Blitzo feels like he’s been punched in the gut. 

“I l-love you too.” I love you so much. I love you more than I ever knew was possible. Please, don’t go. Don’t go. “Stolas, I love you so much. You hear that? I-I love you. I’m in love with you. You’re it for me, yeah? So you can’t go, y-you can’t. You can’t.”

Millie reaches her hands deep into Stolas with no warning, wriggling her fingers until they slot around the egg. She tries to be fast with it, but Stolas lurches forward regardless, upright and away from Blitzo’s body.

He screams, loud and painful, cracking around the edges and unlike anything the imp has ever heard out of his bird. Throughout all the bear traps, the stabbings, their most kinky Full Moon adventures, Blitzo had never heard Stolas yell like that.  Instinctively, he leaps at the owl, pulling him close to his chest once more and stroking feathers where they rested against his chest. 

“Almost there. Almost there. Keep going.” Millie praises as her fingers work the egg out, slowly. “Great job, sweetie, you’re doing great.”

Stolas arches with pain but Blitzo keeps him pinned down and relatively constrained, trying his best to distract him with soft mumblings. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I have you. I’m never letting you go again. Moxxie, how fucking long for the chains?!”

“One minute, sir!” Moxxie responds immediately. “They’re more fortified than I thought but I’m almost done.” 

“Blitzo.” Stolas sobs out, body shaking. Clawed hands wipe tears away from his cheeks, but they’re replaced in moments, just like the blood leaving his body. Blitzo squeezes him close. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can.” The words are whispered right up against Stolas’ forehead, peppered in between quiet kisses. Any fear or embarrassment he may have had before at the idea of his employees seeing him so soft disappeared the second he laid eyes on his bird. For fucking once, he wasn’t going to make the situation in front of him worse by being emotionally stunted.

The puddle of blood grows. “Millie-”

“I got it! It’s almost there, honey.” Millie says to Stolas, who just lets out another cry in response, talons digging into Blitzo’s hand hard enough to break the skin - and possibly the bone. Maybe it is broken - the imp wouldn’t notice. “Just a little more. Just a little more.”

“You got it, pretty bird. You’ve got it. I’m here. I love you. I’m not leaving. I love you.”

There’s a loud clank as the last metal restraint holding Stolas to the walls of the cell gives way, and his wrist falls, once again caught by Moxxie’s waiting hand. One last scream out of Stolas is matched by an equally loud yell of victory from Millie, and she emerges, within seconds, with a fucking egg in between her arms.

No wonder Stolas was having issues, because his- their egg is huge - probably about as big as his waist is far around, so Blitzo has no idea how he hid the bump so well. It’s a cream white color all around with small, differently shaped blood red dots decorating it and a large patch of red adorning its crown. Millie’s arms seem to buckle just a tad under the weight of it, but her hold is tight, fast, and secure. 

The pool of blood on the ground has reached Moxxie’s shoes, and even when he steps back, it keeps ebbing out, reaching for him. When Blitzo moves forward, to get a better look, Stolas groans low, lets out a slow, even breath, and goes slack in the others lap. 

Stolas’ cloaca makes Blitzo nauseous when he looks at it. The gash has torn further, all the way up to the base of Stolas’ tail, jagged flesh speckled feathers across the floor. They’re immediately saturated in black, sticky with the blood. It flows in chunks and hides away any view of anything else except for dark black. 

“-tzo! Blitzo!” Someone’s talking to him. “Open a portal, we need to go!” 

Moxxie’s voice come back to his ears right when he shifts his view back to Stolas, the loud ringing of a bell echoing in the base of his head. The owl is slack and limp across his lap, head leaning back against Blitzo’s chest. His eyes are closed, and his hands lay slack at his sides. 

He isn’t breathing. Stolas isn’t fucking breathing. 

“No. No, no, no.” Blitzo reaches over, fighting with a force that tries to grab his arm, tries to bring him away from Stolas - but they just grab his glove and move away. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care. “Stolas. Stols.” His voice cracks. “I love you. I love you, can’t you hear me?” He curls around the other. “I’m sorry. Please don’t go.” He’s crying, he’s sobbing, tears running down his face. “I love you. I love you so much. Please. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

A hand touches his shoulder and he nearly whips his neck around to take all of their fingers away, “Don’t!” He snarls,  flinching away from the touch. Can’t they see he’s fucking busy. “Don’t fucking touch him, no, no, don’t-“

When he actually looks at the person in front of him, though, he sees Millie, giving him that fucking look again. She’s not holding the egg anymore.

Opening his mouth - Help him, please help him - all that comes out is this pitiful, weak squeak, followed by a tumbling mouthful of sobs. He holds the precious body of his soulmate, covered in blood he caused, out to his best friend, croaking out, “Help him, Millie. You have to help him.”

“I know, sweetie.” Millie, gently as anything, places a solid hand on Blitzo’s shoulder, then leads it down to his armpit, guiding him to stand. Stolas’ head flops uselessly against the imps shoulders, and it’s all Blitzo can do to hold him closer, make sure he’s comfortable. 

In front of them, a portal glows - Blitzo can’t recall when it opened and he doesn’t care much. “They’ll help him in there. They’ll help him, Blitzo.”

The imp needs no more convincing - he rushes through to the other side. 

As long as Blitzo will live, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget this horrible day. Moxxie screeches  “We need a doctor, now!” into the hallway that greets them after they step through the portal, into Asmodeus’ penthouse. 

Fizzarolli, waiting to welcome them on the other side, takes one look at the gorey scene, at Blitzo’s clothes covered in black, and takes off down the hallway. Feet pounding across the floor, he continues Moxxie’s screaming - “Doctor! Doctor! We need a doctor!”

Blitzo can do nothing but stare downwards, at the newly forming puddle of blood beneath them and the stillness of Stolas’ chest. He feels as though his soul is still in that cell, curled up under the frozen rib cage of his lover, some desperate attempt to warm him. To bring him back. To keep him safer than he ever had, because, once more, he had failed.

They’re led down a hallway moments later by two nurses in white garb. Blitzo doesn’t ask their names and couldn’t care less. His whole body is shaking. Stolas isn’t breathing. They’re all running. 

They’re led to a completely white room with one small window and one large one and a perfectly made, plain white bed in the middle. 

He stays by the owls side the whole time. He stays after laying Stolas down in the bed, one hand supporting his neck and the other still resting on his chest. He stays as the nurses desperately attaching his prince to machine after machine.

He stays when the doctor rushes in and tells everyone to vacate the room so he can prepare the patient for emergency surgery. He stays when the doctor looks at him and says That means you, and he even stays after he tells the same doctor to shove it where the sun don’t shit and bite his ass because he isn’t fucking leaving. 

He stays when they wrap Stolas up in a robe and begin the double process of a Goetia blood transfusion and a long series of emergency stitches. Holding and occasionally squeezing the taloned hand that cupped his face, held his form, wiped away his tears. The hand that isn’t moving. 

Halfway through the surgery, while Blitzo is looking away and trying not to vomit, Stolas’ heartbeat monitor begins beeping - quiet and faint, but there. He passes out and the doctor gets angry at him because This is exactly why you should have left!, but when he comes to, he doesn’t care. He just holds Stolas’ hand again. He’s sobbing. 

Time passes, but Blitzo isn’t sure how much. The surgery is over now - Stolas is stable, but the doctor says the next twenty-four hours are crucial. “If he can pull through this, he has a much stronger chance of making it”. Blitzo knows he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon - not if they dragged him kicking and screaming. 

Before leaving, the doctor - Blitzo should ask his name, at some point - pauses in the doorframe and looks at the imp. “You’re very lucky. If you’d brought him five, ten minutes later, I don’t know if there’s anything I could’ve done. Good job, that is.”

And, fuck, if Blitzo isn’t going to have nightmares of that for years to come. Of Fizz and Ozzie taking five extra minutes to get their coffees, or of them getting caught in traffic. Of Stolas, alone and scared and bleeding all over the ground, pushing out their egg, their baby, all by himself. 

At some point, a hand taps his shoulder, and when he glances up, it’s Loona. She’s holding - she’s holding the egg, close to her chest, and she’s looking at him with wide, worried eyes. Her ears flit backwards. 

“Dad.” She says, over the ringing in his head, as she takes a seat next to him. “You should hold h- them.”

Blinking, he glances at the egg. It’s even bigger up close, with the red hues varying from a light orange to a rusty burgundy near the top. With unsteady hands, he reaches out, and Loona keeps her own paws under his own as she hands him the egg. 

The second it’s placed in his hands, the weight of it shifts, closer to him. The egg tilts, right into his chest, and his baby moves closer to him - closer to his warmth. 

He sobs into Loona’s arms the rest of the night, while Stolas sleeps in the hospital bed to their left. 

Chapter Text

One hour and six minutes after Loona comes into the room, Stolas falls into a coma. 

Before it happens, Blitzo is leaning forward, the egg wrapped up in one of his arms while the other gently pets Stolas’ forehead, pushing back his head feathers. He’s humming to his owl, low and even, when the machines begin beeping their warnings and ruin the peacefulness of the moment.

Within moments Blitzo is scrambling off the hospital chair and looming upright, over his bird, searching for whatever could be the problem. Nurses file into the room and push him aside while he yells “What’s happening?! What’s happening?!” and Loona joins behind him, taking Eggie from her fathers arms. She looks on with concern. 

They tell him, after they run a few tests Stolas is comatose. He just sort of stares at them for a few moments while his brain struggles to process the information. “So when will he wake up?!”

The doctor responds, in the same tone of voice he told Blitzo Stolas would be fine, that while a coma wasn’t what they were hoping for, it wasn’t something to be orderly worried about, either. “Plenty of demons have fallen into a coma and woken up a short time later. It’s not ideal, but it’s far, far from a death sentence. Give him time - he will awaken.”

While already in the room, the doctor - Blitzo can’t be assed to learn his name, even if he introduces himself every time he enters -  does a health checkup on Eggie. He measures the width and length of the shell, their temperature and weight, and records it all on a clipboard. Towards the end of the examination, he asks Blitzo if he would like to know the sex, as they could do a DNA test to find out. “It’s ninety-eight percent effective. Would you know to know?”

Blitzo’s nose crinkles. “Nah, I don’t want to hear anything like that. Not without Stolas, uh, present.”

The doctor hums, jots something else down, and then looks back up. “Well, the good news is that the egg is healthy. I’ve never heard of such a hybrid before, never mind seen one firsthand. That being said,” he tilts his head towards the egg, nestled in Blitzo’s arms, “it makes sense the shell would be a good portion larger than a typical Goetian egg. That’s probably why the Prince had so much difficulty laying, as well.” He leans forward with the butt end of his pen and taps on the shell lightly. 

From the back of his throat, Blitzo growls, lips curling to reveal teeth and tail whipping angrily behind him. The doctor leans back with his hands raised in placation.

“Your imp instincts are certainly in healthy order.” He mutters, looking Blitzo up and down, and writing something else down on his clipboard. “Goetian children hatch out of their eggs roughly a month after they’re laid, but it’s hard to determine how the hybridization will affect that timeline.”

“…Is that a fancy way of saying you have no idea?”

“Yep.” The doctor pops the p and slips the clipboard underneath his armpit. “We’ll monitor embryotic growth and hopefully as it gets closer we’ll have a better idea, especially once we can establish a growth rate. For now…” He holds up a small, black flashlight, barely the side of Blitzo’s pinky, and gestures towards Eggie with it. “Would you like to see them, for a moment? It’ll just look like a blob.”

Blitzo looks at Stolas and deliberates. That’s fine, right? A sizable portion of his heart yearns to see their baby, his new child. He wants to see the fruits of Stolas’ labor; what the owl managed to do for them, how strong he was. Fuck, he was getting sappy in his old age, shit. 

“Sure.” He says after taking too long to answer. “Just a peak - not long. I wanna look with Stols.”

The doctor nods, turns the flashlight towards Eggie, and clicks it on. A red hue beams from the device and reveals, tucked up cozy to the side of the shell, an almost formless black blob. 

It looked like nothing - a liquid shaped circle with measly little bumps for arms and legs. Just as fast as the flashlight was turned on, it flickered off, but Blitzo keeps staring at Eggie. Their baby. His- Stolas’ baby. Their baby.

“Cool.” He croaks, through tears. Ugh. Stupid not sleeping for the last three days, stupid cracking mental psyche. 

A few minutes later, the nurses wheel in a small incubator, a little after Stolas fell into his totally not a big deal coma. Blitzo was afraid Eggie wouldn’t fit in the cradle, since their little fighter is so goddamn big, but they slot perfectly into the box and immediately begin soaking up all the heat they can get from the lamps above.

“The safest place for the baby is in Stolas’ plumage,” Ozzie explains, standing next to his bustling team of nurses as they hook up several wires and heat lamps, “but this is a very adequate replacement until he wakes up.”

Blitzo has his face pressed up tight against the glass of the incubator, staring at the egg with ovals for eyes and little pinpricks for pupils. “Can I still hold them? Should they stay in here for warmth?” His tail swishes behind him.

Ozzie gives him a gentle smile. “No, holding them is very good. Goetian babies have strong survival instincts, even inside the shells. We’re relatively frail creatures without our powers, so the babies who stick closest to the parents are the ones who live. You may have noticed the child move towards you when you hold them, even inside the egg.” 

Blitzo nods rapidly and Ozzie continues, “They recognize family. The little one probably would not do it for me. Similar to imp babies, skin-to-skin - or skin-to-shell, I guess - is good for development. So,” he smiles, “Please, hold them. But the incubator is crucial for sleep and break periods.”

Blitzo nods slowly, absorbing the information while his gaze slips, like it keeps doing, over to Stolas. Asmodeus side-steps around a nurse and makes his way to the opposite side of the hospital bed. Sparing a quick glance at Blitzo, he raises his hand and places his palm atop Stolas’ forehead, right over his upper set of eyes. Just like earlier, Blitzo feels a growl raise from his throat, the three spines on his back straining against his shirt as they rise in defense. Ozzie looks at him and smiles, which is fucking annoying. For some reason. 

He-he can’t help it, okay?

“I’m going to disguise him.” Ozzie offers the explanation like an apology, moving his hand away from Stolas to reach into his breast pocket instead. Producing an Asmodean crystal similar to the assassin's own, he holds it out for Blitzo to look at. “The Goetia haven’t publicly announced Stolas’ disappearance yet, but I have no doubt they know he’s gone. Sooner or later, they will come looking - can you roll down his bedsheet, just a lil’? Yeah, like that.”

Blitzo folds it right over Stolas’ bare breast, letting his hand rest over his stomach instead of pulling away. Ozzie begins to rub at his crystal with expertise and hums, “ And , when they do come looking, they’ll find an imp.”

The scent of magic fills the hospital room, and it’s so close to familiar that it makes Blitzo distinctly uncomfortable. A smell that’s usually earthy and spritzed with lavender and chamomile tea is instead tinted with musk and a heavy undernote of bourbon. 

It’s not bad, but it’s not Stolas. 

In front of him, under his palm laid flat across the stomach, Stolas’ figure changes. Legs become shorter, arms shrink back towards the torso, a long neck loses a few vertebrates. Within a few short moments, what was once the elegant, long form of his lover sits…an imp.

A fucking cute imp, because of course Stolas is adorable in every form he sees. Blitzo almost popped a boner back in L.A. when he saw that twinkshow , but the circumstance is just a little bit different now.  

…Anyways.

The imp laying in front of him is tiny, with delicate hands and a sloped nose, puffed out lips. Black and white horns form tin double curls at their tips; they frame curly black hair with a dark grey streak running backwards from left of his part. Through parted lips, he continued to breathe steadily, blowing a black curl with his breath. His skin is smooth and cherry red, with bright white scars standing out against his shoulder, ribcage, and chest. 

Blitzo’s eyes linger on those, despite his intense need to grab that curl and twirl it around his finger like a simp. Slowly - and majorly forgetting his audience - he reaches out, pad of his finger pressed downwards, and runs them along the lines of Stolas’ scarred skin. The prince doesn’t react. 

There’s a sort of shell-shock, almost, of seeing Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia - someone Blitzo has viewed as so unattainable for so long now - as a lowly imp. A commoner. Someone Blitzo would bump into in the subway, on a shitty day. 

On the other side of the bed, Ozzie clears his throat in an only semi-sorta-pretty awkward fashion, and Blitzo glances back up at him as he draws his hand back towards Stolas’ chest instead. He finds an even smaller form than he’s used to.

“No one’ll recognize him now.” Ozzie slips his crystal back where it was, in his breast pocket. “We should avoid calling him Stolas during his stay here. It’ll make things easy for when the Ars Goetia comes knocking. I’m sure they will.” The Sin lets out a little huff and crosses his arms. “Lucifer knows I wasn’t supportive of what they were doing during the trial, so they’ll come sniffing sooner or later.”

With one arm, Asmodeus scoops up the medical chart that sits next to Stolas’ bed. Blitzo had tried to read it a few times now, but it was pure gibberish to him. With a pop he uncaps a marker, scribbles for a few moments, then turns it ‘round to show the imp. Stolas’ name, on the chart, has been changed to Azra.

“…Azra?”

Ozzie just offers a shrug. “Sounds nothing like Stolas, right?”

“I mean…I guess, sure.”

Ozzie nods curtly. “He’ll need a backstory, too. He’s an imp that came to work for me from Imp City a few months ago, and fell ill recently. If anyone goes digging for any paperwork, I can whip that up, no prob’.”

Blitzo looks down at the incubator, where his other hand has come to rest on. “What about Eggie? I have no idea if the other Ass Goetia’s or whatever the fuck knew Stols was preg-grav-jesus, shit- would the baby be safe?!”

Asmodeus gives a little snort of laughter at the other. “My goodness, I can see why Fizzie likes you. You’re fun.”

“Pshhh. Careful. If I didn’t just profess my undying love to my soulmate, I’d kiss you for that kind of compliment.”

“If any undesirables come knocking, roll the incubator into that supply closet,” Ozzie points a finger towards the door in the left corner of the room, “and cover it with a blanket. It isn’t the most fool-proof solution, I know, but I’d rather keep the egg with you than in a separate room, so it’s the best we’ve got. You’ll hide with them and stay quiet until the person leaves.”

Blitzo’s tail curls and whips behind his body in thinly veiled anxiety. “What about Stolas?”

“Leave him be until the threat passes. They check the room, see an unconscious imp, find nothing of value, move on.”

Blitzo can feel himself growling already. “I don’t fucking like that.”

“You got a better idea?” 

Man, if Blitzo’s had a nickel for every time he’s heard that… Still, he pinches his eyes closed, takes a deep breath, and gets out, “Kay.” Then, after a few more moments, and a lot more genuinely, he says, “Thanks again. For everything.” 

Tilting his head to the left, he lets his eyes settle wantonly on the object of his desires for the umpteenth time that day. “I think it would make him happy, you know? Knowing so many people are in his corner, fighting for him.”

“Yes, well.” Ozzie stands, letting out a Dad-like groan as his knees pop in protest. “Don’t thank me too quickly. There’s still some things I don’t understand at all, not any more than you do.” He raises a hand and rubs it thoughtfully at his chin for a few long moments. “I still can’t find any record of this happening with another male Goetia. I’ve heard rumors that it has, but the Ars Goetia keep their dirty secrets well-hidden. I take it Stolas had never mentioned being fertile to you before?” 

“No. He didn’t even know it was possible, based on what he was tellin’ me.” Blitzo runs his thumb over the blanket atop Stolas’ chest in a sort of nervous tick. I should’ve worn a condom. Just to be safe. Now look at what’s happened, because of me.

Ozzie clicks his tongue. “Well, I’ll keep digging. We’ll have a better idea of how to help him if we understand what happened in the first place.” He turns to leave, but his gaze lingers on the imp in the plastic chair for a few moments longer. “None of this would be possible without you, Blitzo. We’re all hoping for his speedy recovery. I’ll keep my best staff on the case. Good night.”

Yeah, you’re sure as fuckin’ right that none of this would be possible without me. He’d be safe, not on the run, and with all of his blood inside his body. He forces a smile anyways. “Appreciate it.”

Once the door clicks shut behind Ozzie, Blitzo turns back to his bird-turned-imp, trailing his hand upwards to cup his cheek and run a thumb over his cheek. “Hear that, birdie? Everyone wants you to wake up. We all miss you. I miss you.” His hand travels back down after resting for a few moments, ghosting over the others until he gives in. Their fingers intertwine, and he gives a gentle squeeze. “I love you, pretty bird. Wake up soon.”

The real shit hits the fan the following morning.

It’s been one full day now since they broke Stolas out of jail and left a puddle of black blood and broken chains where he used to be. Blitzo is sitting in the same position he’s been in since Ozzie left - sitting in the hospital chair with Eggie in his lap, right arm wrapped securely around them and left hand holding Stolas’ own tightly. He’s humming, quietly, when Fizzarolli body slams the door open, bouncing against the opposite wall with the force. 

“You, egg, closet, now!” Fizz barks the series of orders with a wildly pointing synthetic finger to match. When Blitzo doesn’t move fast enough, blinking at him in a sort of sleep deprived-haze, the clown doesn’t hesitate to wrap a hand around his elbow and force him up, brute-force style. 

Blitzo’s first instinct, of course, is to wrap all his limbs around Eggie, to protect his baby. He could knock Fizz’ hands away with ease, but now that he’s beginning to process what his best friend said, he’s also beginning to hear a set of voices in the hallway. High, annoying, prissy. Fucking British. Goddamn it. 

Blitzo is shoved, with only a little bit of carefulness, into the supply closet in the corner of the room. The incubator is rolled in right after, hitting him square in the chest and bringing a low OOF! from his diaphragm. Of course, he lifts Eggie to keep them from getting hurt, which is the important part, but fuck that would bruise like a bitch later. The door is clicked shut behind him, there’s some shuffling around the lock, and then there’s a split second of precious silence. 

Not a moment too soon, as the quiet is short-lived - the creaking of the hospital door opening can be heard from even inside the closet. Heavy sounds of boots hitting the ground muffles as they hit the assassin’s ears and Blitzo finds himself pressed with his ear against the wood of the door. He has to physically bite his tongue to keep himself from growling, tail whipping behind him in angry, anxious lashes. His eyes keep darting downwards, to Eggie, wrapped in his arms, and their incubator, unplugged and cold. A quiet sort of mewl escapes his mouth and he clamps a hand over his lips.

To keep his baby safe he has to stay here, and to keep his heart safe he has to be out there, protecting him. It takes almost everything in him not to tuck Eggie into the incubator and dart out the door, growling and lashing. He keeps letting Stolas down, letting people hurt him when he should’ve been there to stop it. And he’s doing it again, he’s leaving him again.

His hand tries the doorknob before he spirals any further, but the second he pushes even at all, it meets a strong resistance, which pushes back. Fizzarolli is leaning against the door; now that he looks, he can see the shadowy outline of the other’s feet. Well, he’d definitely get chewed out for that move later. 

Chest burning for air, he sits, unmoving.

In the hospital room, there’s the clink, clink, clink of a hauntingly familiar set of heels, along with many others - policemen, or bodyguards. And, worse, Stolas’ bitchass brother in law, Andrealpuss. Elsa fuckhead. 

Fucking two agonizing minutes pass in which Andrealphus searches the room. Most of it is muffled, and Blitzo keeps wondering if he’s touching Stolas - looking him over, studying him. At one point, the footsteps come closer, and Andre clears his throat. “I’d like to try the door behind you.” he says.

There’s movement. “Oh, yeah, we lost the key for that closet ages ago. We can probably take the door off or something if you want proof, but it’s just a little boiler room.” There’s quiet, then, “I can call Ozzie down - it’ll probably take a few hours for the construction guys to get here, but-”

“Ugh, that all sounds like a major pain in the ass. Uh- you, Hellhound! Come over here, sniff this door. Are there living creatures behind it?”

Silence stretches for a few moments, and Blitzo freezes where he is, still up close and comfortable with the door, Eggie in his arms. Shit, shit. Okay, what’s his plan here? The place is too small to hide, so that option is out. Can he trust Fizz to grab Stolas while he takes care of Eggie, if they have to book it? Fizz may not be able to carry Stolas- but he’s probably pretty strong from his routine…

“-...ing, sir.” He zones back in to hear the Hellhounds steps retreating, not growing closer. “I can’t smell anything.”

“Hm. Okay. He’s not here.” There’s some more shuffling, some lower talking that Blitzo can’t make out, and then the door to the hospital room clicks closed again. 

One or two more minutes of long silence pass, just to be safe, and then the door - the one Blitzo is still pressed again - slowly peels open. Fizz’s head peaks just so into the closet, and he lets out an apologetic, “Hey-”, followed by a more crackled “Hey!” when he’s shoved aside. 

Blitzo barrels out of the small room like a bat outta, well, hell. He’s pushing the incubator, and by extension, Eggie, and the first thing he does - after an initial visual check on Stolas - is plug the machine back in. Although the wires are complicated as fuck and the heat lamps kinda burn your hands when you go to move ‘em a little, he’s become familiar with the process in the past twenty four hours. He didn’t like the idea of needing a nurse if anything went wrong, so he asked them to show him how to work the contraption. 

Once their unborn baby is comfortable, situated, warm, Blitzo turns to his- lover? boyfriend? He’s slept so little in the past two and a half days that he’s starting to see double - and rushes over to him. 

What if something happened while he wasn’t looking? What if Stolas woke up? What if someone hurt him?

“Pretty bird. PB.” He croaks, low and rushed, hands roaming all over the others body to double, triple check that Andre didn’t touch him, that nothing hurt him again. Something was going to come and hurt him when Blitzo couldn’t help him, again, like when he’s stuck in that closet, again, and it’s gonna- he’s gonna lose his family, he can’t protect them-

A hand on his shoulder, shaking him like a rag doll, knocks him right out of his panic. He didn’t realize how fast he was breathing, but his heart is pounding in his chest, and there’s fucking- tears streaking down his face. He doesn’t hesitate before scrubbing those away with the dirty cuffs of his sleeves. 

“Blitzo- fuck, man. Breathe. In and out, like that.” The hand on his shoulder travels downwards and rubs across his back, applying light pressure in circles. Blitzo threatens a glance backwards, vision still blurred around the edges. 

“…You okay?” The look Fizz gives him is…concerned. Worried. Blitzo tries to smile at him but it comes across about the same. 

“Yeah…yeah, fine. Sorry, that was weird.” He looks back at Stolas. His bird is okay. It’s all okay. He scrubs his eyes again, but he can’t find a clean part of his sleeve to use anymore. It’s all fine. It’s all good. 

Fizzarolli doesn’t look so convinced. “Yeah.” He hums. “Okay.”

An hour later, Andre and his hellhound lackeys ransacked both the apartment and IMP. Thankfully, Loona’s at the hospital, with Blitzo, and all of the remaining documents that didn’t get nerfed during the original panic three- four days ago now, fuck - and their weapons were safe at M&Ms house. Which was left untouched, for some reason - or perhaps only for now.

After Ozzie tells Blitzo the news, and his daughter returns from the staff kitchen where she was stealing cookies, Blitzo wraps himself around her and hugs her tight. She cranes her arms away from his clingy grasp, but doesn’t push him off, which is a win. He almost falls asleep in her arms, cradled in the softness of her fur, but he continues to fight it, even if it gets harder by the second. 

It feels like, if he lets go, if he sleeps, she’ll disappear too. He can’t protect any of them - not enough to keep them safe. It’s all so terrifying . 

So, he doesn’t sleep. The last time he got any real shut-eye was the two hours power nap he snagged before they busted Stolas out. If he closes his eyes, Andre, or worse, Stella might come back, and he may hurt Eggie, or Stolas. No; he fights to stays awake. 

Faintly, he hears Loona, Millie, and Moxxie all conspiring against him. They say he’s going a little ‘crazy’, that he’s acting ‘odd’. They don’t get it. They haven’t seen the love of their life bleeding out in front of them from an egg they basically pumped and dumped. 

Around dinner time, Moxxie comes up to his chair and gives his foot a little kick with his own hoof. “C’mon.” He huffs. “If you won’t sleep, at least get out of that chair. You must be going fucking crazy.”

Blitzo blinks away from where he was looking, at Stolas. With his hand he absentmindedly pushes the incubator back and forth, back and forth on its wheels, Eggie sitting inside. Voicing this worry aloud would feel like a curse, an admission of guilt, but he’s afraid of blinking off to sleep and dropping them. “I’m fine, you go ahead.”

“Ain’t an option, B.” He feels Millie before he hears her as she hooks an arm underneath his own and heaves him upwards, right into a standing position. He stumbles on numb legs but Moxxie catches his other elbow and together the married couple supports his weight. “See? Gotta get that blood flowin, Boss! C’mon, let’s get some food in ya. Loona’ll watch St- Azra and the baby, wontcha Loona?”

“Got it.” Loona gives them a short salute without looking up from her phone. Blitzo still worries his bottom lip. He trusts his Loonie one-hundred-percent, of course, but…

“Do you have your phone?”

“Sure do, B. Loona will reach out to any of us if she needs to.”

“How far is the kitchen?” He glances down the hallway. “How many minutes of a walk? How many if we’re running?”

M&M exchange a look and he’s dragged out the room in the exact same order they picked got him up and out of the chair in; Which, for the record, fucking rude.

Jokes on them, ‘cuz he sticks with that whole plan for about, eh, maybe ten minutes before he’s booking it back to the room the second the couple turns their back on him long enough. They’ll bring him back a meal, and he’ll eat it in the chair, and it’ll be fine. It’s all fiiinnneeee. 

As he’s approaching the door, muttering something under his breath about “Fuckin- don’t need to be fuckin’ helped, like an old dementia patient, jesus, shit-“, a quiet voice has him taking pause outside of Stolas’ room.

“Hey. Uh….sorry that this all happened.” Loona’s voice is muffled by the closed door between them. “I hope you wake up soon. My dads been pretty depressed, without you around. Before this whole, uh, thing, too - like, he missed you after you fought. He likes you a lot.” She sighs loudly. “And misses you. And blames himself, which is stupid.”

There’s a longer pause. “So, actually, you kinda have to wake up, ‘cuz you have to tell him none of this is his fault. I know you don’t want him beating himself up over all this. I mean, I don’t know you that well, but my Dad’s obsessed with you, so you must be okay.

“Just…hurry up and come back. Tell him he’s good. M...Make sure you come back. He can’t…I don’t think he can take…just don’t fucking do that to him. And you’ve got a kid now, too, so you gotta come back for them. My, uh, sibling, I guess. And Octavia, too. She’s scared shitless.”

Blitzo’s stomach churns. There’s a daughter he’s forgetting about - Stolas begged him to take care of her. He would. He has to. He has to-

He has to watch over Stolas, so the owl can return to his daughter, and Blitzo doesn’t break up another family. 

The silence that stretches after that is longer, and Blitzo is just about to open the door when Loona continues, quiet as a mouse, “I can smell the sex, by the way. I’ll tell you guys when you wake up. My Dad doesn’t want to know without you.”

Blitzo blinks his eyes open slowly, the warmth of the blanket and the feathers surrounding him pulling him back to sleep. He lets them; today is a Sunday, and I.M.P. is closed on Sundays, so they can sleep in to their hearts’ desires. He snuggles closer to the feathered chest in front of him.

The body deflates with a loud exhale and a smile settles on the imps face, fighting off the invite of sleep just to open his eyes and look at Stolas. 

His husband is still fast asleep, all four eyes closed and mouth open just a part, letting out quiet, hooted snores. Blitzo’s smile grows and it occurs, in the back of his head, how hilarious he must look, drooling over his hot ass husband at six am. Can you blame him?

Snuggling even closer, his tail unwraps itself from where it was anchored around Stolas’ thigh and instead wraps around his lightly distended belly, instead. The spade rubs absentmindedly over where it rests, along Stolas’ side, the muscles he complains about soreness in. In his sleep, Stolas lets out a content little moan that’s so unguarded, and Blitzo can’t help but let out a little snorted laugh. 

“Mnngg….” he groans quietly, eyes blinking open once, twice, then settling on Blitzo. “G’morning, my darling…”

“Mornin, you two.” Blitzo purrs out, squeezing Stolas’ body in a quick but gentle hug. His owl sleepily runs his beak over the imp’s horns in a form of preening, picking away any loose keratin and nibbling away bumps. Blitzo giggles a little when it tickles. The ex-prince leans down just a little, and the imp uses his feet to push himself upwards, careful of the others’ stomach.

Cupping Blitzo’s face in his palm, Stolas tilts his head up, and sleepily connects their lips. Blitzo relaxes his entire body into the kiss, feeling sleep tickling at the edges of his mind- so safe, here, with his family, his whole family, his love- Stolas kissing him- Stolas being his-

“-ir. Sir. Sir. SIR!”

Blitzo jolts away and curses loudly as his head THUMPS against the wall behind him. He’s sitting in the hospital room, in the same chair, Eggie in the incubator, Stolas in the bed. He’s fallen asleep with his head on his palm, and all feeling, from the tips of his fingers down to his elbow, is entirely gone. He sleepily shakes out the limb. 

“Sir, this is getting ridiculous. You need sleep. ”

Head swiveling to the right, Blitzo sees Moxxie standing in the doorframe, staring at him with crossed arms and arched eyebrows. Shit, how long had he been asleep for? It would probably make Moxxie angrier if he asked that.

Stolas. How’s Stolas? His head whips around to the other side just as fast, and shoulders untense just a bit when he lands eyes on his owl- well, imp, for now. Still asleep, still tucked under the covers where Blitzo pulled them up to his chin and made sure his whole body was covered so he wouldn’t get cold. Everything is still in place. Running a hand over the blanket, just to be sure, he finds the steady rise and fall of that small imp chest - just the same as it has been for…uh….

“-...ts been four days. How much sleep have you gotten? You look dead on your feet, Blitzo. You can’t continue like this, you’ll pass out, or worse, and then what?”

“God, shut up.” Blitzo growls, but the statement has no bark. Not as he reaches up and rubs his eyes, digging the heel of his palm against the socket in hopes to soothe the persistent migraine that sits there. “I’ll be fine. Where’s Loona?”

“She’s at home. Where you should be.” Footsteps approach him and the screeching of the chair as Mox pulls it back to sit down is way too loud in Blitzo’s eardrums. “I don’t mean to be a total asshole, Sir, but shouldn’t you be with her, too? I get that you’re worried about Azra, I do. But she’s kinda flying without you right now.”

Blitzo stares at Stolas’ form, and slowly blinks. His head turns towards the other. Moxxie is looking right at him, way too closely, lips drawn in a determined line and eyebrows mildly furrowed. 

“Blitzo.” He says, more gently, placing a hand on the other’s knee. Blitzo almost recoils, but pauses. “You look, kindly, like shit. You’re not taking care of yourself. How can you take care of Azra, or the baby, in this condition? How are you going to prove to Loona that she won’t be replaced when you’re here, all the time? Actions speak a lot louder than words, y’know.”

And, you know, ouch. Blitzo winces and Moxxie gives him a hard look. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. She gets it - she’s worried, like we all are. Prove to her that you’re not going away by taking care of her and yourself.” The hand on Blitzo’s leg travels upwards, clamping and holding his shoulder - and then swiftly pulling him down.

The assassin lets out an uncoordinated oof as he’s maneuvered into Moxxie’s lap, head resting against the others thighs, with Mox’ arm resting on and casually petting his horn. When Blitzo moves to get up, Moxxie holds strong, keeping him down.

“Just…fucking sleep.” His coworker mutters. “I’ll keep an eye on things and then Millie will take over. But you need to rest and take care of yourself, for half a- second, for Satan’s sake.”

Blitzo is already asleep - he has been since the moment he became perpendicular, really. Moxxie just continues to pet his horns.

That night, after Blitzo wakes up to both Millie and Moxxie quietly talking, rocking the incubator back and forth, he agrees to let them take over for the night. He gives them a tight hug before leaving and thanks them for being as amazing as they are. Even promises not to stalk them for a bit. He’s got his hands full, anyways.

On the way back to the apartment, he stops at the drugstore and re-emerges twenty five minutes later with two nail polishes and a cheap, but nice smelling, perfume. Tucking them into his tote bag, he walks the rest of the way home with his head down. Imps passing him on the street call his name, whoop and holler, but he doesn’t give them an answer. The idea of being a hero with how much he’s let everyone down, with what Stolas is going through-

The door clicks closed behind him and he kicks his boots off next to the entrance. Loona’s door is open a crack, and when he glances inside, she’s not there. His arms feel too empty without Eggie in them, so he busies his hands, making her bed and putting all the stuffed animals back the exact way she likes them. When he’s done, he leaves the nail polishes and perfume in an organized pile, leaning against her pillow. 

After Loona’s door clicks behind him, the living room of his apartment feels cold. He wonders if this is just…how it’ll be now. How it’ll always feel. 

The police had obviously turned the place upside down. Loona had tried her best to fix it, but it was evident in the broken pictures, the snapped chair leg in the corner, the crack in their balcony door. 

Whatever. It was a later issue. At least the couch was left relatively untouched - or, at least, his daughter had already fixed the cushions back into place, ‘made his bed’. 

When he collapses, he sleeps for about fourteen hours, and only wakes around four pm the next day. 

The blanket has been pulled up tight around his body where it’s usually fallen to the floor with all his tossing and turning, so Loona is home. Scrambling to check his phone, the first thing he sees is a text from Millie with a photo attached - Eggie, in the incubator, and Stolas/Azra/ Whatever, asleep in the bed in the same state he left him. Accompanying the image is the caption All good with a goofy little thumbs-up emote. Blitzo likes the message and slips his phone back under his pillow, groaning dramatically and flopping his cheek back down atop the cover harder than needed. 

In time he drags himself up, stretching arms above his head and listening to the pop, pop, poppoppop of his sore, aching joints. If his back has permanently morphed into the shape of that fucking chair, he wouldn’t be surprised. 

The floor is cold as he putters across it on arched hooves and flips on the stove, cracking six eggs and watching them sizzle with a vague sense of discomfort. Right when he flips them over, the door to Loona’s bedroom cracks open, and she steps out in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. Her hair is wet at the roots and barely dry at the tips, although she keeps wringing it out anyways.

“Hey.” She hums, twirling a strand around her finger and claw. “You’re up.”

“Interested in a late breakfast, sweetie?” He offers in lieu of a response, gesturing towards their two-chair table. She pulls out a chair, plunks herself down, and scrolls on her phone until he slides a gratuitous breakfast platter in front of her. Anything for his Looney.

“Thanks.” She manages to say after she’s stuffed a mouthful of everything at once into her mouth. “...and thanks for the, uh, things, too.”

Blitzo cringes, a little. While it seemed like a good idea last night, he was worried it may come off as ‘buying off her love whenever I make a mistake’. With his back to her, he tries to choose his next words carefully. “Yeah, well, I, uh- I haven’t been, like, around much, since I dropped…some big news on ya. Kinda told you I wouldn’t leave and then left, y’know?”

Silence. “...I mean. It’s kind of extenuating circumstances, I think.”

Blitzo shrugs, and Loona lets out one of those dramatic sighs that are so loud they have him turning around to look at her. “Don’t overthink it, old man - it’s fine. I’m more worried about you than anything, so if you just sleep occasionally, we can figure the rest out.”

Blitzo smiles at her, not fully relaxed, but the closest he’s been in days. “Well, I’ve been missing you, anyways. And life has been insane and I need my Looney time.”

“Ew, fucking gross.”

“I’ll make sure to sleep at home at least every other night, okay? You don’t have to be home those nights, but know that I will be?” He looks at her. “I meant what I said. Crazy as things get, you will always be in the picture for me, Loona. I will always think of you.”

Loona kicks him under the table and shoves more eggs in her mouth so she doesn’t have to answer, but after a few moments, she mutters, “So, why eggs? I feel kinda weird about eating these right now.”

A fucking week passes, and Blitzo wants to shove “a short time later” up his fat. fucking. ass. 

Stolas’ vitals don’t change. Every moment of every day, he lays in the same position, and Blitzo holds his hand and talks to him, and nothing changes. 

The doctor dodges his questions, which tells Blitzo they’re probably answers that would upset him. The imp insists on being in the room during all of the owl’s checkups, because fucking duh, and the doctor does always note that the stitches over the tear are healing well. No signs of infection or problematic healing. 

So why won’t he wake up? 

The doctor hypothesizes that the combination of a traumatic laying and losing his powers so close together sent his body into a sort of shock , shutting it down for the sake of self-preservation. 

It makes Blitzo wonder if losing his powers had been painful. He hopes not, because Stolas didn’t… he had experienced so much pain already. He didn’t deserve any of it. 

Practically every minute of every day is spent in Asmodeus’ gigantic ass penthouse, in one room, sitting next to his bird. If he isn’t holding Stolas’ hand, he’s holding Eggie, the weight of their new child consistent in his arms. The doctor keeps saying that they’re developing well, but Blitzo can’t help but believe they would fare so much better if their other daddy could hold them; Could press them to his chest plumage, make them as warm as he made Blitzo on those Full Moon nights. 

Oh, what the imp would do to go back there, to lay with Stolas one more time, to hold him and love him and talk to him until the sun rose and they were giggling into each others mouths with lazy good morning kisses. The closest he’s gotten is in his dreams, and as beautiful as they are, he’s abandoning his real Stolas and unborn baby when he drifts off. So he fights them…until someone hounds him. 

To be fair, he’s trying to be better about taking care of himself. He keeps his promise to Loona and goes home every other night, sometimes leaving Eggie to be watched by M&M and sometimes taking them home with him. 

No matter how hard he tries, though, the stress makes sleep hard to find. Most apartment nights he sleeps for a short period, then is awake for an hour or two, filling the time by talking to their baby. Tails and arms wrap so tightly around the shell that no one could ever hurt them and he’ll whisper stories - of himself, of what he knows of Stolas, of them together. The baby leans into him.

Despite his attempts, though, he just keeps panicking. Being away from Stolas for too long seems to be triggering some sort of breakdown response in his brain now - his palms sweat, his knees shake, and his mind enters a mantra of Stolas, Stolas, Stolas- 

And it continues until he sees and touches his owl again. Thankfully, having Eggie with him overnight helps the panic, but it’s always there - the knowledge that something is missing, that he should be doing more.

He learns, the first night, that being away from Eggie can be even worse. That feels like being away from the one part of Stolas he has left, and he can’t- he cannot-

Deep breath in, deep breath out, squeeze his kneecap. Moxxie and him had been working on panic attack responses, and hate as he may to admit it, the little shit was right. These breathing exercises did calm him down when he felt the bigger attacks coming. 

None of it was a fix-all, though, and he still felt like he was going a little crazy. Like, crazier than normal. 

Eyes roam over Stolas for the umpteenth time that hour. In the past nine days Blitzo has become painfully familiar with every tuft of soft hair on Stolas’ head, his perfectly curled horns, his parted lips. Blitzo had even fucking- put chapstick on him with the pad of his finger because he noticed them getting a little chapped. 

It’s still strange to see him without a beak, with lips - puffy and cute, just like the fucking rest of him. 

Blitzo uses his right hand to rock the incubator back and forth, back and forth. They were beginning to outgrow the incubator, finally - Blitzo wondered how much more they would grow, before hatching. Stolas would probably know. It didn’t matter much, since Blitzo barely ever put them down - essentially only when he was sleeping on an elevated surface where Eggie could fall, or when his arms fell asleep from holding them too long. 

He shakes the pins and needles out his left hand, then rests it on Stolas’ chest, rubbing his thumb over the feathers there. When the static feeling is fully gone, he lets his hand trail upwards, cupping the side of Stolas’ face, instead. A thumb runs under his lovers eyes.

“I miss you.” He says, far from the first time since he’s been sitting here. “Everyone misses you. Millie, and Moxxie, Loona, I know Octavia must miss you-”

Stolas twitches. 

Blitzo’s whole body jolts with his shock but he quickly forces himself to go pin straight and still, staring in front of him with a mouth hanging open. He waits, silently, for anything more. 

And Stolas- he trills, low and soft and a little warbled - and then, warm as the sun after rain, like the kiss of grass on bare ankles, he purrs.

Blitzo feels like he’s been dunked in cold water and he’s scrambling to reach the surface, practically falling over himself to lean over his owl. Hands hover - does he shake him? No, no- but what does he do?!

“Stolas?!” he hisses quietly through his teeth, not checking to see if anyone was there, like he should. “Stols, baby- c’mon, do that again. Please?” 

It was by far the most he’d heard out of Stolas since he fell unconscious a week and a half ago, and he yearned for more. Please. Please.

Still, silence follows. Blitzo lets out a broken whimper, reaching up and cupping the other's face similarly to how he did while he had been bleeding out in his arms. Falling his head forwards, he presses their forehead together, and takes in a hiccuped breath, cursing sleeps effect on his emotions.

“I miss you, Stolas. An-And Loona’s right, y’know? I can’t take another loss. Especially not you.” Blitzo breathes in and out shakily, finding Stolas’ small hand, resting atop the covers, and intertwining their fingers. He gives a solid, tight squeeze. “I just…need you to be okay, alright? I love you.”

Another trill, and another purr, blending together in a quiet, broken symphony. Blitzo lets out a little sob. “Yes.” He croaks, “Yes, yes, Stolas. Wake up, pretty bird, please.”

Nothing. Nothing else. 

“No, no, no…c’mon, Stolas, you can do it.” Blitzo’s eyes dart around. Where had he heard that kind of trill before? When imps purr, it’s for a lot of reasons - to show contentment, because they’re sleepy or sleeping, to call out to others-

Huh. Stolas had made that same high-pitched short trilling sound during a few different Full Moon’s, when Blitzo had been in the bathroom. Blitzo had kind of written it off, but now…

Is he…is Stolas calling out ? 

Blitzo takes a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. Closing his eyes tightly and focusing on his emotions, he swallows. Within a few seconds, a low, steady purr emerges from his chest, quiet but consistent. He tries his best to imitate Stolas’ trill, focusing the sound in the back of his throat, but it comes out disjointed, rough. Like a poor impression

Stolas trills and purrs, again, and then, slow as ever, his eyes gradually, gradually open. He blinks once, then twice; slow, sleepy ones. 

“Stolas.” Blitzo croaks out, fighting every urge in him to grab the others face and kiss him all over and hold him tight. The last thing he needs to do is give his birdie a fucking heart attack by overwhelming him. Instead, he settles for rubbing small, hard circles on the back of his owls hand, massaging into the muscles. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

His bird blinks again. That filmed daze is in his eyes again, and it sets a brief panic alight in the imps chest. Is something wrong, or is Stolas just out of it?

Slowly, a smile, snow and delicate, spreads across Stolas’ impish face, a soft exhale leaving his nose. “Blitzo.” He whispers, like the word alone takes away all his troubles, letting his entire body relax with the breath. 

And, sue Blitzo, he can’t help it, then. Cradling his face like the pretty thing he is, Blitzo kisses Stolas, as gentle as he deserves. When Stolas trills and purrs, Blitzo responds the same. 

Chapter Text

Stolas’ brain is foggy, he isn’t sure where he is or how he got here, he has virtually no memory of anything after the trial, and his whole body is in just a little bit of pain.

But Blitzo is kissing him. Blitzo, the Blitzo, is kissing him.

While he jolts at first, surprised by the motion and barely floating in consciousness as is, he finds himself quickly sinking into the kiss. It’s brief - far too brief for Stolas’ taste, and when they eventually pull apart, all Stolas can do is blink at Blitzo. 

The heat coming from his cheeks practically cooks him alive, as does Blitzo’s proximity to his own body - looming over him, arms framing both sides of his head. Stolas reaches backwards, wrapping a hand around an arm and holding as tightly as he can. Keep Blitzo here - keep him close. 

His lover is speaking, even if the words come across muffled in Stolas’ ears as they still ring low - “Fuck, sorry, I- just breathe, birdie. We’re all good.”

Stolas just blinks at the other. A part of him is earnestly certain he’s died and gone to heaven, somehow, but he’s pretty sure his body would hurt a lot less if this was God’s land. 

After taking a few more long moments of blinking at Blitzo, collecting his bearings, and recovering his breath, he says, “My apologies, darling. I don’t…”

Blitzo strokes a thumb across his cheek and it all feels so painfully domestic. Stolas can’t help but lean into the touch - he has not a clue what’s happening, but goodness if he won’t soak it all in while he can. He is a selfish, selfish man.  “No, no, it’s- take your time, pretty bird. You have no idea how- I’m so-“ Blitzo smiles at him, so brightly. “I’m just fuckin- happy you’re awake.”

Stolas’ hands travel as Blitzo talks, trying to take him in, before whatever dream he is having is jolted. A need burns in him to drag his talons lightly across the others chest, to feel those chiseled pecks he loves so much one last time, even if none of this is real at all. He reaches out, hand hovering over Blitzo’s peck. He pauses. And stares. 

In front of him wasn’t his hands at all, but an imps. He jolts back a hair and glances down at himself, taking in his surroundings and- 

Stretched out below him, hidden by the covers that move easily when he shakily flips them over, is an imps body - shorter than his own, thicker in the thighs and the arms but lean everywhere else. Trailing his fingers back into his vision, he flexes them - he spent months learning disguising spells, and ended up as quite a few odd creatures and demons in the process. An imp, however, had never come up.  

The more his senses come back to him, the more confused he feels; and his eyes just keep on going back to Blitzo’s lips. What in Hell is going on?

“Why…imp?” he gets out eventually. 

His imp, the normal imp, whose been watching him the whole time and giving him a little bit of space, gives him a gentle smile. His tail swishes behind him.. “It’s a disguise - Ozzie cast the spell. You need it. For your safety.

For safety? His eyes travel downwards once more. Why, that makes no sense. Why would being an imp keep him safe? 

His neck is much shorter in this form, and he can’t turn it nearly as far in either direction as he’s used to, which proves quickly difficult. His belly button is an outie - how peculiar! - and his hue was a brighter red than he was used to on most imps. Down his torso his hand trails, feeling the expanse of skin, the new body, palm pressing to his belly. His belly. His- Oh my. 

“The egg.” He gasps, and his eyes dart to Blitzo. “The egg, where is our egg? I-“ He looks down in a flurry, patting at himself, at the hospital bed, fluttering his hands around atop the sheets as if he would find a large shell hidden there. When he looks back up to Blitzo, eyes wide and panicked, he greets not only his impish lover, but…

Their egg, held out to him by the assassin.

“ Oh .” He croaks, because he can’t help it.

They’re a beautiful, beautiful baby - a shell of cream white with red speckled dots and a misshapen circle of red on top, like the pouring of wax. Stolas keeps on croaking like a toad at the sight and he reaches out, like a child, grabby hands and everything. 

Blitzo laughs, not unkindly, and immediately hands their baby over. “I’ve been keepin’ em warm. The incubator helps.” He explains as Stolas rushes to collect them up in his arms, cooing at them, their weight. 

“Oh..” He whispers, looking down at the creature. “Hello, my little one. Oh, my. You are so lovely .” 

The weight of the egg shifts towards him and he looks up at Blitzo with blubbering lips and dripping eyes. The imp doesn’t bother to hide this laugh, letting it out along with a few tears that he immediately wipes away with the bunched up end of his sleeve. “I fuckin’ know, right?” he smiles, and everything feels so overwhelming , but not all in a bad way. Stolas just really want to kiss him again, and hold their baby. 

For now, he does one of those things, and keeps on cooing down at their egg as he rocks them in his arms. The shell is quickly brought close to his chest - he’s missing his plumage deeply, since that’s the perfect place for this baby to do, but any skin-to-skin is better than nothing. Besides, just the weight of them in his arms, wrapping them up in his warmth, soothes the aches that sit throughout his body. 

“They’re so precious.” his shoulders and chest visibly deflate.  

“Yeah, they’re pretty great.” Blitzo lets a long, low breath out from between his teeth and looks up at the ceiling for a few moments before sliding his eyes back to Stolas. The moment he does, he’s smiling again - soft, with tired eyes, but there. “What’d’ya remember?”

The owl-turned-imp hums, eyes still trained on their baby as he rocks the shell back and forth, back and forth. “Being in the cell.” He responds, eventually, “and some parts of delivering an egg.” Your confessions, and mine, he doesn’t add aloud. 

Blitzo’s shoulders seem to relax, a hair, and Stolas wonders for a striking moment if they’re related - does the imp regret saying that, was it just a heat of the moment mistake?

But their tails are still intertwined. 

“That’s basically it. We rushed you to Ozzie, after we got the egg out, because the hospital wasn’t an option and we didn’t know where else to go. You had surgery. You’ve been out for…” he glances at his phone and scrunches his nose. “‘Bout nine days now.”

In a moment, Stolas’ head snaps to Blitzo’s. “ Please tell me you’ve had contact with my daughter.”

“Loona’s been texting her everyday - we know she’s okay.”

“And you’ve told her I’m alive, right? That none of my absence away from her was of my own volition?”

Blitzo sort of winces at that, and starts, slowly and placating, “Yeah, well, it’s kinda not a good idea to give the Goetia’s any sort of- wait, what the fuck, Stols, what-“

The egg is being pushed into Blitzo’s arm and the imp is still stuttering out a variety of “Wait, Stols, hold on-”s, but it all falls on deaf ears. Stolas still, of course, waits until his lover has a good grip on their egg before pulling away, their tails detangling and reaching for one another as he drags himself from the bed. The strength of his forearms is far weaker in this form, but it’s enough to get the job done. 

When he tries to walk, it’s a different story. Perhaps two steps are taken before he, with a loud huff and a squawk of pain, finds himself in a pile of limbs on the ground instead of marching out the door, as planned. 

Two things. One, his entire body hurts , and now that his senses are back and he’s started once more moving numb limbs, he’s feeling every ounce of pain tenfold . Given, falling probably did not help.

A sharp, shooting pain echoes from crotch, up to his stomach and down his knees. Curling into himself alleviates the pain for a moment, but then it sluggishly beats back to life until it’s just as bad as before. He can’t help but groan where his face is pressed up close to and his voice is mumbled by the carpet. Well, I definitely feel like I almost bled out a week and a half ago - that’s for sure .

Secondly, and more importantly, he had tripped over his tail. Stupid thing. It was thinner and much more dexterous than what Stolas was used to in his own feathered fan of a tail; this one coiled and reacted like it has a mind of its own, certainly something to get used to. Especially when it, apparently, gets under your feet quite easily, if you’re not careful. 

For a few long seconds he just sort of lays there on the ground, frustrated and trying to collect his bearings. Two familiarly booted feet enter from the corner of his lopsided vision and kneel into a squat beside him. Blitzo flips his head upside down and bends his body in half so that he’s at Stolas’ level, looking at him straight-on. “You okay down there?” He teases, with a smile.

“Help.” Is all Stolas responds, a bit snappish, and he earns himself a small laugh before hands slip underneath his armpits and lift him upwards. The movement is calculated, gentle, and Stolas thinks briefly of times when he’d been grabbed with much less delicacy. It is strange, being touched gently. Despite it, his body still aches.

He cannot lose sight of what he got up for - his precious daughter, alone and entirely in the dark as fo what’s happening. What if Stella or Andrealphus were hurting her, or trapping her?

Arms push Blitzos’ away, although none of the movements are particularly rough - the imp is still holding their child to his chest. “I have to go see Octavia.” He explains as he comes to his feet again, gripping the post of the bed for better support. 

Blitzo fixes him with a look . “Birdie, you can barely walk. Let’s, just…” The imp leans down again, catching Stolas’ upper arm in his one hand yet again and guiding the both of them back towards the bed. Stolas digs his heels into the ground in some childish show of rebellion, but the imp has him down on the mattress, with little struggle to show for it, in about thirty seconds time.

“Loona has been texting Octavia every day.” He says as he tucks the blankets around the others struggling body, still using one hand. “We know she’s safe, and she would tell Looney if she wasn’t, because who doesn’t trust Loona?” He uses his tail to pop the incubator open, presses a kiss to the top of the shell, and puts it down delicately on their pink pillow.

“It is not fair to her that she has no idea where I am!” Stolas growled. “If Loona thought you left her, of your own free will, wouldn’t you be falling over yourself to tell her that isn’t true?”

“I-“

“Look whose awake!” The door to their room bangs open, cracking against the wall as it bounces upon contact. Both Fizzarolli and Asmodeus enter with a character-appropriate flourish and Fizz beelines it for the bedside, smiling wide at the prince-turned-imp. “Ozzie, call the doctor!”

“Oh, I don’t-“ Stolas goes to wave his hands, to dismiss a checkup; that feels awfully pointless, when they’ve already done so much for him. 

Any protests fall on deaf ears, and, to be fair, Blitzo makes no attempt to fight it. He just tucks their egg into the incubator and closes it with pristine care before returning to the birds side and intertwining their impish fingers.

Within minutes the room has filled with doctors and nurses, all wearing the same white vest with Asmodeus’ emblem embroidered into the breast pocket. They flurry around one another like a well-oiled machine, taking Stolas’ vitals and asking him questions about his pain levels. 

Readjusting the lapel of his jacket, the main doctor - the one Blitzo keeps growling at when he gets close to Stolas -  pivots towards Asmodeus. “Could you turn him back to a Goetia for a moment? I’d like to check how his stitches are healing in that form.”

“Of course. Azra?” The Deadly Sin sent Stolas a smile that can only be described as apologetic. “This will probably hurt. My apologies.”

“…Oh. Oh, yes, that’s fine.”

Blitzo held Stolas’ hand tight and fast as Ozzie raised the crystal from his breast pocket and rubbed it in a way that would make a nun blush. The familiar scent of magic filled the four corners of the room, and Stolas felt his body shifting, his feathers regrowing, his limbs extending. He was a Goetia once more. 

And, Lucifer, did it hurt. Any pain felt in the imp form was a mere drop in the pale of what his body was feeling now. A choked whimper is forced from his throat the second the switch is finished and he finds himself pitching forward, grip on Blitzo’s hand tightening on instinct. 

Blitzo squeezes back, no matter how much it hurt, and flails forward himself to secure his other arm around the other. He presses a hand on Stolas’ shoulder and gently guides him back up, inspecting his pinched expression. 

“Okay, okay Birdie, it’s okay. Actually - lay back.” The assassin guides Stolas so his back is flat against the mattress of the hospital bed. Blitzo makes sure to rushedly fluff the pillow before he laid down and the material puffs on either side of him, cushioning his ears. 

Once he’s settled, Blitzo reaches back out and just keeps stroking across his forehead with one hand as the Doctor regards him with a high eyebrow. “May I proceed?” he asks, and waits for an answer.

Stolas nods and the Doctor carefully reaches out, grabbing his knees and spreading his legs apart. The blanket of the bed is pushed up and over his stomach.

The check-up is brief and beyond a tad humiliating. With cold gloves and a gentle touch, the doctor checks on his stitches and hums a quiet “Good, no infection” after a few moments. Stolas, meanwhile, is breathing evenly and calculated, trying very much to ignore what was happening, and the pain associated with it. It was strange - he’d never ached so badly, down there, but he felt like he’s been torn in two. Probably because he has. 

Blitzo, meanwhile, is…not behaving. Every time the doctor hums or Stolas can’t help a little hiss of pain, he growls, and only biting the inside of his cheek hard enough that even Stolas can tell it hurts gets his body to stop doing it. It’s sweet, but Stolas is in fucking pain, and this is embarrassing. At least Asmodeus and Fizzarolli stepped outside while the Doctor did what was necessary. 

When the doctor leans back up and steps backwards to throw his gloves into a nearby receptacle, both imp and Goetia relax their postures. Stolas sits up in bed as the doctor speaks. “Well, good news is that the stitches are healing about as expected. I’m prescribing you another week of bedrest, though - at least.” 

Stolas’ jaw nearly hits the floor and he lets out a little indignant squawk. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious, young prince.” The doctor regards Stolas candidly, then tilts his head towards the incubator, where their precious egg sits surrounded by warm blankets. “I’m sure you’re aware that the size of that egg is not something Goetic bodies are made to carry, never mind lay. You almost died. Had these imps brought you five, ten minutes later, you would have perished.” He stares at Stolas a moment, two moments longer, then slides his eyes over to Blitzo. Stolas does the same, and-

Blitzo looks scared. His eyes are downturned, his tail is swishing anxiously behind him from where he stands next to the bed, and his hands are almost ringing where he thinks the owl can’t see them. Stolas takes in the expression, mouth slightly open in his processing, as the doctor continues to speak.

“One week. I’ll check back in next Sunday and we can determine if more time is needed.”

“I-“

The doctor turns, opens the door, and steps out the room, while Asmodeus and Fizz walk back in. Stolas lets out a frustrated huff and Blitzo takes his hand where it’s fallen to the mattress on his right. 

Stolas turns to Ozzie in a huff of feathers. “Asmodeus, you cannot expect me to stay here.”

The deadly sin, however, just waves his hand, and another burst of magic pulsing through the room has Stolas’ transforming back into his imp self. The pain fades with the new body, once more a faded thumping instead of the overwhelming burning he feels as a Goetia. 

“I’m sorry, old friend.” Fizz jumps up onto Ozzie’s shoulders, offering the owl an equally as pitiful look as his boyfriend shakes his head. “As soon as you can move, we’ll let you do so. But your body, even in this form, is still weak. It’ll do ya good to get some rest!”

The smile he sends Stolas’ way is not returned. In fact, the owl, with an annoyed grunt, crosses his arms and turns his head one-hundred-eighty degrees. 

Blitzo says, voice stronger than before, “He’s right, Stols. You’re on the run , going to see Octavia would be stupid.”

“Y-You cannot ask me not to see my daughter. I’m disguised. Blitzo, I was thrown in jail, and she has not a clue where I am or if I’m alive. I cannot do that to her.”

“What if I found a way to tell her, without tracking anything back to us, that you’re safe? If I showed you proof of that, would that make you feel better?” Blitzo blinks at him. “At least for now.”

Stolas blinks and turns his head ninety degrees back ‘round, still not meeting Blitzo’s eyes. “...It wouldn’t be a permanent solution. And you’d have to explain to her why I can’t personally see her. And I-I have to give you something, to give her.”

Blitzo winces at the last line. “What if someone sees that, though?”

“They know I’m alive, Blitzo - I disappeared. They just can’t find me.”

“I happen to know of a magical parchment that disintegrates once the intended reads it.” Ozzie interjects with a raised finger from the corner of the room. Stolas relaxes a little, and sends him a thankful smile - an answer in and of itself.

Perched on his shoulder, tail swinging behind his body, Fizz is just staring at Blitzo, a small smile on his face. 

Ozzie continues. “I also have some, uhm, other news, pertaining to a conversation Blitzo and I had. Specifically about how this,” he waved a hand towards the incubator containing their baby, “lil’ miracle, happened.”

Stolas and Blitzo both perk up at that. Blitzo has been talking to Asmodeus about this? 

Earnestly, Stolas was quite curious. Perhaps he would’ve caught onto the fact he was gravid earlier, and had more time to prepare, if he had known it was possible at all. But when he cast that spell on his body to see what was causing him ailment, a fully formed shell was not what he had expected to find. 

Fear also rumbles somewhere deep within Stolas. What if he did something to cause this - what if this was his fault, along with everything else? Oh my, his heart wouldn’t be able to take it. 

“It’s tricky - there’s only a few mentionings of this ever happening in any recorded texts, and they’re all super vague and older than Sin.” He smiles. “But there’s a few stories and corroborating journal entries telling young male Goetia’s running off with male lovers. Apparently, when a Goetia has…” he looks at them, then sighs, and continues gently, “romantic feelings for his beloved, his body can create a womb of magic and produce an egg. It doesn’t work like a normal gravidity in female birds - depending on the hybridization of the species, the egg can grow bigger than normal. One text was even from a hospitalization record of a male Goetia almost bleeding out after laying the egg, although he also survived. Anyways,”

Stolas stops listening, at that point - not of his own volition, but because the ringing in his ears becomes so loud he cannot possibly hear anything else. 

So it is his fault, after all . This whole time, from the very moment Stolas told those guards to let Blitzo go and led him back to his palace chambers, he’s been trapping the imp. He knew Blitzo wasn’t there to ravish him; he was just spent, desperate, sexually repressed and lonely. 

But he had seduced him, anyway, and then proposed a deal when he realized Blitzo would never stay of his own volition. How could he realize that, and, instead of letting Blitzo go, manipulate him so?

Stolas could not regret that deal more if he tried, yet it gave him so much time with Blitzo that he never would’ve gotten otherwise. Guilt, guilt, guilty.

And what else did he do with that time but betray it - using their full moon nights together to trap Blitzo, yet again, with a fucking baby? The imp hadn’t even known it was possible, had never taken any precautions because he didn’t realize there was any reason to be c autious. Yet here he was, stuck with the prince for the next eighteen years - assuming the child ages in imp years, which is a big assumption. 

Goodness, this is all his fault. If he’d had more control over his emotions, maybe his body wouldn’t’ve incubated itself, wouldn’t’ve reached out to Blitzo’s life force like a growing vine, a weed, a man desperate for love.

A hand on his shoulder, giving him a sharp and gentle shake, causes him to take a shuddered, staticked breath inwards. When he jolts his head to the left, ears still ringing, he sees Blitzo - and he’s speaking, but what he’s saying is anyone’s guess. “...ck. Stols? Stolas, I’m sorry, I know it’s fucking- I’m so sorry, this is so much, it-”

Here it comes. He must hate you - whyever would he not? All you do is trap him, take his liberties and decisions away. What love is one born of ignorance and foolishness? How am I ever to fix this?

“-ols? Hey, Stolas.” Something touches his shoulder and he flinches away. “Stols, I-I know it’s a lot, but y-you gotta calm down, yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” It forces its way from Stolas’ mouth like someone has punched his gut and he vomited the words right up. Once the dam has broken, it flows, little croaks of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” developing into soft cries as Stolas wraps his arms around himself tightly. “I’m so sorry, Blitzo. I have gotten us a-all into such a mess , allowing Andrealphus and Stella to ever touch you, your business- and now I have..” he sobs. “You shouldn’t have to be t- tethered to me like this b-because I cuh-can’t control my feelings. I know that you will love our child just the same, Blitzo, because you are good, but I am so sorry that all I have ever done is-is trap you.”

“What? St- Azra, fuck , you’re not- you know what, fuck this, hold on. Is your pain bad? Like, as an imp?”

Through his heavy breathing, his crying, Stolas gives the other a confused, teary-eyed look. “N-No?”

“Okay, good.” Hands flit underneath Stolas’ small imp frame, one cupping his upper back and the other over his butt, and Blitzo picks him up, moving him as far left as he can on the bed. Behind him is a dent, created by his body, and Blitzo, without any warning, begins clambering onto the mattress.

His arms and legs flail more than move as he jumps up and slips under the covers. Immediately he attaches himself to Stolas; he misses the feathers he loves to bury himself in, but he satiates himself by pulling the other close and resting his chin atop his head. 

Stolas pauses for a moment, and Blitzo just tugs him closer, pulling the others skull over his chest and positioning the ex-prince’s ear right above his heart. In a soft, gentle pattern, Stolas listens to the steady thumping. 

He’s still crying - the feeling of wet tears cannot be pleasant against Blitzo’s worn muscle tee - but the other just strokes his head and shushes him, far too gentle for what Stolas deserves. 

If a kiss is pressed to his forehead, Stolas just curls himself even closer, trying to soak up everything he’s given before he loses it all again. He cannot blame anyone - this is only his fault, only he is to blame for his numerous mistakes. But, goodness, does he want to enjoy this while it lasts. 

Flicking his tail out from behind his body and slithering it out from under the sheets, Blitzo wraps it around the handle of the nearby incubator and pulls their baby closer. Only when the machine and their egg are as close to his body as the bed frame allows does he let go and settle back into Stolas, tail letting go to search out the others instead. Once united, they intertwine, twirling around each other under the covers until they knot at the body. 

Stolas’ shoulders begin to slowly relax, even as his tears continue to soak round wet splotches into the soft fabric of Blitzo’s shirt. Tilting his head forwards, the assassin clinks their horns together, just so. Stolas does his warbled purr-trill combo, and Blitzo responds with a quiet purr of his own. 

Together they lay, intertwined amongst one another, until Stolas’ breathing has calmed to a normal rate. Blitzo’s heartbeat is steady against his ears, echoing through his head and his blood, low and consistent and alive . His arms are wrapped as tightly as they can be around Blitzo’s torso, and if he expects the assassin to move him away or detangle them, it never comes.

“Uhm…” The assassin imp runs blunt nails along one of his lover's newfound horn, the left one, and although Stolas can’t directly feel the motion, it vibrates where the horn meets the stumps and feels good anyways. “So, like, I do get it. I-I do. Uhm…” Blitzo wrings his hands. “I-I’m sorry.”

Stolas jolts a little, and leans back far enough where he can take in the others face. “Why on Earth are you sorry, Blitzo? I’m the one trapping you all over again.”

“...What?”

Stolas’ imp body shudders entirely against his will, and Blitzo is immediately resuming his petting, reaching the horns, the neck, and three small spikes that now push from Stolas’ back. “You heard Asmodeus. The egg came about because I was so naive, Blitzo - I wanted you so badly that my magic changed my body and brought something upon you, upon us, that neither of us knew was possible and were never prepared for. I am sorry.” 

Blitzo lets out, of all things, a barked laugh. Stolas pulls back in a jolt to stare at him, indignant eyebrows furrowed downwards, and he says, slowly, and definitely a little pissed, “I’m not sure which part of what I just said was funny.”

“Sorry, sorry. Birdie, did you listen to Ozzie?”

Now, it is Stolas’ turn to blush, an embarrassed hue taking over his cheeks as he leans back again - even though Blitzo’s tail tightens around his own and forbids him from going too far. “Perhaps I didn’t catch, well, all of what he said…I started to panic, maybe.”

Blitzo just smiles at him, and it’s a little dejected - a little sad. Stolas’ shoulders deflate; he’s been awake less than an hour and he’s making Blitzo unhappy, of course-

But then Blitzo presses another kiss, gentle and long, to Stolas’ forehead, and pulls the other back into his chest. The once owl blinks -  he could be mistaken, as he often is in affairs of emotion, but this didn’t feel like what you did when you were mad at someone.

“Man, we’ve both got a lot to learn, huh?” Blitzo breathes out, low and earnest, and Stolas almost takes that as a critique, too, until he feels the body pressed against his relax into the sheets. “Stolas, Ozzie said the magic can’t be one-sided. You-” he looks away, “ wanting this would’ve never been enough. He said, uh- man fuck you please listen next time-” he runs a hand down his face, palm flat, and only once it drags down to his nose and lower does Stolas spot the bright red blush that’s illuminated across Blitzo’s face. “He said the spell only works if both of the demons loo oooo …luh-huh-huh… love each other. Equally.” 

He still doesn’t look back but his voice is stronger with the next sentence, “This one’s on both of us, birdie. No need to flip.”

Stolas reaches out, holds Blitzo’s face, and tilts it back towards his own. Before he can think himself out of it, doubt his instincts until he’s running in circles, he pulls the other close, and they’re kissing again.

This one feels different than the past ones they’ve shared - recently, of fear of Stolas dying and of happiness for Stolas waking up. This one, instead, is passionate without sexuality - it starts gentle, lips pressed to beak, but the second they get a taste of one another, they’re desperate for more. 

Tongues never wrap around each other in a heavy make-out session yet they’re both desperate just the same - Blitzo kisses and holds Stolas, ‘round the shoulders and as close to his body as he can, like it’s all he needs to live. When they pull away for air, he’s pressing kisses wherever he can reach - the newly-found imps forehead, his cheek, his lips. In return, Stolas kisses his clavicle, his neck, his insignia. 

Wrapped up in one another, in a hospital bed in Asmodeus’ penthouse, with Stolas an imp, they lavish in love. It feels clunky and disjointed at times, when Stolas bumps his horns into Blitzos’ because he isn’t anywhere near used to their presence yet or when Blitzo goes to wrap his fingers in chest plumage and just ends up scraping his neck does Stolas’ skin in a way that hurts now. 

Stolas puts that aside, like he’s putting so, so much aside - his guilt, his turmoil, his fear, all shadowed by Blitzo’s hands, his breath, his whispers of, “Need you, Stols.” And Stolas knows he doesn’t mean it sexually, because he wouldn’t, not now, and because Stolas finally feels like he just may actually understand what Blitzo means when he says something. He feels the same. 

He needs Blitzo, in any way he would be so blessed as to have. So he kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.

Eventually, they pull their lips apart, but their bodies remain closely joined. They’ve switched - Blitzo is now pressed up close to Stolas’ imp chest while the once-owl rests his back on the mattress and his chin upon the other’s head, running dull fingernails up and down his back. The spikes puff and flatten in response and a low purr, coming from the bottom of Blitzo’s chest, has Stolas returning a trill. 

His eyes keep drifting over to their egg - their beautiful, wonderful egg. “Darling.” He says, suddenly, reluctant to break the peace. “Can you get them?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Blitzo sits up, pops his back with two arms above his head, then reaches over. It’s a little hard to maneuver, because their tails are still entangled, and detangling them is a task neither wish to tackle yet. 

But before long, the egg, smooth to the touch and heavy in his hands, is pushed to Stolas’ chest. He takes them up immediately, cooing softly, feeling the weight shift. He remembers that with Via - Oh, Via, my Dear sweet Via - but he doubt he’ll ever get used to it.

“I’ve been callin’ em Eggie.” Blitzo says, watching the two from the corner of the bed with his body squatted down in a painfully cat-like sit. It doesn’t help that his eyes are big and round and his head is tilted just an inch to the left while he watches every movement with a smile. “They can tell us the sex, if we want.”

Stolas looks up at the other, then down at their child. “I do not know what I want.” He whispers earnestly, running a thumb over the porcelain shell, up to the splotch of red on the crown. “I am just…mystified.” I felt this exact way with Via. He doesn’t say that but out loud.

Still, Blitzo smiles at him, all soft around the edges. “Y’know, for a long time, I never thought this was possible.”

Stolas snorts and rocks their baby. “Darling, we never knew this was possible at all .”

“No, not the egg. I mean…” He waved his hand in a sort of awkward referencing motion, between themselves. “Honestly, when you started, uh, frea- having a panic attack, or something, I thought you were just…really scared of the idea of, y’know, me. Liking me .”

“ Loving.” Stolas corrects quietly, although it’s an overwhelmingly terrifying correction to make, after all this time. 

“L-luhhhhhhving. Look, Stols - you are- you were a prince.” Blitzo winces. “I’m an imp. That’s a gigantic fucking wall in front of us right there, but I’ve also just made.. so many mistakes.”

“As have I, Blitz.”

“No, no, you don’t get it.” Blitzo takes a deep breath. “I- There’s just- there’s shit you don’t know about me, yeah? And when you know it, I think you may hate me for it.” Blitzo's hands find themself in front of his body, ringing once more. Stolas strokes the exterior of their babies shell.

“Blitzo, I could never-“

“ Stols. Please.”

Stolas falls quiet but Blitzo reaches out, finds his unused hand, rubbing the back of it, gentle and repetitive. He takes a deep breath. “I’m starting to think that, maybe, even if that is possible, it isn’t, like, the only option. When I was watching you- when you almost-“ he scrubs at his eyes and Stolas’ hands jolt; he’s crying? - “I’m fucking afraid, pretty bird, of fucking this up, of hurting you, of hurting whatever we have going here. But I’ve lived through almost losing you, and that is so much worse.”

Stolas breathes shakily and kisses Blitzo again, which he quickly returns. When they pull apart, faster this time, he rests his forehead against the others, joins their hands, and brings Blitzo’s so that he’s also resting a palm against the shell. He trills, and Blitzo purrs. 

“What is this? What’re we, Blitzo?” he dares to ask. What comes after a magically proven love confession? What comes after a baby? “We continue to be anything but normal.”

The imp leans back, and the look in his eyes is so sickeningly soft as he cradles Stolas’ face. “Normal is fucking boring, Stols - I just want you . Boyfriend, partner, lover - however you’ll have me. Although I do want it to include kissing, kissing is nice.”

Stolas laughs and kisses the other again, a hand on his cheek, laughing into his lips. “Hmm. Boyfriend has a cute ring to it.”

Blitzo smiles. “Boyfriend it is. Damn. My boyfriend, Stolas of the Ars Goetia.”

“Are you going to say it until it doesn’t sound like a word any more?”

“Oh, fuck yeah. This is my Boyfriend, Stolas. Hey! My Boyfriend asked for no pickles! Yeah, that tall glass of water is my Boyfriend - no pictures!”

Stolas’ quiet laughter is muffled from where he’s wrapped up in Blitzo’s arms and wraps the other up in return. Eggie keeps shifting back and forth, back and forth, moving their weight towards both of their parents' voices. 

In the morning, ten days after Stolas’ disappearance, the Ars Goetia hold a public press conference announcing the owls’ disappearance and offering a reward to turn him in. Blitzo and Stolas watch it, Stolas sitting up in bed and Blitzo standing behind him, rubbing his back. 

Stolas can’t look anywhere but his daughter, Octavia, standing to the back left of the stage and keeping her head down. She looks so sad.

Attached below is the amazing commission from @mundayme on Twitter/X (the same person whose art inspired this piece!!!)

Chapter Text

The next week and a half is both torture, and a life Stolas has always wanted. 

First off, all he does, twenty-four hours a day, is lay in that hospital bed. He gets up very occasionally, usually to use the bathroom, but it’s always with an assistant. Typically it’s Blitzo, who holds him by the arm and brings him there and back without a singular complaint; not even a sigh . 

The help is a little excessive; any pain he had in his imp form is practically gone by day four or so, which is something he’s thankful for. It’s replaced with numbness from sitting too long, which is easier to deal with. 

Losing his magic becomes a bigger problem as his hours awake push on. He’s reminded every time he reaches out a hand to float his cup over or to pick up the book Blitzo had brought him. Even the sweetness of that gesture couldn’t drown out the pain that echoed when the romance novel stayed in place, unmoving.

It all hurts, but Blitzo’s presence makes it bearable. 

Speaking of, the imp is attached to his side. It’s strange - the once-owl has wanted this for long, and he’s grateful for it, truly, but now he’s so stuck in his head that all he can do is sleep, care for egg, repeat. He feels selfish, for not appreciating the long hours that Blitzo spends with him more - for just staring at the TV instead of smiling and laughing and taking care of Blitzo back and being the lover he should be. 

On the second day, Stolas realizes that Blitzo hasn’t left to go to work yet, and he quietly asks Blitzo how I.M.P. is doing. The imp responds with a blush that the business was still closed. 

The guilt pours over him in a new wave. His company is closed because of you - because he’s here, taking care of your scrawny twig ass! “ You should not just- shut your whole business down, for me.”

Blitzo stares at him intently for a few moments, almost making the ex-prince squirm, before he just waves his hand with the flick of his wrist and turns his head to the left. “It ain’t nothin’, birdie. We need time to reopen. And anyways,” he blinks, and his tail flicks behind his body, “You are worth that. I would do it again, if you were hurt.”

What a foolish man you are, then, Stolas wants to answer, but he just smiles tight and hums and looks down. Blitzo finds his hand, intertwines their fingers, and then cuddles their body together. The purr he emits, soft in the pit of his belly, feels like a quiet acknowledge of words left unsaid. Perhaps Stolas is just imagining things. 

Even though it troubles Stolas that his precious imp has put his livelihood aside for the once-prince, he finds comfort in the fact that the other goes home every other night to see his daugher. Eggie was often left with him, since the incubator was inconvenient to transport back and forth. He found solace in wrapping around them at night, but he misses Blitzo. Without him there, thoughts of Via consume him, and he cries into his unborn baby, whispering quiet apologies. 

When Blitzo returns the next morning, he climbs into bed and wraps himself around Stolas’ imp body, as well as the egg that laid in his arms. The three of them, all snuggled up in bed together as flames lick higher into the sky, should have Stolas in a better mood; the him from two months ago would be jumping with joy right now. 

But Stolas isn’t happy, and that feels like a slap in the face to everyone who's been trying so hard for him. The status of his and Blitzo’s relationship makes him ecstatic, with the imp kissing him awake most mornings and then proceeding to spend the whole day by his side. They talk the daylight away and Blitzo’s tail almost always finds it’s way into curling around Stolas’ ankle, or foot, or knee. When Stolas gets particularly uncomfortable or bored, Blitzo massages his legs or his back, turns on his favorite rom-com, and curls up in his lap to purr until he feels better. He doesn’t deserve any of it, yet he lets himself rot in it, curling around a kindness he never earned. 

He’s so in love, and yet his chest sags with guilt. Octavia sits in every one of his thoughts and he imagines how she must feel right now - your father leaving you, sacrificing himself and ending up in jail, and then he disappears. With no trace of where he is or if he’s alive. Then, he reappears, with the imp he promised you he would never leave you for, and a new child.

Oh, my darling Octavia. How is she doing? How are Stella and Andrealphus treating her in his absence? His heart aches to have her near, to hold her, to apologize for all of his many wrongdoings and beg at her feet for forgiveness. What he would do to just see her.

Yet, for now, he’s been forbidden to move. Blitzo ensures that in a number of ways, from sitting by his side all day long to quite literally sitting himself atop his chest. It’s quite effective. 

The doctor checks in periodically, requesting that Asmodeus turn Stolas back to a Goetia long enough to check his stitches and his temperature. Although the pain is still much worse in his Goetic form, especially when he’s sitting up at all, being in his body still brings him comfort. As long as he shifts his body weight onto one particular portion of his backside, it’s not too insufferably bad.

Blitzo won’t stop staring at him during the checkup. Once everyone has left afterwards, he tells Stolas that he would’ve buried his face into the other’s chest plumage if there hadn’t been other demons present. Stolas blushes and turns away and tells the other to Behave, and then fifteen minutes later, he’s sobbing about Octavia. 

He cannot fathom how much of a pain it must be, dealing with him. 

On the third or fourth checkup, the Doctor posits that losing his magic is probably what triggered the laying process to begin. “Not having your magic is also likely to be what made it particularly…traumatic.” He hums while he’s running the pad of his finger over the stitches of Stolas’ most sensitive area. His mind forcefully wanders from his body; if it doesn’t, he may start crying, and that would be highly embarrassing. 

What is Octavia doing right now? Is she well? Is her Mother being kind to her?

Eggie continues to test well, to Stolas’ relief. For the week before his trial, he had been wrought with fear; finding out he was gravid was a total surprise. No precautions had been taken as of late; he was carrying on with his morning, afternoon, and evening glasses - or bottles - of wine, and the occasional blunt before bed was no stranger. What’re the chances that he hadn’t hurt their unborn child with that sort of foolish behavior? 

Whatever they were, they leaned in his and Blitzo’s favor, because their baby was healthy. Thank Goodness Goetic magic does wonders in protecting and facilitating an eggs development. Or, perhaps, their little miracle was just a fighter. Stolas wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. 

The shell is in his arms almost all hours of the day, from the very moment he first wakes up. He must miss his feathers just as much as Blitzo does, because the need to pull the child in close and bury them in his down is a constant itch that doesn’t get scratched. Instead, he just holds them as close as possible, all the time; Always rocking, or cooing, or snuggling them close. At some points, his arms grow tired, even as he’s lying down, and Eggie ends up tucked underneath the bed sheet beside him. 

One night, before Blitzo leaves, he stares at Eggie for a few minutes, tail swishing back and forth in a pattern Stolas is slowly starting to recognize as Blitzo being deep in thought. “What’s on your mind, darling?”

“Huh? Oh, nothin’.” Blitzo takes a big, dramatic bite of his sandwich, swishes his tail, and asks Stolas about the HellaNovella playing on the screen. Said ex-prince forgets the topic as he gets lost explaining the recent plotlines following Alejandro and his particularly lascivious escapades. 

The next morning, though, when Blitzo comes waltzing into the room, he has a contraption strapped to the front of his chest. Stolas isn’t sure what it is at first - a series of black straps hanging uselessly and confusedly, all in place with a solid buckle around Blitzo’s waist and clipped to his lower back. His and Stolas’ iced coffees in one hand, his imp walks right up to the bed and places his flat palm against the back of the book Stolas is re-reading. He pushes it aside with a flourish and earns a soft “Hey!” for making the other lose his page.

Honestly, though, Stolas’ attention had already been stolen from the book. He’s quick to offer up Eggie when his love makes a grabby-handed motion towards the baby. Hovering over the mattress, Blitzo manipulates - mildly shoves, as Stolas whispers, “Ah, be careful-!” - their unborn baby into what Stolas now realizes is a carrier. 

The imp in front of him straightens his back and takes a sip of his iced coffee with a smug smile. A small smile spreading across Stolas’ face, he murmurs, “Hold on, hold on,” as he searches for his phone. Once retrieved, he snaps a quick picture, Blitzo’s out-jutted hip and peace sign the perfect touch.  

“This isn’t all.” Blitzo says dramatically, voice taking on a sing-songed lilt once Stolas lowers the camera. The imp starts his way towards the bed, handing Stolas his drink in the process and pulling the incubator closer with his tail. When all is situated, he reaches towards his back pocket and pulls out four brightly colored markers; red, blue, green, and purple. 

“They come off with a wipe. Here, look.” Blitzo then reaches into his other back pocket, where he pulls out an actual small egg, and Stolas barks a laugh at that. His lover ignores him in favor of drawing a line down the grocery store egg with the red marker, then wipes it off with Stolas’ bedside tissues. He wriggles his eyebrows at the other after the demonstration. “Ah! Ah~! What’d’ya think?” 

Stolas looks between his lover and the egg, then smiles. “Your side is going to be only horses, darling.”

“Fuck right it is!”

Loona visits often. She, Mildr- Millie and Moxxie had returned to work at the I.M.P., something Stolas constantly implores Blitzo to do, even though he’s met with steadfast resistance.

Blitzo’s daughter is much kinder to Stolas than the owl-turned-imp could ever deserve. She awkwardly pats his arm and thanks him for saving her Dad, to which Stolas answers honestly - “Always.” She texts Octavia and keeps him updated on how she’s doing, within reason. She is a kid daughter and a good person; just like his own precious girl. 

Octavia. 

And, truly, all of these things are good. At night Blitzo snuggles up to him and wraps their imp tails together and purrs until Stolas can fall asleep. When, inevitably, either of them jolts awake from a nightmare, the other always wakes up with them and sleepily guides the other back down.

And it’s all so good that Stolas just feels more and more horrible for still being unhappy so very often. Almost bleeding to death left him experiencing strange side effects, and, combined with his lack of medication, losing his magic, and his sudden withdrawal from alcohol - he feels like a fucking wreck. Most days all he can do is cradle their baby to his chest and sob while Blitzo holds him and tells him It’ll be okay, we’ll figure it out.

He trudges on. Blitzo will whisper “Mmmbaby…” into his ear late at night, when he can tell the other can’t sleep. And then the assassin will start moving, movements filled with molasses, and Stolas will let himself be manipulated and moved with him, because, why not? Blitzo will usually move them to their sides, Eggie in between them, and then pull Stolas close, tucking his head into his neck and making a warm cave out of their bodies to cradle their baby in. The assassin's strong arms will slide around either side of Stolas’ waist and he’ll groan, low into Stolas’ ear, “Mmsleeeepppp….”, closely followed by loud and obnoxious snoring. 

And, while Stolas’ heart still aches and cries for Octavia, he does manage a smile at that, and falls asleep soon after. 

Fucking ten days later, a week and three days after the doctor checked on Stolas for the first time, he clears the other from his bedrest. Not a moment too soon, either, because the patient thought he was going to lose it when he wasn’t cleared after seven days.

But, finally, Stolas is free to get up and walk around of his own volition. No longer does he need an aid to the bathroom or help in getting his favorite title from the bookshelf. In fact, he doesn’t really need any of the hospital equipment anymore - the cleaning his stitches require at this point in the healing process can be self-administered quite easily. 

Even though he insists it isn’t necessary, Ozzie and Fizz extend their kindness even further by offering him a separate living quarters, with a private bathroom, to use for while he’s still a wanted citizen under the Goetic family. The assassin originally argued that they could just move Stolas in now, and that he would just protect him, which both had Stolas aflame with a blush and staunchly disagreeing. 

“I have no interest in putting neither you nor your daughter in any more danger than I already have.” He responds. Blitzo’s tail whipped and lashed around outside his body.

The bedroom Asmodeus set aside for him is so much nicer than he deserves, anyways. The space is more than adequate and there’s an en suite bathroom with a bath - one that would never accommodate his Goetic form, but could handle the imp form he’s settled into well enough. A small couch sits to the left side of the room while a miniature kitchenette, consisting of a counter and a microwave above it, separates it from the bed. 

The bed is a double instead of a twin; much less space than what Stolas is used to, sure, but big enough for his beloved and himself to fit on it without the assassin falling off every few minutes, which is appreciated.

The incubator is situated and plugged in to the right of the mattress, right beside his nightstand. He’s thankful for it, even if the egg has spent the last ten days nestled in his arms and the machine hasn’t been used much. Even now, the shell's weight sits heavy and comfortable against his chest and the pad of his thumb runs up and down its left side; right over a set of stick drawings. Him, Blitzo, Loona, and Octavia, all in a row. 

He thinks, absentmindedly, that his daughter would like the throw rug sitting at the foot of the bed - it was purple, just like the streak she had once begged to get in her hair. 

“Oooh, casa de birdie!” Blitzo says cheerfully behind him, startling the bird and demonstrating an…actually, Stolas isn’t sure what accent it’s meant to be, but it definitely wasn’t accurate to any languages he knows.

Still, he sends his lover a small smile. The other continues, “I brought a house warming gift!”

Tucked into the corner the corner of the room, to the right of his bed, there’s a window with a thin, dusty windowsill. Blitzo walks up to it, swipes a hand across it - effectively scattering dust throughout the room - and, from his tote bag, produces a small plant. He places the leafling delicately on the ledge and takes a step back, whistling at the sight. 

It’s a species Stolas recognizes, but the poor sapling looks nothing like it’s supposed to, with its leaves rotted from disease and decay. The tiny thing is just a baby, too, with its nubby little branches and roots. Stolas can’t help but coo at the sight, holding his very real, very live child closer to his skin in the process. 

“I, uh,” Blitzo looks to the left, and Stolas can see him blushing, just a hair, even if he was trying to move his arms all casual, “I was thinkin’ you could, y’know, bring ‘em to the apartment with you. Whenever you move in.”

Blitzo is, to put it softly, obsessed with the idea of Stolas moving into his apartment. His arguments aren’t faulty, per say - “I don’t mean this in a shitty way, Stols, but where else are you gonna go?”

Which, hurtful. Not unfair, but hurtful. 

Still, Stolas couldn’t quite understand why Blitzo seemed excited about Stolas’ lack of living prospects as opposed to being annoyed by them. It’s not a small thing, having a whole two beings flung on you with only a month of warning, even if one of those beings is your situation-turned-relationship, and the other is your resulting love-baby. 

For now, Blitzo is pacified by Asmodeus’ argument that Stolas shouldn’t be anywhere without high security until he is fully able to move around and defend himself in both forms. Although his stitches are healing well, the walking tests they had him perform while wearing feathers instead of impish skin for the first time in a week proved to be a bit of a challenge. Besides, they have little inside knowledge on the Goetia; what if they came back to the apartment when Stolas was alone?

In this moment, Stolas gives Blitzo a gentle smile that probably reflects said exhaustion a little more than he would usually want. Catching Blitzo’s chin when he goes to turn away, obviously dejected by Stolas’ stretching silence, the other stops him, tilts his chin downwards, and meets his eyes. The once-prince has to stand on his tippy toes - Blitzo will not stop enthusing about Stolas’ imp form being shorter than him - and he connects their lips in a soft kiss.

Stolas smiles into the press of lips and he’s still grinning when they pull away. “I can’t wait.” 

Blitzo looks at him with this dopey smile and a muddled blush spreading across his face, eyes turning to lovesick puddles. His tail is wagging, leaning his full body weight into Stolas’ like an animal looking for warmth. When their eyes meet, Stolas tries to return his smile, but he’s not quite sure if the act convinces the audience.

Why’re you being so ungrateful?

Regardless, Blitzo doesn’t look mad, even as his smile shifts from a bright, happy thing to something lower around the edges, more subdued, softer. “What’ya wanna do with your freedom, birdie?” He asks, still leaning on the other’s chest with his arms wrapped tight around his waist. 

“Is it crazy if I just want to relax?” Stolas deflates a little around the other’s touch. “I’d rather not go right back to lying in a bed, but if we could find somewhere comfortable to relax, that would be…nice.” He glances around, and looks at the couch, giving it a tired smile. “Think that TV can pull up the recent Hellanovella episodes?”

Blitzo looks around and bites on his tongue, a familiar spark of mischief shining in his eyes. “Why don’t you take a nice, long bath, and let Daddy craft up a lil’ surprise for you?”

“Oh, Blitz…darling, you don’t have to-”

“Shush.” Blitzo fwaps his tail gently against the other's butt in a playful little smack. “I wanna. Go take a bath.”

The bath is, indeed, luxurious, and exactly what Stolas needed. The loofah is rougher than his at the palace and the soap doesn’t foam the way he likes, but he’s getting clean and his brain feels lighter for it.

It is, he finds, strange to wash a body he isn’t fully familiar with, so he takes a little bit of time exploring his new anatomy. The provided shampoo and conditioner make his mostly black hair - not considering the ever persistent gray streak - softer than its been since he awoke. Blitzo had given Stolas two sponge baths in the past nine days, and Stolas had been too busy blushing and avoiding the innate awkwardness of the situation to focus on much else.

Flat palms run down arms and massage at elbows, running the pads of his fingers over the sharp bone there. He continues along his skin and to his collarbone, his chest, the flat of his stomach right over his belly button. 

Hands travel lower, and lower, until twenty minutes have passed, he’s breathing significantly harder, and his hands are only gradually loosening their rock tight grip on the bathtub walls. 

When he finally emerges from the bathroom, towel wrapped tight around his waist and another smaller one wrapped - very incorrectly - around his horns, he stops straight in his tracks at the sight in front of him. The bed has been entirely stripped, as have the couch cushions, and in front of the skeleton of the pull-out, Blitzo lays, surrounded by…Stolas isn’t sure. He walks closer.

The cushions of the couch have been propped up to the left and right of Blitzo and the sheets from the bed splay over the top of them, creating a cave that encompasses the imp. Within said shelter, the pillows from the bed and the thick comforter have been arranged together, along with towels and a few horse stuffies, to make a nest. Blitzo is scrolling absentmindedly on his phone, lying on his side, with Eggie snuggled up between his chest and the warmest pillow in the nest. 

“Stols!” Blitzo’s head tilts up and a smile spreads across his face. “You look comfy. Was the bath good?”

“It was lovely, darling.” Stolas said earnestly, if not slowly, still eying the fort in front of him. He’d never seen anything like it. 

“Y’like?” Blitzo asks, voice trembling imperceptibly. 

“It’s…” Stolas takes a few steps forward, stepping around the fort to access the nearby closet, where Ozzie mentioned leaving a couple pairs of pajamas for him. Glancing behind himself to double check and make sure Blitzo isn’t looking at him, and, when he knows he isn’t, he lets the towel ‘round his waist fall to the ground. “It looks very comfy; what is it?”

“You don’t know what a pillow fort is?” Blitzo asks, surprised but not judgmental, head tilting to the left. 

“I’m afraid not.” The shirt Stolas pulls over his head gets caught in his horns, a little, and he’s thankful he’s already slipped his pants on, because he squeaks out a little, “Help,”, and Blitzo is laughing and detangling him in seconds. Still smiling, he’s led to this so-called ‘pillow fort’, and guided to the floor next to his Eggie.

Within moments, Blitzo is cuddling against Stolas’ chest, too, Eggie nuzzled between their two bodies. Their tails intertwine behind their torso as the true imp flounders for the remote - “Stols, lift your butt- thanks,”, and then the last four episodes of the latest Hellanovella episode flicker onto life on the TV. Before long, Stolas’ claws find themselves tracing idly over Blitzo’s scalp, massaging it in the process. He’s given a low purr, and responds promptly with a trill. 

“You should bring the egg with you when you go home tomorrow evening.”

Blitzo’s head tilts forward so he’s looking at Stolas, and he gives a cute little frown and sad eyes combo. “Why? I mean, obviously I will, but I was thinkin’ of maybe…stayin’ tomorrow night…now that you have a bigger bed…”

Stolas once more tilts Blitzo’s forehead upwards, but this time his imp refuses to meet his eyes. “ Blitz.” He says, voice firmer. “Your daughter needs you home. Besides, I can tell you sleep better when Eggie is with you.” His hand strokes the egg while Blitzo’s hand, resting on his hipbone, strokes his skin with the pad of his thumb. “Earnestly, I could use a full night's sleep. Whenever they’re here I wake up every thirty minutes from worry.” 

Blitzo blinks up at him, processing the words in his relaxed brain before he hums, “Yeah, that’s fair. I read- well I listened to an audio book, thank you very much, that said birds sleep better when their eggs are tucked into their plumage.” 

“Yes, well, just another way this new form is difficult to adjust to.” Stolas sighs, letting his own cheek rest heavy against the others forehead. Blitzo’s purrs grow in volume, and a hand, which nestled its way flat against Stolas’ back, ticks downwards, just a hair. He teases at the base of Stolas’ tail, where the newly-turned imp is sensitive, with the lightest of touches.

The touch has an immediate effect on Stolas, who tenses his back and struggles not to arch it embarrassingly. For a few moments, his brain short-circuits. Why did Blitzo do that? Was that intentional?

Since they had officially moved into a relationship - Stolas hasn’t really sat down and processed that yet - they’ve been staying far away from any sexual touches, even if they’re always attached to each other in softer ways now. Stolas didn’t even know if Blitzo wanted to do that again, and he wasn’t sure he had the emotional capacity right now for another big conversation, so it was sidelined.

But, the entire time Stolas had enjoyed himself in the bathtub, claws dipping in deep to finger himself in the way Blitzo does, the way he loves, he can’t stop thinking about his love, his touches, the way Blitzo makes his brain quiet, if only for a time. He craves that piece, that release, to not feel so fucking…shitty, all the fucking time. 

So, when Blitzo touches him, and he has to fight to fucking moan because he’s been celibate for five months now, all he can think to do is breath out a quiet, weak, and downright horny “Blitzo…!”. It almost comes out as Blitzy, but thank Lucifer he catches that last minute.

Blitzo doesn’t know why he fucking did that.

Well, that’s a lie - he knows exactly why he did that. Because he’s in love with this imp-bird-whatever and looking at Stolas all fucking naked with just a towel around his waist and his cute little face gets Blitzo feelings-horny. Which, as it turns out, is way more intense than regular horny. 

His hand had just been resting on Stolas’ back, all normal and unassuming, and then before he knew it he had traced it just a little lower. The moment he realized what he was doing he regretted it, and pulled his hand away; fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell was he doing? Stolas was going through way too much bullshit to deal with his bullshit; he needs to keep it in his fucking pants. 

But, when Blitzo looks up and sees Stolas, peering down at him with his face blushing and eyes forming hearts, his heart thumps. The guy fucking moaned - it was quiet and breathy and not at all like his usual over-the-top sounds but so real and Blitzo had fucking heard it. Stolas doesn’t look pissed, he looks excited - maybe even horny. 

Okay, okay. They need to pump the breaks - he knows they do. Stolas’ stitches aren’t fully healed, even if he isn’t technically injured in this form; Blitzo isn’t taking any chances with that shit.

Besides, with everything the owl has going on right now, is this really what Stolas needs? For them to sleep together less than two weeks into their official relationship?

Stolas is leaning away from him and he’s sure his face is showing his discomfort with that fact. The other tries to hide his burning face away behind his hands, “Oh, my- sorry, sorry. Don’t know what came over me there!”

“Stols…” Blitzo opens his mouth, then closes it when his throat is too dry to produce words. For a few magnificent moments he flounders before he croaks out, weakly, “We should- I- I don’t want you to- oh my god, fuck, I’m sorry, this shit is hard.”

That, at least, gets a half smile out the imp in front of him. “That it is, darling.”

“…I love you. And I want to make love to you. But I won’t ever rush you. So you just let me know, pretty bird.”

It feels like a bandaid being ripped off. Earnestly, Blitzo is a bit surprised at his own actions, dare he say a little proud, but having the love of your life almost die in your hands really gives you a few perspective shifts. He could spend his time fucking around, dick in his hand and letting this opportunity pass him, or he could grab onto Stolas, one of few good things- one of the best things life has ever given him. 

Plus, they have a baby together now. It wouldn’t be an overnight process, not by any means, but Blitzo…he’s trying. He doesn’t want to let his own emotional constipation ruin either their child or whatever miracle he’s found in Stolas, so he’s trying. 

This was just the start, and he’s trying.

Now, Stolas just blinks at him a few times, and he’s worried. Did he say something wrong? Of course he did - but what part? 

Arms encircle and hug him, tightly. He lets out a soft sound at the squeeze, rather involuntarily, which just makes Stolas give him another squish after he’s caught his breath. 

“I love you very much, darling.” Stolas whispers, leaning back with a small smile on his face. “I…I spend every day, every minute, thinking of Octavia. No matter what I’m doing she’s on my mind. The only time I am not thinking of only her is when I’m with you. And I’m still thinking of her - she never leaves me. I have made the biggest mistake of leaving her, and yet she never leaves me.” He takes a moment, a deep breath, and continues. “But when I am with you, darling, it is the closest thing to distracted I can ever be. Amidst the sadness and the thoughts of Octavia is a little light - one that makes me giggle and holds my hand and convinces me that one day, perhaps the whole world could be filled with that same light… even if it isn’t right now.”

“….Stols, that’s, y’know, beautiful, but what in the fuck does it have to do with your birdpuss?”

Stolas just smiles at him, all sweet. “I like being as distracted as I can be, Blitzo. Life is crazy, and all I think about is her, but you…numb the pain. You are my medicine - my light. I crave you.” His hands, holding Blitzo, find his arm and trail upwards, until he’s intertwining his fingers with the other. He leads their intertwined hands first to his shoulders, then down his chest, and towards his newfound, impish anatomy. “I love you, darling. Will you…distract me?”

Blitzo swallows. “…Are you sure?”

“Very much so, yes.”

Blitzo, despite the nervous energy fluttering around in his gut and the pounding of his heart at the prospect of seeing Stolas naked again - even if it’s a different form - gives an unsteady laugh. “Okay.” His hands find and hold Stolas’ waist, fitting into the dips above his hips well. He guides the other backwards. “Lay back, then. I’m gonna take good care of you, baby.” 

Stolas shivers and wastes no time in detangling himself from Blitzo, ending the low purr coming from the others chest and giving a small frown at that even as he lays himself down, back flat, in the nest. Blitzo grabs a nearby pillow and places it where his head will be before he lays, fluffing at the sides of it afterwards. 

“Comfy?”

“Mmhm. This feels more like I’m going to sleep than us about to have sex, darling.”

Like a fucking school boy, Blitzo blushes at the word sex. It’s crazy; even though he’s slept with Stolas so many times before, this feels so different, having confessed his feelings not only to the other, but also to himself. He’d always found Stolas attractive - I mean, the man was basically sex on legs - but now everything that Stolas did enchanted Blitzo. All he wants to do is love this pretty thing, treat it softly, delicately. 

He recovers from his whipped nature to lean downwards and press a gentle kiss against the protruding hip bone of the other, making mental notes of meal preps he would do once he managed to move Stolas into the apartment. He lays to the left of the other and removes his shirt, slowly, running his palm along the other's chest and letting his thumbs trail over the nipples. Stolas lets out an adorable little whine at that and Blitzo can’t help but swallow it with his mouth, trailing his hands down, down, towards the waistband of Stolas’ borrowed shorts. 

Claws tug at the fabric and he detaches their kiss just to watch his lover - his lover, this beautiful thing in front of him is his - nod. With painfully slow movements he pulls down the others shorts, kissing a trail downwards all the way. “I love you.” He whispers into the skin, and old habits are hard to break because it is easier to say during sex, even if the feelings are always true. 

Stolas’ hand finds and cups his horn and he whispers, “I love you, too, darling,”, so earnest, a quiet acceptance, an “I know”. Blitzo reaches up, catches his wrist, and kisses the inside of it, because he wants to and he knows it’ll make Stolas blush all pretty. It does. 

Continuing his trail downwards, he kisses and kisses until he reaches the other’s slit. Its anatomy Blitzo has seen countless other times through his romps with imps - never mind porn - but seeing it now, on Stolas; it’s got him practically popping out of his own boxers. All of his blood rushes from one head to another and he hopes distantly that he doesn’t pass out, ‘cuz that would be awkward.

He indulges his and Stolas’ wants almost immediately - if the gentle whimpering and breathing coming from his once-owl was anything to go by - by running his fingers around the slit. He massages up and down on the outside for a few moments, teasing and light touches, before slipping the tip of one claw inside and teasingly keeping it there. 

“Blittzz.” Stolas whines, lifting his butt off the bed a few inches. At least Blitzo can comfortably know that the other's libido isn’t tapered by this form. He slips his full finger in, down to the last knuckle, and gives half a curl, rubbing along the walls. 

“Oh, Blitzo..” Stolas breathes, fingers squeezing around the others horns. Blitzo leans downwards and licks a stripe upwards, then adds a second digit, drinking in the sounds of Stolas whimpering and moaning. “Blitzo!”

“I’ve got you, baby. Lemme take care of you. Good boy.” Blitzo adds a third finger and scissors them together gently before he arches them upwards, pressing against the upper wall of Stolas’ slit. Like he expected, Stolas’ dick, hard already, slides from his body with the pressure. It takes a few moments for the skin to pull down but when it does the cock is sitting tall - quite big, for Stolas small body. The owner stares down at his dick with wonder, while Blitzo licks his lips. 

Just like the assassin’s own, Stolas’ imp-dick is covered with small, red bumps. His slit drips slick onto the nest below them - gonna have to clean those sheets - and Blitzo takes a moment to capture Stolas in a kiss, gentle and wanting. At the same time, he takes his three slick covered fingers and wraps them around Stolas’ girth, using the fluids as lube to help him take an easy, experimental pump. 

Into Blitzo’s mouth Stolas moans loudly, and when the assassin pulls away, the other just chases him and reattaches their mouths. Blitzo takes a few more slow, testing flicks of his wrist, revelling in the way Stolas’ hand, once gripping the sheets, comes up to grip his shoulder instead. “Hmfgn-mm!”

He’s so cute. Fuck, he’s so cute. “I love you.” Blitzo whispers into Stolas’ mouth, desperation running through his blood in a thrumming rhythm even though he himself stays untouched. He jerks the other off, loving the way Stolas grips him, cries out in his arms. Good thing they were in the Sin of Lust ’s penthouse. 

Still, even for Blitzo, this isn’t enough. It feels filling, to be touching Stolas like this after missing him like a burning fire for so long, but it still wasn’t enough. 

He pulls away from Stolas’ lips to press a gentle, lingering kiss right below the other's lower left eye, right on the crest of his cheek, then trails himself back down. His hand never stops its slow and repetitive task of stroking Stolas up and down, up and down. He wants to show the other all the pleasurable feelings this body can give - all of them.

Pressing a kiss to one hipbone, then the other, he releases his hand, and takes the tip of Stolas’ dick into his mouth. Using his fingers to hold the base still, he looks up, gazing at Stolas with batting lashes. 

And Satan, does his owl look ethereal. The other has tilted his head back, a little moan leaving parted lips. He squeezes one hand into the sheets below them as the other digs fingernails into his lovers shoulder. “My- fuck, Blitzo, don’t stop, don’t stop-“

As if any force in Hell, even Lucifer or Satan themselves, could separate Blitzo from Stolas’ body right now. He tries to convey that with a hum around Stolas’ cock, letting himself slide down until the head tickled the back of his throat and his nose brushed up against Stolas’ pubic bone. 

“Blitzo! Fuck, Blitzo, Blitzo, oh, darling-“

Listening to the chant like a prayer, Blitzo pulls up, then slides back down. He begins sucking and bobbing his head at a steady pace, loving the way Stolas’ thighs twitch below his neck, the way his lover's face burns so brightly with a blush that it goes all the way down his neck. 

He pops off the cock to nuzzle his cheek against it, whispering “Good boy, baby. Can you cum for me?”

A very enthusiastic nod from Stolas is half covered by his arm, which, during his restless movements, had traveled up to cover his face. Blitzo clicks his tongue. “Wanna see you. Don’t hide your pretty face.”

Maybe Blitzo wouldn’t be the only one to pass out, because Stolas’ blush is just as bright as he lowers his arm. Blitzo rewards him by popping just the head of the cock back into his mouth, rolling it around and slipping his tongue over the slit a few times before he sinks lower again and continues his mission to suck the other off to the astral plane. 

“Bl-Blitz, Blitzy-“ Oh hell fuckin’ yeah, yes please, yes- “I can’t- I’m gonna-“

Blitzo moans, in his head saying That’s okay, baby, go ahead, but the words being a little muffled by the dick stuffed down his throat. The vibrations must’ve been the tipping point, because suddenly, two hands are gripping Blitzo’s horns and shoving him down, as far as he can go, hips bucking upwards and into his throat. 

The assassin takes it like a champ, wrapping his tail around Stolas’ ankle as the other arches his lower back away from the pillows below them and cums down Blitzo’s throat. 

Everything feels like it’s on fire - his face, his head, the skin on Stolas’ thighs where it flutters underneath Blitzo’s gripping palms. Blitzo slowly, slowly pulls off the other, suctioning him with a pop, and then shifts upwards. Stolas’ arms are outstretched towards him in a quiet plea and it takes Blitzo no amount of time to answer the call, curling up right around the other. He purrs, low and content. 

“…Blitzo…” Stolas mumbles, after a few moments. Glancing up at the once owl confirms what his groggy voice hinted - his lover is slowly falling asleep. His energy seems to be taking its sweet time coming back to its fullest. 

“Yes, baby bird?”

“W’bout you…”

Blitzo laughs gently, tilting his face into Stolas’ head and pressing a kiss to the others hairline. “Don’t worry. I got what I wanted,” He says earnestly. 

The next day, Stolas says goodbye to Blitzo around seven at night. His imp lover has their egg, new horse doodles freshly dried, strapped to his chest, and a fizzling portal in front of him to the apartment. Stolas bids both of them farewell with a kiss, Eggie on the shell and Blitzo on the forehead. 

He watches them leave, and, twenty or so minutes later, gets a text from Blitzo saying he had arrived home and was making dinner for him and Loona, even attaching a photo of himself in a magnificent Kiss the Cook apron. 

Stolas has to breathe. Now is not the time for distractions. 

On light feet, he rises from his bed and wanders over to the closet, sorting through the clothes here - all Asmodeus’ - until he finds the item that had inspired this idea. A long cloak, much too short for his normal body but more than enough to swallow this one in fabric. It’s perfect. 

He pulls on the dark blue piece and straps it everywhere it needs, tying it tight around his neck and hiding his face at all sides within the hood. With one look in the mirror, he nods. 

Time to go see Octavia.

Chapter Text

Andrealphus has completely frozen over the palace.

Realistically, Stolas expected there to be at least some damage. His brother in law had a proclivity for extreme temper tantrums, and he has no reason to believe any of his personal belongings would’ve been spared. Perhaps foolishly, he had hoped that some of his plants would’ve been lucky enough to survive - maybe even in good enough condition to bring them back to his temporary living quarters. Besides his daughter, the only two things he found himself missing in his days awake were his plants, and the stars. 

The moment he stepped up to the palace, shrouded in both his cloak and the dark of night, he knew that none of his plants could’ve survived what sits before him.

“Home” is perhaps not the word he would use to describe the palace - it felt far too warm for a place that has felt cold since Stolas’ earliest memories. But it was still the four walls he was raised in, and, far more importantly, it was the four walls he raised his precious daughter in. He would call his daughter “home”, in a heartbeat, so he certainly has something to owe to the foundation that kept her steady and the roof that kept her dry. 

The palace in front of him is entirely coated in ice. The sounds of thin cracking and the occasional dripping echo around him, along with the tapping of his claws along the frozen floor. As upsetting as the sight is - especially the trees he planted as just a boy by the edges of the front walkway, which had been fossilized in their death, withered away within the icy grip - none of this is why he came. 

Pulling his hood up, he moves forward.

Where is the safest place to enter? He could attempt to climb the wall to his balcony and slip in through the glass door, just like Blitzo had done for all those Full Moons. His darling grew up a performer, though, and always possessed a sort of agility that Stolas does not possess. Besides, even if he isn’t feeling much pain in this impish form, it probably wasn’t a good idea to push it with some impromptu parkour. 

The front door was out, for several reasons. 

There’s a back entrance only a few people know about, tucked far left of the garden and hidden behind a bend in the wall. It’s a staff entrance, leading directly into the kitchen, and it’s kept locked; but Stolas knows where the spare key was kept - as long as they haven’t changed it’s location in the past thirty years. As a boy, he had followed Mr. Butler practically everywhere, showering him in that inquisitive, upbeat nature he carried in his early years. The same personality his father would have shouldered, had he been present. 

He clearly remembers Mr. Butler slipping the key underneath the far left flower pot, near the door; mostly because he had stolen it later on in life, as a rebellious teenager, to study plants in the night. 

Trying to be as quiet as possible, and slipping on the ice only a few times along the way, Stolas makes his way towards the backyard and slides his way down a very frozen hill. 

At the base of it sits his garden - or, what remains. Oh, his poor garden. All of his precious plants are encased in Andrealphus’ ice magic, most surely dead underneath. Not a single one of his green babies escapes the grasp of the cold, and even the most hardy of his botanicals would surely not be alive; not anymore. Even the- ugh. 

Even the pot that they key is very hopefully hidden underneath has been frozen solid to the ground below it with a layer of ice that must measure five, six inches thick. For a few seconds, Stolas just stares at it blankly, holding his cloak a little tighter round his neck to fight off the cold breeze tickling his skin. When he peers over his shoulder, towards where he keeps his shovel leaning against the bend in the garden's leftmost wall, he finds it also frozen to the bricks. Fuck.

On slow and steady feet, trying not to wipe out on the ice and expose himself with the clatter of an embarrassing fall, Stolas makes his way over to the patio. With a considerable amount of prying, he’s able to detach the smallest of his frozen lounging chairs from the ground. The freezing cold metal burns the palms of his hands in ice-cold pain, and it feels like it may fuse to his skin if he doesn’t put it down fast enough. 

He turns around, raises it above the pot, and brings the leg of the chair, solidly and repeatedly, down on the base of the pot. Loud cracks echo louder through the cold and the weak metal leg of the chair shudders under the weight of the hits. Stolas winces, even as ice chips away. His legs tremble below him.

One good, solid smash has a chunk of ice covering over half the planting flying across the ground, and it teeters for a moment, then falls over. 

Somewhere not too far in the distance, Stolas hears a voice, then two, and then they’re growing closer. He throws the lounge chair off to the side and crouches low to the ground, inspecting the ground where the pot used to sit. Thank Lucifer, the key is still there. Oh, the key is still there! At last, something goes well.

He slots his fingernails underneath the metal to pick it up, and it won’t budge, because it’s frozen. Goddamnit, fucking-

The voices grow closer and Stolas spews a litany of curses low under his breath as he picks up the forgotten plant pot and begins to desperately smash again at the key. The ice around it cracks, but it stays frozen to the brick below.

Closer, closer, closer the voices come, now clearly speaking - “-...ink it’s another raccoon, or somethin’? They keep gettin into the trash and scurrying around back here.”

“‘ve got no clue why they’d wanna be in the cold.”

“You tryna understand a dumb animal? Beats me.”

A bright flashlight falls on the pool, then the lounging area - lingering on the tipped over, disregarded chair - and then, finally, the pot by the door. The ceramic rolls back and forth on the ground, cracking lightly against the ice and brick. “Stupid fuckin’ animals.” One of the guards mumbles, walking over to the lounge chair and leaning down with a low groan to put it back where it was.

Tucked against the side of the house and hiding behind a trash can, key gripped close to his chest, a hand pressed tight over his mouth keeps Stolas’ panicked breaths from hitching and giving him away. Thankfully, the cover of dark is particularly thick in this corner, so he hunches, and waits.

The other officer gives the pot a little kick - oh, his dear sweet Charise. She had always been such a well-mannered sapling, and an even sweeter plant. Stolas looks up at the sky and apologizes to her for using her body in such a cruel way, post-mortem, all while the officer mutters, “See, nothin’. Raccoons. So, I was saying…he’s just the best, man. Tiffany’s got nothin’ on him.”

“But have you even seen Titfuckers best works? She changes your world .” The voices of the guards fade out, along with their crunched footsteps, as they walk back up the hill and round to the front of the house. Stolas holds his breath the whole time, and only releases it when he can no longer hear their conversation at all, even distantly. 

With shaking hands - it’s so fucking cold , and he’s quickly learning that this imp body has horrific temperature control - he slots the key right into the door and turns it. It clicks, and Stolas sighs as he gently pushes the door open. 

Only for half a moment does he hesitate - the bustling kitchen nearly pushes him back outside - but he quickly steps back inside his palace.

The kitchen is abuzz with cooking and cleaning; dinner was served just a little over half an hour ago and dessert, it seems, is almost ready to go out. Staff that Stolas recognizes and some he doesn’t all hurry past him, too busy with their own tasks to notice or question his presence. He keeps his head down - but the hood down, because that would be sketchy, right? - and slowly moves through the kitchen. 

From somewhere right around him a demon barks “Behind!”, loudly into his ear, and he stops walking to turn and find whoever was speaking to him - and whatever they mean. All too quickly, a body right behind him - Ohhhh….. - collides with his own, and Stolas is almost sent to the floor in a pile of broken dishes and tangled limbs. He’s saved, though, by a hand, catching his elbow and pulling him back upwards. His head spins for a moment.

“Ah, my apologies!” 

Shit, shit. Stolas recognized that voice immediately - Mr. Butler. He tries to tilt his head even further towards the ground as the man continues, “I didn’t see you there - you okay?”

Stolas opens his mouth, then closes it, and repeats the motion a few more times, quite like a fish. What does he do? His voice hasn’t changed at all - his childhood nanny and singular lifelong companion is sure to recognize it, if he’s paying any sort of attention. Perhaps he’ll be so occupied by tonights meals that he won’t notice.

Focusing as hard as possible to keep any shake from his voice, Stolas puts on his best American accent, lowers his voice a little for extra effect, and responds, “No problem.”

Mr. Butler just stares at him and blinks twice. “...Yes, uhm…okay. Have a good day.”

Stolas gives a short nod and scurries towards the kitchen door, managing to avoid any other bustling bodies on his way out. Mr. Butler watches him out the door, then, once it’s closed behind him, turns to his left and taps his coworkers’ shoulder. When the other staff member looks towards him, he says, “Please prepare another cup of tea for Lady Stella and Lord Andrealphus.”

“Another, already?” The imp tilts his head. “Dinner was barely forty minutes ago.”

“Yes, please. I have a feeling they’ll be in the lounge for quite a while.”

All the paintings that once hung throughout the left wings’ hallways have been replaced. portraits that once showed him and Octavia brightly smiling are now looming, glaring portrayals of Stella and Andrealphus. Their eyes seem to follow him as he walks through the hallways. He wonders where the old paintings had ended up - if they had been destroyed. Hopefully not - seeing his baby daughter's smiling face used to bring him so much joy, and he would hate to lose them forever. Perhaps he already has. 

The hallway leading to the chamber wing leads right in front of the largest lounge the palace houses, and Stolas begins to hear familiar voices as he turns the hallways bend. Seems like Stella and Andrealphus are still enjoying their dinners.

He approaches the door, large and looming, on slow and carefully quiet feet. As he gets closer he finds the entrance ajar just a few inches, and he freezes in his steps. Depending on where they’re sitting in the room, either of them might spot him as he walks by. 

Taking a quick glance down at himself, he knows immediately that he looks nothing like a member of staff; not with the oversized cloak and his head once more hidden under a hood. Underneath, he’s wearing a white tank top from Asmodeus’ medical wing; also not staff appropriate. Fuck, why didn’t he steal a uniform somewhere? Perhaps Mr. Butler would’ve been kind if he’d begged and cried out his situation.

Sliding off his cloak, he places it over his arm and fluffs it - maybe, if he moves fast enough, and if anyone even sees him in the first place, they’ll mistake it for a bed linen. He resumes his steps slow, trying to keep his head relatively high and disconcerting, even as their voices meet his ears. 

“...-aint the walls? The room would look so much better with a fresh coat.” Andrealphus’ voice filters through, pompous as ever. Twat.

“Oh, that’s a lovely idea!” Stella responds. “I’ll have one of the staff get right to it. Stolas’ paint choice was always so drab, I felt as though I was sleeping in a funeral home!”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Andre mewls for his sister's pain, all dramatic and annoying, and Stolas, as he approaches the door, struggles to keep his eyes straight. He walks by the opening gap as his brother in law continues to talk, “Trust me, he kept the spare bedroom just as dreadful! We’ll both have to do some redecorating.”

“Well, we won’t be doing anything!”

They laugh together, two despicable, caw-like noises joining as one. Stolas continues past the doorway and down the hallway, heart pounding in his chest and Stella’s voice playing on repeat in his ears, long after he’s close enough to hear her. 

Once he’s rounded the hallways opposite bend, facing his most familiar quarters, he leans over, and takes a moment to catch his breath. Shaking hands are hidden underneath the cloak that’s still draped across his forearm. Only one or two seconds passes before he straightens, wipes below his eyes with the back of his knuckles, and keeps moving forward.

In front of him stretches a long hallway, redecorated with even more portraits and a hot pink rug to boot. To the left sits his bedroom, with the two potted plants that once framed the doorway post-divorce now decidedly missing. Across the hall and another ten or so feet down, just past the door to the en suite bathroom, sits Octavia’s room. 

The entire plan falls apart if Octavia weren’t home, but, as the voices of his dreaded in-laws fades, the sound of her music grows, and he knows that isn’t the case. The fear in his chest feels no lighter. He’s been missing for twenty or so days now, with his darling daughter having heard hide nor hair of his whereabouts. She didn’t even know he was alive, and now he’s…now he’s…

He’s standing in front of her door and he feels, if he may quote Blitzo here, as though he’s going to shit himself. His stomach is doing these markedly uncomfortable rolls and his impish hand, skin red with patchy white scars, shakes as it rises to the smooth wood. Above his hand is a sign she made when she was in primary school - “Via’s room: keep out!!!!”, written in adorable six-year-old chicken scratch.

He lets his knuckles connect with the door.

There’s a low thump, the music stops, and then footsteps start. Stolas is pretty sure his stomach is going to come out through his mouth, but he uses every fiber of his being to stay unmoving, staring forward.

When the door opens it feels like agony, and then Octavia, his precious, precious baby Via, is standing in front of him. He stares at her like a fish out of water, and she stares back at him like a mildly confused aristocrat. All he can do is take her all in - her oversized sweater and beanie, her headphones, the fact she looks relatively unharmed, although exhausted. He simply stares.

After only a couple seconds, she awkwardly clears her throat, and says, “Uhm, hi?”

Stolas swallows. The slow, reluctant and quiet “Hello, Starfire,” feels like molasses dripping from his mouth, burning a hole through the floor that would suck him in and take him from his daughter again. 

Recognition, anguish, pain, and anger all color Octavia’s face. It feels like a sucker punch, the scowl she keeps returning to, but Stolas definitely deserves it. For a moment, he thinks she may just slam the door on him, from the way her fingers clench and squeeze ‘round the wood, and he would deserve that, too. 

But she does no such thing - for a few moments, she does nothing at all, just staring at him with the same sort of confused and angry bewilderment. With little warning, her small little hand - Lucifer, it’s so good to see her, to know that she’s okay - wraps around the front left of his white shirt, and he’s pulled, not so gently, into her room. The door closes behind them. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Dad?!” Octavia hisses low as soon as the hinges of the door click, and Stolas has half the mind to cringe at the question. He hides it, and any normal hastings he would’ve given over unnecessarily obscenities dies on his tongue.

At least her room has been left untouched, by the looks of it; Via would’ve never let them change anything in here without a fight, but Andre is a fighter.

“Starfire, I am… so sorry.” Is the first thing he thinks to say.

“Don’t call me that.” Octavia’s arms reach up and wrap around to hug herself, and she looks so small, even if she currently towers over Stolas. “You don’t get to call me that. You promised you wouldn’t leave, and y-you left me!” She hiccups and reaches up, pointedly looking away from her father. He aches to hold her. 

“I swear I didn’t want to, Via.” His voice sounds like he’s begging - he is begging. “I swear - I promise. They threw me in there and I kept- crying out for you!”

“You keep promising shit that’s never true so I don’t know why you expect me to believe you!” his daughter snarls, and when he reaches forward, desperately taking her hand in his to cradle the palm, she rips it backwards. They’re being loud, someone may come - he doesn’t care. He needs his daughter.

“I have so much explaining to do, Via.”

“You knew there was a risk when you sacrificed yourself! Why were you so okay with leaving me?” Her arms shake around herself. “Why am I not enough to have kept you here?”

“Octavia, please, listen to me. I have made - so many mistakes. I couldn’t let Blitzo pay for them - regardless of my own feelings, all of that aside, it would be wrong to have another demon pay for my fantasies. I am so, so sorry, but I swear that my intention was never to leave you.”

Octavia lets out a croaked sob that has Stolas’ arms shaking at his sides. Guilt spreads across his chest like a forest fire as she gasps, “You don’t love me. You don’t love me. You just keep breaking your promises. Over and fucking over again.” 

With a heavy breath and a good bit of dead weight, she collapses onto her bed, arms still crossed in her lap. There’s an open spot, to her left, and in an act of desperate bravery, Stolas sits down next to her and turns his entire, small body in her direction. “I know.” he says, and he hopes, in his voice, that he conveys, somehow, someway, how sorry he is. 

For a stretch of time, neither of them speak, but she isn’t kicking him out, so he considers it a good sign. Soft metal music plays through the muffled speakers of her Hellbook laptop and a VoxTube video of someone playing a video game Stolas wouldn’t recognize streams silently on the screen. Purple LEDs illuminate the room and reflect nicely off the cabinet which, tucked into the left corner, displays the taxidermy work Octavia is most proud of; both Earth and Hell critters alike. His daughter continues to nurse her tears next to him as he wordlessly hands her tissues from the box on her bedside table. 

“I thought of you every moment I was in the cell.” Stolas settles on saying, eventually. “I was so scared I wouldn’t see you again.”

His daughter's hands are fiddling in her lap, but she glances up at him after he says that. “When Mom told me- about the blood…I thought you were gone.” She looks forward, listlessly, and shrugs. “I had hope for a few days, but I…I dunno.”

Stolas’ chest aches. “That is so terribly difficult to go through, my darling. I wish so bad I could’ve protected you from it. That I could’ve made better choices, to protect all of us.” 

“Yeah.” 

Silence. It’s certainly better than the yelling, so Stolas lets it sit, no matter how badly he wants to start rambling; to over-explain, to fill quiet with sound. Via should be able to lead this conversation. 

“...Are you safe?”

“Yes.” Stolas responds gently, giving her a smile that releases the tension from his own shoulders. “Some very kind people are helping me back on my feet. Admittedly, I did- experience some medical issues. I spent ten days asleep and then another nine or so days on bed rest. I came to you as soon as I could.”

Octavia frowns at him. “Was that related to the blood?  What happened, anyways? Mom said they found- a lot, on the ground, but no body. I thought…”

And this - this is the moment Stolas was dreading the worst of them all - and quite a lot of them in his future scared him. He had messed up already; caused irreversible damage in his relationship with Octavia by making that deal with Blitzo in the first place, by ever placing his fanciful romances above her well-being. Her talking to him wasn’t her forgiveness; it was just that, talking.

In front of him, there’s a crossroad. Octavia will find out about her half-sibling eventually, no matter what; Stolas would never try to keep it from her forever. For the past week he’s sat up, planning this escape, this encounter, and each time, he has become stuck upon the same question. 

Does he tell Octavia of the egg?

Realistically, he is just adding to her suffering. She’s already dealing with so much more than any seventeen year old deserves, with a divorce and court proceedings and watching her father almost die, then be imprisoned, and- good Lucifer, it is all just so much . Is it not cruel to add the existence of a new sibling on top of that? Would it be kinder to wait, and tell her later?

Of course, Stolas wants that to be the answer. It’s easier - pushing the issue away, dealing with it ‘down the road’. Perhaps, then, in some fanciful world, there may be some universe in which this conversation could go well.

The definition of insanity is to try something again and again and expecting a different outcome. Again and again he keeps digging these holes for himself, for his family. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how else to live - he’s been lying about the circumstances of his marriage to Octavia’s face since she was born, and lying to the general public about the abuse for even longer. Twisting his feelings for those around him comes natural now - that smile, acting as if everything is fine, taking on more so that others may feel less.

He is slowly realizing, however, that the amount others take on may not be up for him to decide. He does not feel like doing the same thing again and expecting a new result; not when so much has happened, not when he almost lost his life- almost lost the ability to even see Octavia again.

And so, selfishly, he reaches out, and takes her hand once more. He’s terrified - no part of him wants to speak, to answer, to give the answer that sits so heavy on his tongue. But he cannot keep running in circles. He revels in the way she allows him to touch her, for now. 

“I found out, one week before I was placed in jail, that I was carrying Blitzo’s egg. I had no idea before that, and I did not know it was possible. I laid the egg in the cell - the baby is viable.”

The silence sits heavy, suffocating. Her hand wretches away from his and he’s smarter, despite his emotions, to reach for her again. Her face, which had been down-turned, towards her lap, has turned entirely away from him, pointedly facing away. 

“Octavia-”

“Get out.”

“P-Please, Starfire, I didn’t-”

Octavia’s head swivels back around to face him, and he’s greeted with her face phasing into her demon form - hair turning black and turning into formless blobs of demon energy. She exudes anger, voice growing as she snarls and snaps, “I told you to stop fucking calling me that!” 

With two arms she pushes herself up and off of the bed so that she can begin pacing back and forth against the opposite wall of her room. “You just-you just fucking did it again!” She looks at him, and the sight of tears tracking down her face, hands turning into sharp black owlish talons as she waves her hand with passion, “You’re replacing me!’

“Oh, I would never, you’re all I’ve been thinking about-”

Via turns, grabs her tissue box off of her bedside table, and lobs it at Stolas’ head. He doesn’t dodge it - his eyes have gone wide and he feels like he can’t move, like the vision of his daughter in front of him is shifting. It’s not heavy, and he only flinches back out of instinct. 

“Get out!” His daughter screams, voice piercing the room. She’s wailing, “Get out! Get out! Get the fuck out!”

Stolas isn’t sure what happens - he’s grabbed by the elbow, lifted from the bed - he might be kicking in protest, he might be limp, he isn’t sure - but his body is deposited, like a sack, outside of the bedroom door. It’s slammed behind him, and snaps against the back of his head in the swing. 

The one-eighty from screaming to silence has Stolas’ ears ringing, and for a few, long moments, he just sits there, body slumped against the wooden door. One sob croaks through his lungs, then two, and then he’s breaking down, pitching forward with the strength of his angst. A hand clamps over his mouth in some pathetic attempt to quiet his noises but it’s effectiveness is questionable, body shaking, heart pounding, snot dribbling down his fingers.

The world is ending. This is what it feels like when the world is ending, right? His daughter hates him. How is he to go on? How is there possibly any future?

Blitzo- 

Blitzo is just pitying him. Perhaps he was foolish enough to fall for it before, but how could a man like him ever be loved? Every decision he makes is a mistake, every step an error, every attempt a failure. On top of that, he’s not nearly interesting, talented, or pretty enough to begin making up for his wretchedness. 

Vomit lurches in his throat, and he pitches to the side, dribbling up what little he’s eaten in the past five, six hours - which, thankfully, is mostly water. He leans over the mess like a dog, heaving, ears rings, head spinning as he just continues to sob, choking on air that won’t come into his lungs. He is over. He is done. How is he meant to continue on if his daughter hates him? Oh, his baby. His baby. His reason for living - his precious starfire.

“What in the ever loving fuck is wrong with you?”

Like a sneering jaunt from the universe, that voice filters in from behind him, carrying that same poisonous anger it always has. He can’t even process how bad it is, Stella finding him like this, kneeled in front of their daughters room. He can barely process a thing but his world-ending panic. His daughter hates him. 

“Helllloo?” A pointed heel gives him an experimental kick in the back, and he lurches forward like an animal, away from the touch. Her voice sounds angry, the tone she always carries when she’s in a particularly bad mood. 

Now, she just scoffs. “Are you having a seizure or something? Please die somewhere else, it’s fucking gross.”

Then, her eyes flit to her daughters room, and she sneers, “Or are you just a fucking perve like the rest of your species? I swear, you imps are all whores…” 

A hand tightens around his shoulder and pulls him back so that he’s looking dead into her eyes. Snot mixes with tears as both of them stream down his face in a salty mixture, down his neck, his collar, staining the front of his shirt. She holds him close to her face, her eyes studying him, lip curling up in a discontented snarl.

And then, she pulls her arm back, and her motions seem slow as she moves to slap him. Body working on adrenaline, he raises his arms, squaring them in front of his face, and flinches his whole body backwards to curl himself into a ball. The flat palm stops mid-air, just inches from his face.

Stella blinks and lets out a low, "Huh...", while Stolas stays curled within his ball, head is still reeling, ears still ringing. He wants Blitzo - he wants his lover to hold him, to put a bullet in his head, anything. 

Stella leans back and snarls, looking him up and down a good few times. She doesn’t move to grab him again - instead, she just, “Ugh. Just- go. Get out of my sight.”

Stolas doesn’t need to be told twice, thank Lucifer - at least his body is going with flight, and not freeze. He turns, nearly trips on his tail, and runs away, spinning the corner - and, in a last-second decision, ducking into the master bathroom that has two entrances; one connecting out to the south wing, where he stands now, and another to his old sleeping chambers. He scurries through the doors with panicked breaths, and stands in the center of his once-bedroom. 

Taking no time to appreciate - or cringe at - Stella’s positively outrageous redecorations, Stolas scurries towards the balcony. Please be unlocked, please be unlocked-

The glass door gives easily to his pulling and he doesn’t give himself time to process his fear of heights before he’s scrambling down the vines of his balcony, hands slipping and sliding through the plant. Tears blur his vision and he has to, multiple times, grab again, readjusting his grip so that he doesn’t fall. He’s not sure if anyone’s following him - his heart is still beating too loud in his ears to hear much else. 

Feet thump onto the ground and he rushes past his garden, the disregarded lounge chair, the tipped over pot, the missing key. The guards from earlier are nowhere to be seen. The ice-covered bricks create a slippery canvas for his rushed escape, and he falls, hands flailing in front of himself in a failed attempt at a catch. Ice cracks as his phone slips from his phone and falls to the ground, sliding just a few inches away from him before he’s able to scoop it up and keep running. 

Why even bother running? Life without Octavia is not worth fighting for. Your own uselessness lost her - this is because of you, because of who you are. Perhaps you should lay still, and let them take you. 

The gate to the palace comes into view, and he runs through it, back onto the main street of his old living district. He has to keep moving, keep running - Blitzo’s voice says that in his head. 

So he does, feet still slipping underneath him despite the fact no more ice covers the concrete here. 

Only once he leaves the small stretch of two or three palaces, all belonging to fellow Goetia’s, and begins to come across somewhat normal, high-end housing does he slowly stop running. Brain floating above the clouds, he walks another minute, two, until his paces slowly stop, and he keels over to sob again. And sob he does - body shaking, head aching, his daughter hates him. His daughter hates him.

His phone, still clutched tightly in his hands, buzzes. Blindly, working on automatic, he pulls it up, and sees a text from Blitzo. Even though it’s hard to make out through his tears, he scrolls, and sees notifications - “72 Missed Texts”, right above “34 Missed Calls”.

The only text that shows without Stolas tapping the screen is the one he just got, stacked above all the others - “eg hatchign!!11”.

Chapter Text

A low, constant humming reverberates from the hallway as Blitzo walks past other apartments to reach his own and unlock the door. With his hip he pushes the door open, one hand wrapped around Eggie. Strapped to his chest, they shift closer to him; they’ve gotten so much heavier since they were laid. He steps into the dark apartment and takes a moment to flick on the lights. 

Dumping his bag on the table on his way by, Blitzo walks into the kitchen, still humming under his breath. The flat of his thumb strokes over the shell absentmindedly as he pulls out pots, pans, two plates, and silverware, then two packages of frozen meat from the freezer. 

On his way by the fridge, he stands on his tippy-toes and flicks on the speaker that sits up there. An old model that Loona gave him after he bought her a new one, it buzzes to life, and automatically connects to Blitzo’s phone. He taps on the screen with his claws and then the song he’d been humming begins to play quietly in the room.  Swaying his hips to the tune, singing instead of humming, he begins to make dinner.

A light peeks out through the crack under Loona’s door and the sound of low music filters through the wood. When Blitzo walks over to the small pantry to grab some instant rice, he takes a pause to look at her door signs; “Loona’s room: keep out!”, and a kickass drawing of some naked chick one of her friends made her. “I’m home, sweetie!” He calls, “and dinner’ll be ready in ten!”

The music lowers and he gets a “‘Kay.” before it rises again, which has him nearly tearing up - before, the music would’ve increased and there would’ve been no answer. Win!

The last month has been firmly categorized as the second craziest in Blitzo’s life. The only times’ he’s been able to sit with his own thoughts and think seriously about everything is when he was going to the bathroom, or maybe one of the four showers he’s taken in the past twenty-five days. 

Now, cooking dinner for Loona and the music beginning to fade to the background, Blitzo thinks. He dumps the chicken into the pot, rips open the teriyaki packet with his teeth, and pours that on top, too, still pondering. 

Four weeks ago he was almost sentenced to death by Satan, and now he’s in an official - holy fuck - relationship with the bird who saved his life. He feels like he’s always playing catchup, lately - like he’s always lagging a few steps behind. Maybe life is going so fast that all he can do is focus on what’s in his grasp to change, like taking care of his daughter and his bird and his Eggie. 

Stolas better eat something nutritious tonight. Blitzo loves being home with Loona, but his heart still aches to have his whole family together; to have Stolas back home, safe, warm, in Blitzo’s sights where no other shitheads can hurt him. To have Octavia.

Would his bird be able to turn back to an owl while they were in the apartment? Don’t get him wrong - Stolas’ imp form is definitely doing it for Blitzo, in ways. Many ways. 

But he can tell Stolas misses the feathers, from the way he shivers a little before Blitzo wraps a blanket around his shoulders and how he goes to hoot or trill but can’t quite make the noise right. The assassin feels like, if he were going through all the shit Stolas was going through right now, and stuck in an unfamiliar body, it would be really, really shitty.

And, cards on the table, Blitzo misses the feathers. He misses digging his hands into the plumage, inhaling the scent until his brain spins. He wants to see Stolas pick up Eggie and bury them into his boob patch like all the HellaHow articles Blitzo panic-read while Stols was comatose. He’ll take Stolas however way he can have him, no matter what, but Blitzo wants Stolas to be happy, not just living. 

He stirs the chicken and sauce around in the pot as it bubbles and checks on the rice. So what can he control? It feels like, honestly, not much. He can make dinner for Loona and watch Eggie so Stolas can sleep. He can’t help the other hoot, or trill, or swivel his head one-eighty degrees like he used to, but he may be able to help him stay warm. 

Rice, meat, sauce and peas are all scooped from their respective pans and on to two dishes. “Dinner!” He calls as he turns off the oven and walks over to the table, placing Loona’s dish down right as her bedroom door opens. 

His daughter regards him with an upward tilt of the chin, nose twitching at the scent of food. Her eyes connect with Eggie, and a faint sparkle flashes in her eyes as her tail idly swishes behind her. “Gimme.” She says, reaching her hands out.

Blitzo smiles and ever so gently taps her open palms with his tail. “Not ‘till after you’ve eaten.”

“Since when have you cared about getting food on things?”

“Uh, since this thing was my baby? If someone got teriyaki sauce all up in your fur, I would lose my shit, y’know.”

Loona rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling. Blitzo turns around, walks around the counter, and pulls out a cheap, retractable highchair he bought off PainBook Marketplace last week. He tested the thing about fourteen or fifteen times before he put Eggie in it - with rocks, weighted stuffies, books, and more. Even when he had deemed it strong enough to support his baby, he still kept his hands around them for fifteen minutes, just waiting to see if the furniture would fail him. It never did. 

Now, he unfolds it limb by limb and sets it up right next to the table. Eggie is lifted from the straps in his chest, and he places them, movements slow and gentle, into the seat. Their weight leans towards him as he pulls away, and even though Blitzo is used to that, now, it still brings a gentle coo from his throat every time. He spares one last moment to stroke a hand over the top of the shell, then settles into both his chair and a comfortable conversation with Loona as they eat their dinners together. 

After the meal, Loona offers to clean the dishes, and Blitzo insists he does it with her. They even watch an episode of the nature documentary Loona’s been into lately - the one on horses’, because his precious daughter is just that perfect. A blanket lays over their encompassed bodies and Blitzo wonders worriedly if Stolas was cold without him; if that comforter was enough to even begin keeping his bird warm. 

The episode ends and Loona says “Goodnight, Dad,” before retiring to her room. Blitzo smiles towards her back and watches the door click shut behind her. The music clicks back on. The assassin lets out a breath, rises, and pops his arms above his head, and sweeps the blanket off of the couch and into his arms. Then, he rises. 

The quilt is splayed across the floor, totally flat, all the ends kicked out. Blitzo hunches down by the couch, shoves his arms into the crack underneath, and bats around until items go rolling across the floor - an arrangement of horse stuffies, all comically large to have been under the furniture. After he’s exhausted that area he checks the dresser in the corner and the cupboard above the fridge, retrieving many more - about three arm-fulls. Each and every horse stuffed animal was deposited onto the blanket, and, once Blitzo has checked the apartment twice, he overlays the corners across each other until the stuffies are completely encased. A knot is tied, then tested, and then Blitzo stands, throwing the knapsack of stuffies over his shoulder with a prideful smile. Some of his favorites were in there - Pinky Princess Pretty Pie, Cumstain, and Toaster Oven. Anything for his birdie. 

Wrist raises to mouth and he gives the crystal a few good licks until a portal, glowing pink and purple and showing right into Stolas’ temporary room, appears in front of him. It’s the least he can do, right? It’s his fault Stolas’ even in this mess to begin with; powerless, destitute, post-laying. At least Blitzo can help him keep warm without his feathers.

One foot steps through the portal, then a second. “Stollllasssss!” he whisper-sings as he steps into the room, just in case the other is still sleeping. A single glance at the ex-prince’s bed tells Blitzo that it’s empty, though - covers pulled back and left in mild disarray. Stolas must be in the bathroom. With a huff, he places the bag of stuffed animals onto the floor. 

Except, when he glances over to the en-suite, the door is slightly ajar, and the light is clearly off. His forehead furrows. “Stolas?”

No answer. 

“Stols?” The door creaks as Blitzo uses the palm of his left hand to push it open. Inside, his suspicions are confirmed - the bathroom is completely empty.

Anxiety creeps upwards from the base of his tail and wraps around his neck. “Stolas!” He calls, louder now, spinning away from that horrifying dread and facing back into the room instead. Maybe he-he fell off the bed?

He rushes to the right side of the bed. No Stolas. His hands clench and unclench by his side. “ Stolas! Stolas!” 

With trembling hands he struggles to undo the straps of Eggie’s harness, placing them and the sling down together on the bed with forced care. Within two seconds he’s thrown himself across the room and is ripping open the door to the hallway, yelling out “ STOLAS! STOLAS !”. A handful of Ozzie’s factory employees turn their heads on their way by, but none of them stop.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. He isn’t fucking here.

The door slams shut and he slides down the back of it, suddenly taking in deep, gulping breaths. His fingers and hands shake horribly as he somehow manages to fumble into his back pocket, pulling out his beat-up, old ass phone. ‘Stols <3’ is hit with all the shaking gracefulness of an alcoholic and he presses the receiver up his ear without even taking a breath. A cold shiver starts along his spine and has him shuddering.

It rings. And rings. And then, after ten fucking seconds of ringing, Stolas’ cheery ass voicemail plays; “Hello! Thank you for calling; unfortunately, I’m not around right now, but if you leave a message after the-”

Blitzo slams the phone down and lets out a shuddered, shattering sob. He fucked up, he fucked up. They got him - the Goetia’s came back and they got Stolas. Why can’t he stop fucking up? Why can’t he protect the ones he loves? Why is he such a fucking failure? He keeps making all these empty promises and breaking them-

He has to wake up Fizz or Asmodeus, right? Ozzie at least may have some sort of idea of what to do - maybe some tracking magic that can help them. The Goetia can suck his dick because he is not going down without a fight, no-fuckin-siree-

Below the sound of his own shuddering breath, Blitzo hears, somehow, a faint cracking. His neck snaps upwards and his eyes lock on Eggie without missing a beat - like he’s just been slapped, dunked in cold water.

Their eggie has a thin, blackened crack, leading just from the center of the blood-red crown and downwards, at a left-leaning slant. The egg shakes, from one side to another, even in its sling, and the crack grows, just a hair. 

Their egg is hatching. Their egg is hatching. 

“ Blitzo, slow dow- I can’t hear you!”

Blitzo sprints a solid seven, eight paces in front of where an incredibly groggy Fizz and Ozzie lag behind him, still blinking sleep from their eyes. The imp tries to explain to them what’s going on as they run back to Stolas’ room - “Stols, missing, egg!” - but he’s panicking, the words are coming out a mess, and none of what he’s trying to say is comprehensible. It doesn’t help that he’s multitasking with his phone; Call Stolas, text him while it’s ringing, hang up and repeat after it goes to voicemail. 

He had panicked for maybe twenty seconds - a full-body breakdown crumble - but he’d pulled it together fast. He was made for working under pressure, bitch, and screaming into a void could happen after he moves his ass. 

Touching Eggie didn’t feel like an option. Whatever their lil’ one was doing in there was fragile work, and Stolas had mentioned it was important to “mess with nature” as little as possible. Blitzo doesn’t know what part of this is fuckin’ natural but he’s not testing anything. 

He hadn’t wanted to leave the egg, either, but none of the stupid ass employees were in the hallway now, even though there was like five thirty fucking seconds ago! Given, he probably wouldn’t have left their kid with a stranger, anyways. So that had left him panicking again. Don’t leave your baby. Don’t leave your baby.

He calls Fizz instead - once, twice. Bitch always sleeps with his phone on silent so of course he doesn’t wake up, dumb slut. Blitzo turns and thunks his phone uselessly against his forehead and fights back another panic. All good, all good.

He sprints to Ozzie and Fizz’ room, screams at the top of his lungs for them to “GET THE FUCK UP!!! ”, and then runs back towards his room without stopping to catch a breath. He’ll give the lovebirds credit; they’re not crazy far behind him, despite having a rough, two-AM wake-up call. Certainly much better than his dear Loonie would’ve done had he woken her up instead. Love her though. 

“Blitzo, please calm down.”

“The egg is hatching, Fizz! And I don’t even know where he fucking is!”

The door to their bedroom bounces against the wall with how fast Blitzo rips it open and, thank fuck, Eggie is still sitting there, still okay. The crack is further along than it was before and they’ve perhaps tilted a little to the left but they’re fine.

Call Stols. Let it ring. Text him. Hang up. Repeat. 

Fizz is saying something - another plea to calm that falls on deaf ears - but Blitzo can’t hear him over the blood in his ears. He’d failed Stolas when his birdie was laying this egg and now he’s not even going to be here for the hatching, all because Blitzo can’t do anything right. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“He’s at the palace.”

Blitzo’s freezes, then bemoans, a hand of anguish covering his face and eyes as Asmodeus’ words manage to break through the cloud of panic. “The fucking palace? Oh my fuck, oh my god. They have him. How do you know? Is his life force fading?!”

Despite the situation, Ozzie has the gaul to give him a half-snorted laugh. “What? No, I’m tracking his phone's location.”

Crrraaaaackkk. Eggie’s fracture is quickly growing bigger than a hairline. Sweat gathers right below the root of Blitzo’s horns and he keeps wiping it away - why didn’t he think to check the fucking location?

“I don’t think anybody’s captured Stolas.” Asmodeus continues to talk, holding his phone close to his face, squinting, and then turning it around to show the two imps in the room. Blitzo immediately scurries forward for a better look, and, sure enough, Ozzie has a point - the little pinging dot indicating Stolas’ location moves down the road, away from the palace. “Or, at least, he’s escaped.”

“Where is that?!” Blitzo asks desperately, scrambling for his phone again. “Open a fucking portal! He could be hurt, or worse, what’re we waiting for-“

On instinct, Blitzo had continued to idly call Stolas the whole time. Clicking the “Call Stols” button one last time, he lets it ring once, twice. Fuck it. He moves to click the big red button - hang up and just open a portal.  

The receiver clicks. “Blitz?” Stolas’ voice cracks. 

Blitzo almost drops the phone four different times in his absolute scramble to have it pressed to his ear. “Stolas! ” he cries, loud and panicked, against the receiver. “Are you hurt?! Where are you?! I’m coming baby, don’t move!!”

There’s a sniffle and Blitzo is cursing, loudly, “If you don’t hurry your ass-“ to Asmodeus. A portal opens and Blitzo falls through it, ending up on the streets of Pride, in the rich ass neighborhood Stolas used to call home. 

His birdie is hunched over on the sidewalk, hugging his arms tight ‘round his shoulders. He’s still in his imp form, thank fuck, and he’s wearing this oversized dark green cloak that Blitzo has never seen before. His frame is shivering, just slightly, and the assassin moves towards him without thinking. 

“Stolas-“ he gasps, collecting the other in his arms and pulling the smaller form into his chest. It’s raining, because of fucking course it is, and Blitzo tries to cover the other- shield him from the elements. “Fuck. Are you hurt? Who did this?”

Stolas looks up at the other, and thick tears drip down his face. “I- Octavia…” he croaks. 

And Blitzo’s mind goes rather quiet for the first time in quite a while. Even thoughts of their Eggie, still fucking cracked and hatching, while he’s here, on the streets of Pride, hugging Stolas. All at once he knows, like clarity in the panic, that his bird ran away. Tried to do something so stupid, put himself in danger again. For his daughter. 

Stolas shakes against him. “I’m sorry.” he heaves, shoulders trembling. 

“I’m not mad at you.” Blitzo responds automatically - and it’s really not a lie. Annoyed? Sure. That was fucking stupid and he’s sure they’d have a conversation about it later where Blitzo’ll get down on his hands and knees and beg his bird not to scare him shitless, again. 

But he’s mad at the Goetia’s, at the idiotic societal traditions and rules that put them here in the first place. At the Lords and Ladies who threw Stolas in the dungeon and hid any records of hybrid children to bury their sins. At Stella, who Blitzo still doesn’t know a whole lot about, but he’s started collecting the pieces of a gnarly puzzle. 

For perhaps the sixth or seventh time since Stolas lost contact with Octavia, Blitzo imagines what he would do, if he were in the situation with Loona. Life without his daughter would be, he imagines, devoid of living. He knows, realistically, pity is not what Stolas needs - even though he doesn’t need Blitzo’s annoyance, either, and they’ll have to have a conversation about this. 

He wishes Octavia were here, and things were different. He hugs his birdie a little closer. 

“We need to go back.” He croaks, tugging Stolas in the direction of the open portal. His birdie moves like sludge, head tilted downwards. “Egg.”

It’s all he can say but it seems to be enough to mildly snap Stolas from his stupor, even if just barely and just for a moment. He blinks at Blitzo, eyes heavy. “That wasn’t just an attempt to get me back?”

Blitzo snorts low. “No, PB. Fizz and Ozzie are in there and they’d scream bloody murder if something big was happening, but they’re hatching. For real.”

Stolas sniffles again and allows Blitzo to take him by the arm, guiding both of them up to their feet. The cloak is wrapped even tighter around his trembling shoulders and Blitzo even takes a moment to tie it, his fingers shaking too badly to do it fast. An arm wraps around him, instead, and they walk through the portal supporting the other's weight through each step.

The portal zips closed behind them and they stand in Stolas’ temporary living quarters, awkward drip, drip, dripping echoing from the drops of rainwater that fall from the man's body and onto the carpet. Fizz and Ozzie, standing over Eggie like vultures, glance backwards at them, and Fizzarolli immediately moves to stand. 

“I’ll get you some towels.” he offers, waving the shell-shocked imps over to the nest they’d created only days ago. Fizz, thank Satan, doesn’t seem deterred by the way Stolas stares into space and sniffles with tears - he just places a hand on his elbow and leads him over to the cushions and blankets.

Laying on the ground, with the warmest, fluffiest blanket wrapped around their base to keep them upright, Eggie is twitching with movement. The crack has traveled lower, but it is clear this is not the fastest process. The knapsack Blitzo had brought has been untied, and the horse plushies sit around the bed, with one near the Eggie. It’s worn and well-loved; the horse plushie his dear mama bought him on her way out of the hospital. She bought Barb a cat.

Blitzo lets out a relieved breath once Eggie is back in his view. Besides him, Stolas lets out a shaky breath, face - and reaction - still covered by the green hood that envelopes his face and drips even more water down his features. “Oh, my.” he whispers. “You weren’t joking.”

Blitzo looks over at him and frowns. “You’re gonna get sick if you stay that wet.” He hums, turning his head towards the dresser, then to Ozzie. Fizz re-enters the room from the bathroom and hands him two towels with a stretched, robotic arm. “Thanks, man. I think you guys are good to head back to bed now. Thanks for all the help.” He fixes both of them with a look, and he hopes they know how serious he is. 

Fizz uses the same extended arm to give his shoulder a very light punch. “Call us if you need anything at all. Ozzie’ll have a nurse stay on call, so just dial ‘em up on the phone if anything else comes up.”

“What can I do to repay you for this?”

Fizz smiles at him. “A fully planned vacation would fuck.”

“How ‘bout I let you control aux whenever we go anywhere for a year?”

“Ooooh, deal!”

Fizz and Ozzie leave with a wave and well-wishings, although Stolas’ eyes are still trained on their hatching Eggie and he seems interested in little else. The moment the door clicks shut behind the couple Blitzo begins to strip Stolas down, peeling wet clothes from blood-red imp skin and then using the provided, fluffy towels to wipe him down, make him more comfortable. Stolas simply allows the actions passively, silently crying, staring at their Eggie. The crack continues downwards.

Soon enough both imps are wrapped in the comfiest clothing they could find and an extra blanket is added on top. They sit, legs crossed, in front of their hatching baby. A text to Loona is sent but it’s quickly approaching four AM now, and Blitzo doesn’t want to go and wake her. She’ll have a lifetime with her sibling. Right now, she can just be a kid, sleeping. 

Stolas sniffles next to him and Blitzo just keeps rubbing his knee, back and forth, back and forth. His tail thumps anxiously against the ground behind him. Obviously whatever happened had something to do with Octavia, and it must’ve been bad, because now his owl is practically catatonic. 

Problem is, he can’t help if he doesn’t know what happened, and Stols hasn’t uttered a word since they’ve returned home. 

Even if the silence is more heavy than comfortable, Blitzo lets it sit. Their Eggie keeps twitching back and forth as the crack grows and, for the first time, breaks off a small piece of shell. The piece falls to the blanket below and a small window into the egg is revealed, although the inside is entirely dark. Blitzo gasps and Stolas “Oh-!”s, their entwined hands squeezing one another tightly.

Sweat gathers on the back of Blitzo’s neck and the center of his forehead. How long is this whole thing supposed to take, anyways? It takes a typical Goetia about an hour or so to hatch; he knows from his hours and hours of late night research over the past month. It’s been much longer than an hour, though. Is it because the baby is a hybrid? Will they be strong enough to get out? Are they struggling?

“Sh-Should we help?” Blitzo forces himself to break the silence after five more, agonizing minutes, only once the worry becomes too intense to bear. His hand is already reaching backwards, towards his phone tucked away in his back pocket.

“We should leave it to the hatchling for now.” Stolas’ voice is scratchy and low, devoid of emotion or happiness. But his eyes are still trained on the egg - since he saw them, he hasn’t moved, just staring. “Nature knows best.”

Blitzo looks at him and his tail wags behind his body. Head tilted downwards and eyes shining, he whispers, all quiet, “Okay.” 

The owl-turned-imp looks so sad. He’s hunched forwards like he’s still wet, with eyes lidded and sagged downwards. He looks exhausted - drained beyond belief. He looks so beautiful. Blitzo has to look away because it feels like his tail is going to wag off his body, his eyes are going to melt out of his head, or his heart was going to explode - probably all three. 

Another hour passes and Blitzo transitions Stolas onto his lap, pushing his head until the other’s cheek is resting against his chest. It’s approaching morning now, and the need to sleep pulls at both of them. The ex-prince in particular feels like he’s boneless, eyes unblinkingly trained on their baby. 

To fill their time, Blitzo starts talking of his earlier dinner with Loonie and some of the fuck ass Sinsta posts he saw during his brief hour of doom scrolling. Stolas even gives a soft snort of laughter at his bad jokes, even if it sounds more like an exhale than anything else. Blitzo will take whatever the fuck he can get. 

It feels like, every one step forward, they take two back. If he’d just been here, maybe things could’ve gone better. If he’d just been better. 

A few more pieces of the shell fall away, but they’re small and offer no more of a look inside than the one before did. Four and a half hours after the initial crack a piece sizable enough to offer light into the egg gives way, and the couple gasps once more, immediately leaning in for a better view. A quiet, muted peep has the two demons jumping, eyes trained so hard on their baby they could burn a hole through the shell. From the back of his throat, Stolas trills brokenly. Blitzo purrs.

Another chunk of shell falls away and a little taloned foot sticks out, into the light of the room, ink black but turning to a dark red as it travels up the little stub of a leg. Poorly coordinated toes try and fail to grab and pull at the wall of shell, and another, considerably more frustrated Peep! echoes from inside. 

The taloned foot pulls away and Blitzo leans forward for a better view right as the tiniest little beak replaces it, pushing at the same piece of shell their foot was failing at. This mode proves easier, and, with a few shaky nips and nudges, the shell cracks in two, tearing like film. A baby's little head emerges from the hole, then, after stepping forward, their whole body. Both of them just stare, for a moment, shell-shocked, before Stolas moves, scooping up their precious baby without a moment's hesitation. He cradles them into his arms, and the new parents peer down at their miracle. 

A hand clasps over Blitzo’s mouth to keep himself from sobbing aloud. The baby is perfect - a little, little body of pure red, wrinkled skin with tiny white prickles indicating where feathers will grow in the future. A heart shaped face frames squinted-closed eyes and a pointed black beak. Red and black horns emerge from curled, short, black hair. Gnubby hands form badly coordinated fists, chunky imp legs kicking with fuss. Her little legs are bowed inwards but end in talons instead of hooves, with curling toes. She lets out another peep, then another, and then a quiet coo, and a cry.

Blitzo slowly, slowly reaches forward, running a claw over her forehead to get rid of the egg-slime that still clings to her there. Stolas coos, and the assassin traces his finger downwards, finding her tiny little fist at the end of her tiny little arm. He curls his fingers into hers, and she responds quickly, curling all five of her tiny, wrinkled talons around Blitzo’s pointer finger. She struggles to hold it - her forefinger and thumb don’t touch when wrapped around. Stolas, supporting her neck with his palm, runs his thumb up and down the base of her neck and the back of her head. 

“Oh.” Stolas breathes, tears tracking down his face. “Hello, little one.”

“Holy shit, Stols.” Blitzo breathes out shakily. Tears stream unashamedly down his face. “She’s beautiful.”

Stolas smiles, tired but earnest. “Isn’t she just?” He brings the baby up to his face and presses a kiss to her forehead, smiling when Blitzo does the same to the back of her hand. “She needs a name.”

 Blitzo hums. “I know you had some ideas in your journal. What were they?”

Stolas shakes his head a little, eyes still trained on their little one. She opens and closes her mouth, letting out a cute little peep as she snuggles closer to the warmth of her fathers. “Oh, they weren’t - I couldn’t name her.”

“I wanna hear ‘em.”

“...For girls, I like Persephone, but naming her after a woman whose entire story was about being trapped and somewhat manipulated by a man…”

“Yeah, that sounds pretty ass. The name is pretty, though.”

“...Nova is pretty, but a bit on-the-nose.”

“I don’t know what that means but I’m down.”

“...I really like Elara. It is one of Jupiter’s moons.”

Blitzo looks up at Stolas from where he was gazing at their baby girl, and gives him a gentle smile. “Elara is beautiful, Stols. It’s perfect.” He looks back down at their baby. “What about it, sweetheart? Elara? Is that your name?”

The hybrid baby coos and snuggles closer to Stolas’ chest, using weakly grabbing fists to bunch up the front of his oversized shirt. The fathers laugh, and gaze down at their baby. 

Outside, a storm rages on. 

Chapter Text

A week passes, and Stolas feels like a living ghost. Everything in his chest hurts, and he feels so selfish. Every thought containing happiness is immediately followed by one of Octavia, and poisoned in the wreckage of his own fire. 

Elara grows, fat sprouting from her arms and legs creating a great past-time in Blitzo pretending to eat them. The imp takes to fathering his youngest daughter like a true natural; often, when Stolas holds Elara, she’ll whine and wriggle until her other father has her. And it makes Stolas smile, which makes him feel guilty.

This is meant to be a happy time for them - for him. Just four months ago he would’ve done anything for Blitzo to truly look his way, and now he has a child with the imp.

But every time he closes his eyes he hears the argument with Octavia. Half of the nights he jolts up in bed, sweat sticking to his forehead feathers and the ghostings of “Get the fuck out!!” echoing in his mind. Sometimes he throws up, but sometimes he just sits in place and shakes like a leaf.

And Blitzo is always supportive, listening to his blubberings and breakdowns with this painfully attentive look, like Stolas is worth listening to even when he’s depressed. Stolas is thankful, because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to tell the story again. Talking about it aloud makes it real, acknowledges it, so he whispers, as if the world may not hear. As if tomorrow he may wake up to Octavia’s phone call or one of his painfully pleasant dreams - which sometimes hurt even worse than the nightmares - coming true.

They’re cruel. A happy family, three healthy daughters, a husband who loves him so fully and earnestly. It feels so real, for just a moment. Then the light filters in and he blinks away the sleep and remembers. He turns to curl into Blitzo and, even as his lover's arms curl around him and a kiss is pressed to his forehead, all he can do is moan Octavia’s name.

He goes through the motions. Wake up, feed Elara, Blitzo feeds him, nap, repeat. When Loona glances his way he forces smiles, gives little waves, and maintains basic conversation. At first a great effort had to be put in to reserve his crying just for baths, but now nothing comes, even then. Tears are only granted alongside a panic attack, it seems. 

Sitting in his bed, he gives one word answers, rocks Elara, and stares at nothing. 

Blitzo is so damn attentive it hurts. He rubs the others back and gets him a glass of water and wipes away his sweat before taking Elara’s next feeding. He mixes up her milk and rats until there’s no chunks left and doesn’t even complain when that means he has to fish out some bones. He tests the heat of the mixture against the palm of his own hand and warms it up or cools it down, whatever’s needed. 

He’s just so… present. It’s not that Stolas is surprised - he’s seen Blitzo with Loona, on Earth and in Hell. The imp is an amazing father, through and through - an amazing person.

Stolas is a horrible father. Some nights he goes to Elara’s room and hangs over her crib, apologizing to her through dripping tears. He’s already messed up his relationship with one daughter. How long until he jeopardizes another?

It’s no question that Blitzo is worried, and as the days pass and Stolas remains deeply depressed, that concern only grows. The bird wants to be better, to talk, to cry it out. The pain could start to ebb, the wound could perhaps begin healing. 

But every time he goes to speak about it again in the days following, his throat seems to close. He can’t even whisper the words - any and all acknowledgement into his daughter’s hatred makes it real. Makes the fact he’s blocked now real. Makes the unsent messages real. Makes all the pain real.

Life is spent and limbo and, before he knows it, significant time has passed. He tries to focus on the precious bundle of life in front of him, but her little face and fingers and hoots remind him so painfully of Octavia. Even if his precious starfire didn’t have an imp tail, horns, or red feathers. They have the exact same eyes, though, and Stolas finds himself tearing up when he looks for too long.

He feels guilty for having a baby when he’s let his first baby down and he feels guilty for comparing this new life he wanted to a life he let down. Every emotion feels like a betrayal to one or both of his kin. He feels like he’s drowning. 

A blink and some muffled words from Blitzo and he finds himself sitting on his bed at Asmodeus’ penthouse, rocking Elara back and forth mindlessly in his arms as the doctor completes a routine checkup. While she usually fusses in Stolas’ arms, she’s calm now, holding onto one of his fingers with all five of hers as the doctor takes blood and checks her temperature and studies her vitals. When Stolas goes to pull away, allowing the doctor to touch her side, she whines, and continues fussing until his hand is back within her grasp and his body heat has returned. When he tilts his head down to press a kiss to the top of her head, she grabs at his horns, fingers impressively tight. She giggles - such a happy, smiling baby. She must get it from Blitzo. 

The doctor gives her a clean bill of health with the same amount of certainly he’d given Stolas his - not very much at all. “It’s hard to tell, due to her being a hybrid, what the ‘average’ numbers are that we’re looking for. But her vitals are consistent, her mood and temperament seem good, and I haven’t found anything that seems cause for concern.”

Stolas tunes him out after that as his boyfriend picks up the conversation and he chooses to stare down at Elara, instead, running the pad of his taloned finger over the smooth expanse of her chubby cheek. She gurgles and turns her face towards the touch.

“-ols. Stols.” Stolas’ neck snaps upwards just a few moments later, drawn from his enchantment by the sound of his lover calling his attention back. Once he focuses on the room, he sees why - while the doctor has left, the Sin of Lust, Asmodeus, has taken his place. Ozzie stares at Elara and Stolas from the foot of the bed with a small, soft smile on his face. Blitzo doesn’t wear the same expression - his lips are pulled back into a straight line and his tail flicks back and forth behind his body, snapping in the air. Stolas tries to give him a reassuring smile, but the act remains cumbersome. 

“Sorry - figured visiting now was better than interrupting peace and quiet later.”

Stolas gives him the same tired smile. “Absolutely no worries, Asmodeus. It is your room, after all.”

“About that,” Ozzie tilts his head to the side, “We’ve been doing weekly checkups in your owl form, and the pain you experience seems to be goin’ waaayyy down. Would you agree?”

“Yes.” Elara catches Stolas’ pointer finger again as he moves his hand to pet over her messy head of growing feathers. He allows her to suckle mindlessly on his knuckle. “Your medical assistance has helped a great deal. The pain I feel is practically gone.”

“In that case, birdie babe,” Asmodeus’ smile turns a little wider, reaching out to give Stolas a light pat on the back even when Blitzo growls low and under his breath, “If you want, you could turn back to being an owl a bit more full-time. I know Blitzo here has been itchin’ to have you home.” 

The Sin tilts his head good-naturedly towards Blitzo, who, at the change of topic, has entirely switched his mood - now, he’s smiling ear to ear, tail flicking back and forth behind him. Stolas finds himself staring at his lover for a few, long moments, even as Asmodeus continues besides him, “Well, I think we can make that dream a reality, if you want to.”

Oh. Oh. 

It’s not like Stolas hadn’t overheard Blitzo mention the ex-prince moving into the apartment he shares with Loona - several times, in fact. He’d just sort of assumed that it would never happen. Once the time came that Asmodeus was ready to kick him out - because, truly, Stolas was intruding on his space and taking advantage of his good-naturedness - Blitzo would’ve come to his senses and rescinded the offer. Their relationship was still so new, and it feels like little time has been had for talking, as of late.

Earnestly, the bird was so goddamn depressed that there was no way he’d do anything for the household except bring them down.

Yet, now, Blitzo begins to jump, tail making happy little curls in the air. “Oh, fuck yeah!” He cries, turning to Stolas with a wide smile. “There’s so much to plan, Stols! I know the couch isn’t, like, the best, and Elara kinda doesn’t have a room, but it’s temporary- I swear. But we can put some of your plants on the terrace, and make a shelf for your books, and-”

The owl tries to smile and listen along, nodding with medium conviction until being saved by his daughter. Elara, seeing her father jumping, raises her chubby little arms and flails them up and down just the same, again and again until she’s whining and wriggling. 

The assassin doesn’t hesitate for a moment - before Stolas can blink, the swaddled up form of their daughter is scooped from his arms and securely in his boyfriends. “I got her!” He cries, bouncing her up and down and tapping his feet out the door as he whistles some loud, happy tune. “Hi, baby girl! You and daddy are coming home soon! Yes you are, yes you are!” Stolas hears, fading away as he retreats to the bathroom.

Stolas blinks. Next to him, the bed dips, and Asmodeus sits atop the covers, trying to smooth them out around him so as to minimize his damage. 

“Talk to me, birdie.” He says, tone close to how Stolas imagines one may speak to a friend. “I want to make it very clear that I’m not kicking you out. This room is entirely unused when you’re not here, so there’s no rush, if you’re not ready yet.”

Stolas’ mouth feels dry. “That’s not what it is.”

“...Are you afraid of living with Blitzo? You know, it’s okay if you’re worried you’re going too fast. Slowing down isn’t a bad thing.”

“No, no. I…” Stolas pauses to pull up the falling shoulder of the burgundy robe Blitzo had gifted him a month or so ago now. “He must be making a mistake, surely. I simply cannot imagine why he would ever want to invite me into his home. I’m not-,” he shrugs, “Why would he want me there?”

Beside him, the figure of Asmodeus tenses, and Stolas finds himself freezing in response. His fingers clench around each other where they’re seated in his lap. What had he said wrong?

Asmodeus simply deflates a few moments later, and a flat palm, slow and reluctant, reaches out and pats gently along the others back. “She really did a number on you, huh?” he murmurs, voice oddly sad. “Stolas, you may be the only demon who doesn’t see the way Blitzo looks at you. I don’t know a whole lotta things but I know Mammon is a grade-A asshole and I know Blitzo the motherfuckin’ clown is in L-O-V-E love with you!” He annunciates his words with dramatic hand-gestures. “If you don’t wanna move into his place for your own reasons, that’s cool! But don’t get it wrong - he wants you there.”

“It’s Blitz now. The ‘o’ is silent.” Stolas says quietly. 

Down the hall, Blitzo’s whistling returns, growing louder with the clicks of his heels and the soft babbling of Elara’s baby rambles. Asmodeus chuckles, low and quiet, and gives Stolas’ shoulder one more solid, flat pat before rising from his seated position on the bed. The rumpled bedding is patted clean before Blitzo walks back inside the room, bouncing a newly changed baby on his hip and giving her chunky little belly tickles in between her happy giggles. His shoulders seem less tense, and his smile bigger.

“Blitzo, may I see your hand? Your crystal, specifically.” 

After Elara is passed back into Stolas’ waiting arms, Blitzo reaches his gloved hand out towards the Sin. Ozzie reaches out and takes the small wrist into his own large palms, whispering low and even a cantation below his breath. Eyes slip shut as an energy begins to glow around his body, pink and electric. As fast as it appeared, it’s gone, and the crystal gives a bright, pink-hued flash before settling back into its usual yellow-toned glint.

“There.” Asmodeus takes a step back and rubs his chin. “Here, lemme take her - let’s put you in your bed, baby!” Elara is lowered into her crib, both parents watching like a hawk. “Now, Blitzo, this may take a few tries, but I want you to take a few steps backwards - one more - there. Point the crystal towards Stolas, and tap it twice - now hold your thumb down, hard. Imagine Stolas as an owl in your mind, just like you imagine portals to open ‘em.”

Magic fizzles in the air, and, despite Asmodeus’ predictions, Stolas immediately begins to feel a familiar shifting take place. He’s had to do it weekly now for his checkups, but it always comes with the heavy knowledge of having to change back soon after. 

Now, as his feathers sprout and his spine grows and his mouth stretches into a beak, he feels..excited. His legs grow and his talons return as his head fills out into a swoop of feathers, varying in thickness. 

From the corner of the room, Ozzie whistles. “Damn. You’re a natural, Blitzo.”

Stolas’ imp lover continues to smile ear to ear. “Eh. I’ve just been really excited for this.” He turns to his lover, beaming like the sun, and reaches out, intertwining their hands. Stolas lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as his feathers brush imp skin - different, his. “C’mon, birdie.” Blitzo continues, “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

The portal behind them fizzles shut just in time for Stolas to bash his head right into the hanging light fixture in front of the doorway. 

Awkwardly moving it to the side, he rubs a palm along his forehead and takes a moment to look around Blitzo’s apartment. Despite his many daytime trips to the office, he’s never been in the imps home before. Even though he’ll be staying here now, it still distinctly feels like invading the space. 

It’s small - very small. There’s a kitchen that opens up into a living room, and two doors - one Stolas assumes is Blitzo’s room and the other for Loona. Perhaps they share a bathroom between the two rooms? 

Despite the size of the space, it’s so much warmer than the biggest, most lavish hall in Stolas’ palace. Organized clutter decorates every nook and cranny, the eyes of what must be hundreds of porcelain horses staring holes into him from each angle. The wallpaper is comforting, with family photos hanging up around them. Upon the quickest of glances, someone seems to have signed all of them. Odd. 

The whole space has been baby-proofed by Blitzo. Little pieces of foam stick to corners and nothing sharp can be seen, at least from his current angle. Even the outlets are taped over so little fingers don’t wriggle inside them, once Elara begins crawling. It makes Stolas’ heart swell and his guilt gurgle. 

An arm wraps around his waist while Blitzo says, “C’mon, pretty bird - over here,” and guides him towards the living room. There’s a couch, a beanbag, and, fitting into the space between them by just a hair, a small crib; complete with a rotating mobile toy of planets. Oh, Stolas’ heart is going to burst inside his chest.

Upon the couch, on the far left, Loona sits, scrolling absent-mindedly on her phone. She glances up once they walk over, and quickly moves to rise. Despite the fog in his mind, Stolas reaches out a hand and ushers for her to sit back down - “No, no, dear - you were here first.”

Loona just shakes her head. “Was just waiting ‘til Blitzo got home. Don’t worry about it.” The hand not holding her phone raises, hovers for a moment, and then gives Stolas’ long arm one solid, awkward pat. “Glad you’re here.” She offers, short and honest, and then turns to the baby. 

Elara gurgles and bounces her little pudgy arms when she sees her sister, a big smile spreading across her beak. Loona’s face slides into an easy grin at that, and she reaches out, looking at Stolas for a nod of permission before taking the baby into her own arms. Elara chirps and snuggles her prickly body up against the nest of warmth her sister's thick fur provides. 

Blitzo steps around Stolas and gives Loona a short side-hug, which she allows to happen, even if her arms are too full of baby to do much other than stand there. Still, Blitzo is beaming when he leans away. “Thanks for waitin’ up, sweetie! We’re kinda beat tonight, but we’ll do a family dinner tomorrow night, ‘kay?”

Loona glances at him, nods, and walks into her room, the door sliding shut behind her. Stolas’ eyes track the movement, but his arms feel empty without Elara, and he finds himself awkwardly shuffling. 

A hand slides into his and he jolts, eyes flitting downwards, to Blitzo. There’s a soft smile on Blitzo’s face, far too gentle as he motions towards the couch. “You need some sleep.” He says, not unkindly. “C’mon, birdie.”

Stolas lets himself be led to the sofa and then lets his own body fall onto it in a heap, head cushioned by a small pillow that he falls off one side of no matter how he turns. A blanket that reaches his ankles is pulled over him, and then another is layered to cover his feet, draping off the couch with its excess. The ex-prince tries to force his eyes open, but he finds himself drifting the moment his head touches the pillow. It didn’t occur to him how exhausted he was until he was perpendicular, and now he finds himself fighting immediate sleep.

Blitzo’s calloused palm touches his cheek and he leans into it as the imp cradles his face like something precious. Lips press to his forehead and Stolas thinks of how he may have reacted to this exact moment a year ago, a month ago. 

He can’t be what anyone needs, though. He wasn’t a good father to Octavia when she needed him, and now his own decisions have led to the demise of their relationship. Even though he pined after Blitzo for months, and they’re together , now, romantically involved and holding hands and everything Stolas wanted, he still feels so empty inside. The pain still hollows him out and leaves the hole behind bruised and aching. 

A tear slides down his face and Blitzo whispers “Oh, baby,” using his thumb to wipe it away. There’s some shuffling, an elbow or two in his side, and then the small imp is crawling on top of him. He shoves his way underneath the pile of blankets and plops right atop his chest fluff, chin resting to look up at Stolas’ face. Long, low rumbles begin to leave his body. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay.” 

Stolas collects the imp into his arms and presses him close, taking in his presence, his loyalty. As sleep begins to cobweb darkness through the corners of his vision, he mumbles, quiet, “Thank you…” 

“For what, pretty bird?”

“For giving me time to be happy...before I mess it up…”

Silence falls over them. Stolas is practically asleep, but he feels a hand press to his cheek, holding him again. “Go to sleep, Stols. I love you.”

Blitzo’s vision dances in smudges of white as he wakes up gradually, the smell of feathers flooding his senses and making him press closer, chase it deeper. When he eventually turns his head, cheek smushing up to his eye, he finds himself as he fell asleep, laying atop the chest of his bird. Even after he becomes aware he gives himself a few moments to lay there, breathing in deep and taking in the morning. It must be very early - the streets outside are markedly quiet. Hell fire licks orange stripes up the walls of their apartment from the glass doors and awashes both of them in the light, framing Stolas just so. 

Blitzo lifts his face and takes another moment to admire Stolas’ sleeping figure - the fluttering of his closed eyes, the way his beak opens and closes with little hoots, the ruffled feathers of his faceplate. Curled up in Stolas’ left arm, nestled against Stolas’ side, and next to Blitzo, is Elara, also sleeping peacefully. Her little fingers collect fistfuls of Stolas’ feathers and hold them so tight it must hurt the avian, at least a little, but he doesn’t move her - just keeps sleeping.

The assassin watches the two until the need to pee kicks his bladder and he’s drawn to rise, cracking his back as he does. When he passes Loona’s door, he sees that all of her decorations are down, which is odd. Maybe she’s redecorating. 

He’s still looking towards her bedroom, eyebrows up in mild confusion, when he reaches and pushes open the bathroom door. He takes one step in and startles, looking down, because there’s something soft under his feet - not the cold tiles of their one-by-one bathroom. 

Instead of his toilet, Blitzo looks out at the long, stretching hallway he had stepped into. “What the fuck?” He says, looking to the left and then down to the right. Some dingy ass hotel - did he take drugs last night? Was he drugged? Wouldn’t be the first time. 

But- the phone is ringing down the hall, and, now that he really takes a look at the place, everything here feels really familiar . Narrowing his eyes in on the wall, he squints, and then looks down at the floor. That carpet-

The One Star Wonder Hotel. Rolando. 

Blitzo’s heart thunders hard enough in his chest for it to echo through his ears. Nope, nope, nope, fuck that, nope! On the ball of his heel he turns right the fuck around, stepping back through the door he came from - and right into a clean, disinfected hospital room. 

“What the fuck?!” He exclaims louder, taking a startled step backwards. A few nurses bustle past him, all frantic in their movements and uncaring if they bump him. One knocks him good in the shoulder, and he stumbles before catching himself on the wall.

“Hey, asshole-“ He spits, “If someone doesn’t tell me what the fuck is going on-”

“We’re losing him! Get CPR ready!” One nurse barks to another. 

Something else slams into his back - knocks him clean over, actually. Blitzo hits the floor hard and barely registers the rush of bodies and sounds around him through the splitting crack of his skull against the tiled floor. For a few moments, everything spins, and there’s a flurry of movement.

Only after the shuffling has passed does he take inventory - nothing broken, although he’s disoriented. And, for some reason, something wet, on his cheek. A hand raises slowly and fingertips, dabbing, pat it away. 

His fingertips, when he looks at them, are stained with black blood. He stares at them, and stares, and then looks towards the commotion that knocked him over.

Two women in lab coats and four other women in scrubs surround Stolas, who lays in bed, unconscious. Black blood seeps into and stains the sheets around his pelvic area. There’s a heart monitor connected to his fingers, and nothing is happening on the screen. He lays totally limp, head lulled to the side, like roadkill.

“One!” A nurse cries, raising and then pressing a charged defibrillator to the flat of Stolas’ fluffed chest, right over his heart. One moment passes, then two, and nothing happens.

“Two!” She tries again. 

They wait a few long seconds. “Three!”

The other nurse sighs and glances at her watch. “Call it.” She hums low. “Time of death, twelve-thirty-four PM. Do we have any family?”

Everyone in the room keeps speaking but the words become muffled and blurred in Blitzo’s ears. He takes one step back, and then two, hands clenching and unclenching as blood roars in rushes through his head. This is wrong. No. No, this is wrong. This has to be wrong. 

Stolas didn’t die. He got close, but we saved him in time. He’s safe. He-he has to be safe-

Four steps backwards find him hitting something behind him, and he spins around, ready to attack on adrenaline alone. His eyes meet, at his level, a familiar dress, the scent of a long-lost perfume, the air of a soft laugh. 

When he meets his Mama’s eyes, she says nothing - just leans down and cups his face, wiping the tears that drip there away with the pad of her thumb. Her eyes study him for a few moments, drinking up his appearance, before she straightens, and he can’t help but whine at her loss. “Mama-“ he croaks, finding his voice again. “Stolas-“

She points left with a finger and hand wrinkled by time and decay, beyond recognition. Her guidance leads him into a door right behind them, one that wasn’t there where Blitzo first stepped into the room. He abandons the room without a second thought and runs through it.

Hot flames, licking and blue and scarring, explode onto his face when he opens this door. He lets out a gasped breath and steps back for a moment, hand coming up to cover his eyes - but, in his periphery, he sees a familiar horse wallpaper, a set of framed and scribbled-out memories, and Loona’s door, complete with all of her decorations. “No!” He keens, forcing his eyes forward. 

His apartment living room sits before him, and the entire thing is up in flames. In front of the coffee table and well-loved sofa stands Stolas and Loona, hip-to-hip, with Elara bouncing gleefully on the owls opposite side. The flames lick up around them, closing in on them, and Blitzo feels a real, raw, guttural scream rip from his throat. 

“No!” Lashing forward, he stumbles and falls until he’s reached them, blubbering out nonsense like “Move! Move, move, move !” and “Not them, please, not them!” As he grows closer, Elara reaches out her grubby little hands towards him, talons curling into a little wave. Loona and Stolas both turn and smile at the baby as the flames lick up them from behind, catching the tip of their tails. The putrid scent of burnt feathers and fur fill the air as the fire spreads to the rest of their bodies, curdling the flesh, boiling their faces beyond recognition. Flesh melts into bones beyond recognition. Elara’s little giggles fade as her clothes fall into ash around her body, burning with the rest of her. 

Blitzo is screaming, screaming, screaming. One hand desperately grabs Stolas’ as he reaches them but it’s too late, and it crumbles into white ash, just like their baby, the second he’s holding it. Some of it blows away into the inferno around them and some of it sits heavy in his palm. The fire takes them all up as he falls to his knees before them, sobbing, begging, “No. No, please, no. Not again. Not them. Not them.”

Something touches his shoulder and he flinches back as his Mama’s perfume, this time mixed with the odor of death and burning flesh, pervades his senses. Above him, his family has all but burnt away, even their bones left ashed and charred. One eyeball, wide and red with a small white pupil pinpricked in the middle, falls from the carnage, and rolls to the center of the room. 

Like a fucked up car crash, Blitzo watches it, all while the flames creep closer. When he turns, his Mama is also gone - a singed and torn dress laying crumpled in her spot. From the folds of the fabric rolls another eyeball, soft and red, black irises so filled with love and warmth. It rolls right over to the other, and together they turn towards him, staring at him as one as the fire overtakes the room. Blitzo watches them, feels their burn even hotter than the flames. 

“If only we’d never met you.” His mothers voice and Stolas’ dance together, a song of aching torment. Blitzo opens his mouth, and sobs, and-

“-z? B-...itz. Blitz! Blitz!”

SLAP!

Sharp and sudden pain explodes all along Blitzo’s left cheek and down the curve of his neck. The imp’s eyes fly open and, moving on instinct, throws himself upwards. As a result, he smashes his forehead into Stolas’ with all of his body weight. 

Both demons cry out with pain, Stolas rolling onto the floor with his head grasped in between two palms and Blitzo curling into the couch cushions in much the same position. His tail tucks tight around his body and he makes himself into a ball, impulsively muttering, “Keep fucking it up, keep fucking it up,” over and over again. Heat from the flames lick up his arms and he can practically feel fingers closing in around his throat; Coming for him, for everyone he cares about-

Low trilling manages to break through the pounding of blood that’s slamming in his ears and head. A tight pressure slips around his sides and hips and then his world goes sideways for just a moment. When he’s settled upright once more, he’s sitting on something much softer, and his face is buried in something so soft, so sweet smelling. 

The trilling continues. Amongst his hypertension and panicked rambles, a low purr, however quiet, manages to respond. 

The gentle giant holding him coos. “Just like that, sweetheart. Just like that. You’re safe, my darling.”

“Stolas- Loona-”

“Are both safe. We’re all in the apartment.” A palm runs up and down his back, calming down the spikes that have instinctually risen at the threat of danger. “Shh, shh. We’re okay.”

For a few moments both of them simply breathe, Stolas taking measured inhales and exhales while Blitzo does them alongside. After a few minutes, once most of the raw panic has subsided, Blitzo finds his voice enough to ask,  “You okay?”

There’s no answer for a few long moments and he turns his head, fear pinching his eyebrows together. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t for his birdie to be sitting up straight and staring at him with one of the most incredulous expressions the imp has ever seen. 

“Am I okay?” The bird scoffs. “Blitzo, you-“ he blinks, mouth open, “you must’ve been having…a horrible nightmare.” His eyes soften. “You couldn’t stop screaming.”

Blitzo blinks at him and feels his tail, still nestled underneath the thin blanket, wring around his own leg, squeezing lightly. “Sorry.” is all that ends up coming out, throat tight. 

Stolas levels him with a look that makes Blitzo’s insides wriggle even worse, so he looks away. There’s something familiar in it - the pinched forehead and slight frown. “Blitzo.” The owl speaks slowly, and the imp gets ready to be yelled at. But he just pauses, beak opening and closing before he says, “You have… nothing to be sorry for. You don’t have to talk about it, if you do not want to. But please know that I am always here to listen, whenever you are ready.” 

The assassin swallows. The sentiment would be nice, really - being said to anyone other than him. Because Stolas doesn’t know yet who the fuck he’s talking to; doesn’t know the kinds of skeletons Blitzo has in his closet. He’s only just beginning to formulate how to smoothly change the subject when, by the grace of Lucifer, a phone rings. 

Both demons' heads turn towards the coffee table, where Blitzo’s phone glides around with the force of its vibrations. A winding tail wraps around it and drops it into Blitzo’s hands, illuminating his face in the light. 

“‘s Millie.” He hums, brain still catching up as he denies the call - whatever it is, Mills can text him. His best friend's contact disappears, and, in its place, his homescreen pops up. He glances at the time. 

His eyes shoot wide open. “Holy fuck.”

“What?” Stolas looks at him, alarmed by his tone. All Blitzo can do is stare with wide eyes at his phone. 

“It’s the next fucking day. We slept, like, forty hours!”

Stolas is quickly scrambling to his side, grabbing the phone from his hand and looking down to double check. His beak also falls open. “Twenty-two.” He corrects quietly but not rudely, staring at the time. “Wow. We must’ve really-“ his head swivels around mid thought, right towards a - very empty - bassinet. “Elara. Where’s Elara? Oh my Lucifer-“

Unoiled hinges squeak loudly as Loona’s door, still decorated in all of her posters and photos, swings open. In the doorframe stands the young hellhound, dressed in a short party dress, with a gurgling Elara balanced on her hip. The baby is wearing a comfy onesie covered in horses that Blitz bought, and if the smell and lack of stains were anything to go by, the diaper strapped around her middle is fresh and clean. 

Stolas melts, “Oh, Loona, darling - you are simply the best. Thank you!”

Loona just grunts in response, although Blitz notices the way her ears fold back and her tail gives a gentle swish in response to the compliment. He grins. “That’s my girl! What would we ever do without you, Loona honey?”

To that, she gives a low growl. “Okay, okay. I’ve been ready to go to this party for like, an hour, so take her, please. I was this close to kicking Blitz awake.”

She walks over, Elara having noticed her parents and devolving into a wriggle monster to get to them. Blitz holds out his arms and her little body is plopped into them, a squealing, giggling mess. He coos at her and brings her close to his face, peppering kisses over her forehead and cheeks. With a grand sweep through the air, he plops her into Stolas’ lap. An easy smile  on his face, he watches his birdie greet their daughter. All five of her taloned fingers wrap tight around Stolas’ one pointer and she kicks her feet and gurgles in excitement. 

“‘kay.” Loona says, stepping backwards. “See you guys.”

“Bye, Loonie! Have fun, text me if-“

There’s a loud knocking on the door, and it cuts right through Blitzo’s sentence. He pauses. “You expecting anyone?” He asks Loona, who shakes her head. 

Turning to Stolas to ask the same question, he finds himself pausing and frowning when he looks at his birdie and takes in the owls disposition - eyes wide, hands wringing in his lap. When they make eye contact, Stolas whispers, "What if it’s the Goetia’s looking for me?”

Shit. Blitzo goes from mildly annoyed at another interruption to serious in seconds, eyes scanning the room for his glove. Finding it crumpled up on the table, he wrestles it on, lifting it towards Stolas and wracking his brain for the imping spell-magic-shit. Did he, uh- tap it? Like this? No, fuck-

“Blitzo! Open up! I got a key!”

The panic drains from Blitzo’s body in a matter of seconds and he physically slumps, allowing the glove to fall to the floor. “Okay. Birdie. Babe, it’s all good.” He says, not laughing, because that would be mean, but maybe smiling just a little. “‘s just Millie.”

“…Oh.” Stolas straightens up a little and dusts off his lap gracefully. “Yes, Millie also makes sense.”

Elara is flopped as gently as possible from Blitzo’s lap to Stolas’, and whines just a little as she watches her Dad rise up from off of the couch and walk over to the door. Blitzo opens it, and sure enough, his best friend stands in the doorway, arms crossed and left foot tapping against the floor like a disappointed mother. Her eyebrows shoot upwards when she lays eyes on the assassin. 

“What. The. Fuck. Blitzo?”

Blitzo’s tail curls behind him. “Why hello to you fuckin’ too.”

Millie shakes her head. “No, no , not this time. Do you even fucking know how long it’s been since any of us have heard from you, B?”

“Uh…” Blitzo leans backwards to check the sunlight outside again. “Like, five days? Look, I'm not-“

“Try a month! Moxxie’s been in a panic - Fizz would only tell us that you were fine and nothing else, and Loona wouldn’t answer!” Besides Blitzo, his hellhound daughter walks up to the door, and Millie takes an opportunity to jab a light finger in her direction. “You need to be better about answering your phone, baby.”

“Yeah, sure.” Loona just flashes her a thumbs up as she rustles through her purse, though it’s clear to everyone there she’s not listening. “‘Kay. See you losers.” She holds one hand up to them in a sort of half wave, even if she’s already moving down the hallway.

“Bye, Loonie!” Blitzo waves after her enthusiastically, tail curling into a heart. “Stay safe! Text me if I need to kill anybody!”

She flips him off down the hallway, and he turns to Millie, about to gush about his amazing daughter when he’s met with a staunch and angry frown. It makes his own smile fall. 

“Look, Mills, for what it’s worth, I am sorry. I’ve just been-” he glances behind his own back, towards Stolas and his mess of an apartment, “- busy.”

Millie opens her mouth to retort, and Blitzo can tell from the look in her eyes that he’s just going to get yelled at again. So, instead, he takes a step to the left, revealing Stolas and little Elara, nestled into his bare chest. The once-prince blushes and gives a cute little wave to Millie as the imp freezes, staring in wonder. 

Blitzo, voice dropping with pride, announces, “Millie, meet my youngest daughter, Elara! We’ve been callin’ her El, sometimes Ellie.”

Millie just stares for a few moments longer, eyes glued to the wriggling ball of hybrid pressed up in Stolas’ arms. When Blitzo grabs her elbow, though, pulling her inside, she follows, and her face melts into an easy smile when she gets closer.

“Oh, hello.” She coos gently, kneeling down besides Stolas. She looks to the prince to make sure the close vicinity is okay and, once she gets a nod, maintains the eye contact for a few more, long seconds. In the back of Blitzo’s head, he realizes that these two haven’t spoken since Millie delivered his egg. Must be a little awkward. 

Still, Millie reaches out, running a flat palm along the baby's forehead. There’s something on her face Blitzo can’t identify.

“Oh, Blitzo. You-“ she looks at the imp and swallows hard. “Good job, B.”

“…It was mostly Stolas, to be fair.”

“That’s not true.” Stolas speaks for the first time, voice quiet. “None if it would’ve been possible without Blitzo.”

The wording pangs through the assassin’s heart but he forces a smile anyways. “That’s certainly true. Anyways, Mills, sorry for not answering you or Mox, but, in my defense, we had a baby. Surprise!” 

Millie only glances at him before looking back at the baby and cooing. “Is your daddy silly? Yes he is! Yes he is!”

Stolas smiles. “Would you like to hold her?”

“Aw, really? Could I?”

“Absolutely. Here, sit next to me.” Once Millie is comfortable on the couch, Stolas transitions Elara over to her lap, careful with the little body and head. She’s wrapped up in a blanket from Loona’s room, face snuggled into the down, trying - and failing - to fight sleep. Millie stares at her with a gentle smile, rocking the bundle back and forth. Her voice is quiet as she speaks to Blitzo, and she doesn’t even bother to turn towards him.

“I’m still mad at you. And you need to answer your texts. But, you made a damn cute kid.”

“Isn’t she the cutest?”

“You are! Yes, you are!”

Millie spends a few more minutes gushing and fawning over the baby while Elara giggles under the affections. Only after a sufficient amount of cuddles and a good chunk of procrastination attempts does she hand the baby back to Stolas, nodding towards Blitzo. 

“I’m sorry I can’t stay as long as I’d like. I gotta get home.” She smiles, but it seems heavy around the edges. Blitzo can practically hear her thinking from here. “But I wanted to stop by and make sure you were alright.”

Blitzo smiles at her. “All good here!”

She studies him close; she sees right through him. Still, she continues to smile. “Just remember that all of us are here to help. I guess I don’ know Fizz that well, but I know he’d drop anything for you, just like Mox and I.” Her hand lands on and shakes his shoulder. “Just reach out. We’ll be there. And we're behind you, in everything. One-hundred percent.”

Blitzo swallows. There are fucking tears in his eyes, so he must look like a little…a little bitch. “Thanks, Mills.”

His friend hugs him, and he sinks into it. Millie hugs are the best - big and warm, squeezing the whole body just a little too tight, with her palm rubbing his shoulders in just the right spots. He sighs when the other lets go. 

“I’ll text you”, he says. 

“Good,” Millie nods, and leaves.

When the door closes behind her, Blitzo sighs, taking a moment to stretch one arm over his head, then the other. They both crack. He turns towards Stolas, ready to ask about possible dinner-breakfast-whatever plans- but his birdie is just staring and patting the empty spot next to him on the couch. Fuck.

“Sit, Blitzo.” The gentleness in Stolas’ voice makes Blitzo panic all the more, but he relents, walking over to the couch and sitting down. Elara giggles, and he turns to her, scowling exaggeratedly.

“You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Why aren’t you reaching out to your loved ones, darling?” Stolas asks, low and gentle, and Blitzo’s first instinct is to get mad, because it sounds so fucking patronizing. But the owl continues, “I understand not reaching out in the eight, nine days since Elara’s been born - but a month is-... it just makes me worry.” Then, quieter, like a whisper, “This has to do with the nightmares, doesn’t it?” 

“It’s not- it’s not that bad.” Blitzo’s tail winds and curls anxiously in the air, and he looks pointedly away from either of the set of eyes watching him as he speaks. “Really. I mean, you’re the one who- lost everything. It’s really nothing, compared to…”, he trails off.

“...Blitzo, I am not looking for your pity. I never have been.”

“I’m not- pitying you! That’s not it! I just- fuck, Stols, a month ago you almost bled out. Like, actually died. I could have fucking lost you, forever.” Blitzo’s throat gets caught, and when he clears it, tears dot in his eyes suddenly, so he just moves on. “I don’t pity you, and I know you’re strong as fuck, because I’ve seen it in action. It’s just that- none of-” he gestures to himself, “this comes even close to what you went through. Are going through.”

Silence. Blitzo keeps his eyes cast downward. The tattered coffee table in front of them has a particularly gnarly stain-slash-bite mark in the front left leg that he’s laser-focused on right now, instead. 

“Blitzo. Tomorrow, if you woke up, and you couldn’t get up - you couldn’t make breakfast, couldn’t wash yourself, couldn’t go to work - I would love you just as much as I do today. I would lie with you until you felt better. No matter how long it took.”

Blitzo swallows. “That wouldn’t- I couldn’t. I have to- I.M.P. You, and Loona. E-Ellie.”

“Just because you have responsibilities doesn’t mean all of them have to be shouldered alone. And your worth isn’t based on any of that, anyways.”

“But I-” Stupid fucking tears again. Blitzo blinks. “None of this would’ve happened without me. I mean, I’m the one who fucked an egg into ya in the first place, you know? If you’d never met me, you wouldn’t be banished. You would still have Octavia in your life. You wouldn’t have almost- bled out, in a fucking dungeon.” Blitzo feels the ghost of fingertips against his windpipe, “It was all-all my fault.”

For a few moments, there’s silence, and Blitzo is panicked enough by it to look over at Stolas. His birdie has leaned his body over, towards the bassinet, placing Elara down into it like a cloud and wrapping her up in her favorite swaddle. She coos, and when Stolas turns back towards Blitzo, he wastes no time taking the other's face into his hands, cupping it like a prayer. 

“Blitzo.” the owl says his name like it’s all that matters, like he’s worshipping at the base of an altar. “My love. Do you know what my life was like, before I met you again?” 

Some of the fog clears in the corners of Blitzo’s vision. “...No. Not really.”

“On my tenth birthday, the one we met as children, I was told I was to be wed the moment I turned 18. My arranged bride’s name was Stella, and she was horribly cruel, but I had no say in the matter. We married the moment we were both of age, and we were forced to have a baby. It was horrific; I was drugged for most of it. Stella hit me and insulted me every chance she had. Eventually, Octavia was born, and she is the light of my life; my baby girl is everything to me.” 

Stolas’ eyes slowly slid over to Blitzo, whose back is pulled tight, eyes zeroed in on something in front of him. A wire snaps. He looks to the side. “They-she did fucking what to you?”

“I miss Octavia every day, Blitzo, but the only reason I am not still in that house being abused and bullied by a woman who does not love me is because I met you. I have Elara because of you. Loona is not on the streets or dead because she met you. Moxxie and Millie are married because they. Met. You.” He finds and squeezes the others hands tight in his own. “Do you understand, my love?”

Blitzo wasn’t listening-couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood and anger in his ears. “She-she hit you?”

For the second time today, it feels like the floor has opened up underneath him, ready to swallow them both whole. How didn’t he know? He saw Stolas flinch - it feels so fucking obvious in retrospect. The Full Moon nights he came over, when Stolas just wanted to cuddle or had injuries he explained away using plants and household accidents; had Stella been hurting him, then? 

When Blitzo fell off the balcony and screamed in her face that they were sleeping- did Stella hit him over that? Oh, Blitzo was going to be fucking sick. There’s bile in the back of his throat, and Stolas is still talking, but sadly, it’s lost in the haze. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. 

“-Blitzo. Blitzo!”

“‘m fine.” The assassin forces out. “All good.”

“Oh, dear- you’re not. I’m sorry, I’m sorry- I wasn’t- I had a point to make. I’m not very good at these things-”

Blitzo waves the other off and takes in a few more deep, exaggerated breaths. “It’s okay, Stols. All good. See?” He takes a deep breath in and a deep breath out as an example. He pretends it doesn’t hitch on the way out. “Fine. Just needed a second.”

Stolas stares and fiddles with his hands in his lap. “I know I have caused a lot of worry for you, Blitzo, and although I also know much of it was out of my control, I am sorry for the emotional roller coaster I’ve put you through. But, please know- my life right now is better than it has ever been, and I mean that wholeheartedly. There are many things I would’ve done differently, were I to do it all again. But I would want you in my life in any universe, any timeline. I do not and could never regret you, Blitzo Buckzo.”

Blitzo tips forward and finds himself quickly buried in Stolas’ chest plumage for the second time that hour. The owl takes it in stride, collecting the loose limbs of the imp up in his arms and hugging him so close as Blitzo says, muffles by feathers, “Man, fuck you. That’s not fair.”

He leans back. “You say that now, but how long until I hurt you? Or- or Elara. You know me, I-I burn everything I touch.”

“You do not.” Stolas answers without any hesitation. “I was miserable before you came back into my life. I spent every day in fear, wanting so selfishly to-to stop feeling. I stayed for Octavia, but I was never happy. You taught me that I could choose, that life doesn’t have to be so-so sad.”

“But now Octavia doesn’t talk to you.” Blitzo looks at Stolas with watering eyes, and Stolas coos, kissing his forehead. 

“That is not your fault, my dearest. I have made many, many mistakes along this journey that have damaged our relationship. That is- that is only my fault. Not yours. Never yours.”

Blitzo shakes his head from where it’s being cradled between Stolas’ hands like he’s something precious. “Not fair. I fucked up too. I keep seeing you, in the hospital, after you laid the egg, and I guess I-I didn’t get you there in time. You ble-” the words lodge in the bottom of his throat. “I didn’t save you in time. I was so close to not saving you in time, Stols.”

The owl coos quietly, running the palm of his hands over Blitzo’s horns and pressing a kiss to the very center of his insignia. 

“But you did save me, Blitzo.” Eyes study and search his face for something, but he isn’t sure what. “I owe you a second apology. Too much has fallen on your shoulders lately. I know I was out of commission for a while, and losing Octavia…” He swallows, and looks away, “Just because the pain is intense does not mean I can abandon my responsibilities elsewhere.”

Blitzo ‘psh’s quietly. “It’s fine to take things slow while you’re healing.”

“And your worth is not determined by just being a caretaker.” Stolas says it so solidly, so earnestly, like he believes it with his whole heart. And Blitzo takes a slow breath in, through his nose. 

He still doesn’t really believe it. Nothing Stolas could say would magically undo years of being told otherwise- countless nights terrified of burning everyone he loves all over again. 

He looks at the other. “I’ll work on believing that if you work on believing me when I say how beautiful you are.”

He gets a small smile in response, and a soft snore from Elara to boot. “Alright, my darling. Deal.”