Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The next thing Blitzø was aware of, he was coming to on the hard concrete, covered in blood, staring up at a starry sky, and his head pounding like he'd managed to drink an entire warehouse of beelzejuice the night before. All in all, not an unusual way for him to wake up. He laid there for a minute, trying to get his bearings. Dark blue sky, which meant he was in the human world. Quiet, which meant he probably wasn't in danger, at least for now. Though that could change as soon as he sat up and people realized he wasn't dead. 

What was the last thing he remembered, anyway? How had he gotten here? He flicked back through his memories, trying to pull up whatever was the last thing he could remember. For some reason, the last image he could pull up was a memory of Stolas standing out in his garden in a robe, a different robe than the one Blitzø was used to, white and covered in leaves or some other Stolas-y shit. Somehow the mental image of that robe had gotten burned into Blitzø's brain because he had only been able to stare at the damn robe rather than Stolas' face as the bird screeched at him. Stolas had always tried to rub his ratty old red robe all over him whenever it was a full moon, saying he liked having it smell like Blitzø during the time between their... meetings. Some kind of kink thing or something. But all Blitzø could remember thinking as he stared at that damn new robe was... "Damn, he hates me so much, he doesn't even think I smell good anymore."

Oh. 

Right. Suddenly the memory clicked into place. He and Stolas had that whole stupid argument after Stolas had given him that motherfucking crystal, and then Blitzø had actually tried to suck up and make it better, even though he never did that sort of shit. And Stolas had just yelled in his fucking face instead. That motherfucking royal pri-

Wait. The crystal. He didn't have to wait for Loona to portal him, all he had to do was use the crystal. He darted his eyes from side to side, trying to see if there was anyone nearby who would shoot at him the instant he moved. But it seemed like a mostly abandoned alleyway. Blitzø would just have to risk it. At least if things went sideways, he would have a quick escape. 

After a breath to brace himself, in one quick movement, Blitzø rolled into a sitting position, and pushed back the sleeve of his jacket on his left arm to reveal... A bare arm. 

A bare, human arm. 

No crystal, just a tanned human arm covered in imp blood. All Blitzø could do for a minute was gape at it in silence. And then, his hands were flying up to his face in horror. 

"WHAT THE FUUUUUUCK?!"

His face was... squishy, even in the grip of his stupid squishy human hands. Blitzø found himself sneering in repulsion as he dragged his hands over his face, trying to search his features for any sort of familiarity. He needed a fucking mirror. How the hell had he managed to end up in some sort of human's body, anywa-

He paused, his thoughts flicking back to when he'd met Barbie in her human disguise, and glanced down at his own arm again. When he thought about it, she'd had a pretty similar skin tone. Maybe... Maybe he'd actually finally figured out a way to actually get through all the paperwork for a human disguise. He had an Asmodean crystal now, after all. But... Fuck, why couldn't he remember even getting a human disguise? His memories were coming back in weird bursts, like his brain was still struggling to figure out the proper order everything went in. 

It was like the motherfucking hangover to end all hangovers. Just what had Blitzø taken, anyway? Apparently, it was strong enough to make him even forget how to undo his own human disguise, though he supposed that wasn't a terrible thing when he was already in the human world. Then again, maybe he wasn't even actually in a human disguise. Maybe he was just so fucking high off his ass that he was hallucinating. But fuck, if he was waking up remembering this little and covered in this much blood... It must have been something mind-melting, whatever it was. Blitzø was going to have to see if he could figure out what exactly he'd taken, just so he could try it again. 

But in the meantime, he had no crystal, no ride, and no idea where he was.

He pushed himself to his feet with a groan and tried to get his bearings. He was in some sort of alleyway that looked mostly abandoned, save for the absolutely mangled imp in the middle of it. He winced at the sight. Some motherfucker had really torn the guy apart like an animal. Blitzø preferred having cleaner kills than that.

He moved on to patting down his pockets until he found the familiar rectangular shape of a phone. Relieved, he pulled it out, only to find it was some beat-up junker of a phone with some random human-world dog set as the lockscreen. Blitzø frowned at it. What the fuck? Maybe he had some sort of... humansona phone, for whenever he was in incognito mode, or something. He tried his same lock, drawing his finger over the dots in an "S" shape and leaving a smear of blood behind as he did. The strange phone unlocked though, so it had to be his. Even though it opened to a slew of... human apps. 

Blitzø scowled at the phone. Fucking useless shit. Whatever, all he needed was the phone part of the phone anyway. He could figure out the rest later, when his brain wasn't pounding. Maybe he'd bonked his head a little too hard. Maybe he had some kind of amnesia. That was a new one.  

He got as far as typing "mox" into into the search bar of his contacts when the phone suddenly popped up a message:

No results found. 

Blitzø frowned and shook his head as he backspaced. Had he put them in as some sort of code name or something? Fuck, he needed to figure out how to Blitzø-proof his life for when he had crazy nights like this. He next tried typing in "mil," which returned one result, some bitch named Emily. Adding a second "L" got the same message as before, though. 

No results found. 

Blitzø scoffed and backspaced again. There had to be someone saved in here for him to call. He tried typing in "loo," and the same infuriating message as before popped up. 

No results found. 

"Fuck's sake," Blitzø growled as he backspaced again, settling for instead trying to scroll through the contacts and see if anyone stood out to him. Maybe he had put someone in under some sort of codename that would be obvious to him. 

But everyone in the phone seemed to be saved under extremely ordinary human names. Not even joke names, like "some bitch from work idk." Like it hadn't even been him who'd set the damn phone up in the first place, because he sure as hell wouldn't just program in a contact as "Jennifer" without adding some sort of joke or flair. 

Even when Blitzø went as far back as looking at his own text messages to see who he was texting regularly, all he got was some chats with dudes named Tyler and Charlie, and then a whole slew of the kinds of obnoxious automatic messages from companies who didn't know when to shut up. Your service is ending soon, thanks for joining our reward program, this is a courtesy reminder... It was beginning to look like he'd have to somehow remember people's phone numbers if he was going to call for help. Unless he wanted to take his chances with Tyler or Charlie. 

But whose phone number could he remember like that, anyway? The whole point of cell phones was supposed to be saving everyone from stupid shit like memorizing every phone number of every person they cared about! 

"The office," he muttered to himself, his fingers shaking as he typed the number in. He had put that phone number on enough flyers and billboards and commercials to remember it. It rang once, then twice, and Blitzø found himself pacing and biting at his lip as he pressed the phone into his stupid squishy human face. 

"Come on, Loonie," he muttered as the phone rang a third time. "Pick up, pick up, pick up... Fucking dammit, Loonie, pick up!" 

And then, finally, her annoyed shout came through the speaker as if she'd known on some level he was yelling at her. 

"WHAT?" 

Blitzø tried not to sag in relief, clutching at the phone with both hands. "Fuck, Loonie, that sure took you long enough. Whatever, I still love you, sweet, precious baby girl. Anyway. I need you to come get me, I don't have my crystal-" 

Millie's voice cut in, "Look, we're kinda in the middle of something right now, d'you think you could call ba-"

"Millie!" Blitzø said, trying to get her attention before she hung up on him. He wasn't sure how long it would take before they would answer the phone again if they were "in the middle of something," but whatever they were in the middle of, he was pretty sure the boss would be more important. "Millie, I was telling Loona, you need to pick me up-" 

"It's him!" Millie screeched. "How does he know all our fucking names?!" 

Before Blitzø could ask what the fuck that was supposed to mean, the phone clicked, and when he looked at the phone, it very simply said: 

Call ended. 

"Oh, don't you fucking dare hang up on me," Blitzø growled as he typed the number in again, tapping his foot as the phone rang again. 

By the third time he called, his number had been blocked. 

"OH, COME ON!" Blitzø shouted into the dark alleyway, as though his rage alone might be enough to reach them. He was tempted to throw the useless phone against the brick wall of the alley, but he decided against it at the last minute. He had no fucking idea where he was, and his phone was maybe the one shot he had of getting any kind of help. He just had to think of if he had any other numbers memorized that he could call. Or maybe he'd just have to take a chance with one of the human contacts in the phone. 

And then, a nearly forgotten scrap of a memory. A phone number Stolas had set up as a one off joke for one of their roleplays, because he had more money than he knew what to do with. Blitzø remembered how he had joked that maybe he would use it if he ever needed a late-night booty call. How Stolas had clearly gotten turned on by the suggestion and said that no one else knew the number, so it could always be their "little secret."

1-800-STO-LITZ

Blitzø let out a slow breath, his fingers shaking as he typed the numbers into the phone, shaking his head at himself as he did. Who knew if Stolas would even fucking pick up the phone? It wasn't like things were exactly good between them, and calling the booty call phone number when Stolas kept yelling at him about sex was.... probably not the best move. But it was worth a shot. It was better than calling some rando human.

"Please," he murmured into the phone as it rang once, twice. "Please, Stols, it's me." 

And then, the phone stopped in the middle of the third ring. There was no other sound for a minute, and Blitzø was just about to check to see if maybe the call had been rejected when Stolas' trembling voice finally came through. 

"Hello?"

"Stols," Blitzø breathed, sagging against the wall for support. "Thank Satan you picked up. Look, I know that we didn't end on the best terms, and... I mean, this isn't about that and if you want to yell at me afterwards to fuck off then that's totally fine-"

Fuck, he was babbling, and Stolas was just silent on the other end. Get to the fucking point before he drops you, Blitzø told himself with a scowl. 

"-I just. I'm stranded, and I don't have my crystal, and... I'd ask M&M and Loona, but the assholes aren't answering my calls, and... I don't even fucking know where I am, Stolas, and I mean, you tracked me that one time, so... y'know. I was thinking. Maybe you could do some sort of little tracky spell and then do a portal and... come... pick... me up?" 

Blitzø trailed off with a sheepish smile as he finished, expecting Stolas to say something, anything. Yelling was less unnerving from Stolas than silence like this, especially when he couldn't even see the bird's face. But even as he sat and waited for Stolas to go off on him, the line still stayed silent, every second settling on Blitzø's shoulders like another ten pounds. 

"Stolas," he whispered into the phone. "Please. Say something, okay?"  

"You have some fucking nerve calling here," Stolas said in a low tone. 

"I know, I know, I'm-"

"You're all parasites," Stolas continued, now clearly triggered into his rant mode, his voice raising with every word. The word parasite rattled around on repeat in Blitzø's head. "Is there no level you reporters won't stoop to to get your little soundbites? As I've told you all a thousand times, no, I will not do interviews, and I do not want to talk about the trial! Blitzø Buckzo has been dead for over a year now! Will you never let me have peace?" 

Blitzø froze, blinking at the phone. "What." 

And then the line went dead.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Blitzø muttered, shoving the stupid phone back into his pocket, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. His hands went up instinctively to grab his horns, and he instead ended up with a fistful of hair. Blitzø let out a half crazed laugh at the strange feeling, sinking down to his knees, still slumped against the wall. 

He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. He was feeling too damn much to be dead. 

And then, from somewhere on the fire escape above him, there was the sound of a window scraping open. Shit. Shit shit shit, he was right out in the open and covered in blood. 

"Yeah, yeah, it's right here," a low male voice said. Blitzø could barely see through the holes in the metal of the emergency stairs that someone was leaning out of a window that lit them up from behind. He pressed himself as tightly against the wall as he could, hoping they wouldn't notice him in the evening light. "I think it's a... possum? Or, like, maybe a komodo dragon?" 

The guy paused for a minute, sweeping his eyes over the alleyway like he was looking for something. And then, into the darkness, he called out, "Blake?" 

Another pause, and then the guy was turning back towards his phone, turning back inside. "Nah, my friend. I think he went 'round the corner to smoke or something."

Blitzø breathed a sigh of relief at the guy's retreat. He needed to get out of there. Fast. He could figure out the whole dead-not-dead thing later.

And then, as he was slinking out of the alleyway, the imp's body and the blood painting the concrete all suddenly lit with a golden glow, making Blitzø jump back with a hiss. Angelic light. It enveloped the imp for a second, and then it was all suddenly gone, the entire alley looking like there had never been a fight there in the first place. 

Shit. 

Blitzø had no idea why the motherfucking angels were involved, but he suddenly really needed to get out of there. Immediately. Gone in the past tense kind of way. 

He darted out of the alleyway, trying to stick to the shadows, darting his eyes around for any sign of people nearby. He was in some sort of side street, like where he'd started was some sort of alleyway of an alleyway. Around another corner was a street with intersections and the glowing windows of some kinds of shops. Blitzø glanced down at himself. The angelic light had cleaned the alley, but he was still covered from head to toe in blood. Even if it was imp blood, he was pretty sure the humans wouldn't exactly be reassured by that. He needed to go somewhere less crowded. 

And then, just as he was darting across the side street to another alley, none other than Princess Charlotte turned the corner. Blitzø hissed and cursed under his breath before ducking behind a dumpster. What the fuck was the princess doing here? Did that mean Lucifer was nearby? No, no, it couldn't be, no one had seen him in years. Blitzø actually had money running that the guy was dead and some reporter was going to find his body any day now. 

As she walked, magic rippled over Charlotte, and her form changed—subtly, but enough that she suddenly looked much more human than she had the moment before. 

"Blake?" she said, turning into the alleyway Blitzø had just run out of. Noticing that it was empty, she growled and stomped her foot, cracks spreading out from underneath the sole of her shoe. "Shit. Shit! He was just here!" 

Blitzø swallowed a lump in his throat. He had always taken the princess for a pushover spoiled babygirl, but there was something underneath her anger that was... Well, maybe she actually wouldn't be as useless in a fight as he'd thought. He definitely did not want to be this Blake guy, whoever he was. 

Princess Charlotte seemed to be occupied with calling someone on her phone, so keeping a careful eye on her, Blitzø slowly backed away, ducking so the dumpster would mostly cover him. As soon as he had gotten to the corner of the building he was next to, he turned and started running as fast as his stupid squishy human legs would take him. He was no longer worried about if someone saw him, all he was worried about was putting as much space as possible between himself and the angry demon princess. 

Just as he thought that maybe he'd gotten away, he ran into someone and flew backwards, landing on the pavement with a curse. He picked his hands up with a wince, noticing that his palms had been scraped bloody just from falling on the pavement. Human bodies were so fucking fragile. He couldn't wait to undo this stupid spell. He did his best to shake the gravel off his hands, turning to yell at the person who had decided to stand in the middle of-

Blitzø froze at the familiar feathered face that was blinking at him. Owlishly blinking, as stupid as that was, though it wasn't as if an owl could really blink any way other than owlishly, he supposed. 

"Stolas," he breathed, surprised at how relieved the word sounded coming out of him, nearly turning into a sob. 

"Blitzø...?" Stolas whispered, taking one slow, hesitant step forward, bending down to get a closer look.

Blitzø glanced down at himself, letting out a bitter laugh. The only light came from one dim, flickering streetlight that hardly did its job, making Stolas recognizable mostly by shape than anything else. It was still enough for Blitzø to know that his own shape was very different from its usual form, squishy human fingers replacing claws, floppy human hair replacing horns, flat human face replacing his long snout and razor sharp teeth. 

"Yeah, sorry Feathers, I uh, guess I don't really look like myself, huh?"

Blitzø pushed himself to his feet, trying in vain to brush off some of the blood that covered his clothes. The black leather jacket might at least be salvageable, but the jeans and red t-shirt were probably toast. When he looked up again, Stolas had his head titled to one side, carefully considering. 

"Actually," he said slowly, "You'd be surprised how much you do look like yourself." 

Blitzø snorted, the laughter bubbling out of him before he could fight it.  His breathless giggles sparked something in the still darkness, and after a couple seconds of looking at him in surprise, a small hoot of a giggle came out of Stolas. Both their laughs grew stronger with the support of the other, both seeming surprised that they could find something worth laughing over in the middle of so much chaos. And for a flicker of a moment, it was like falling back into a memory, everything else sliding away until it was just them. Blitzø’s bucktoothed grin wide enough to hurt, Stolas’s eyes crinkling in disbelief at the sound coming out of his mouth.

"Christ on a stick, you came," Blitzø said, dragging a hand over his face as he tried to catch his breath. "You actually fucking came. How'd you even know where I was?" 

"I did a tracking spell," Stolas said with a small shrug. "You reminded me of how I used to do them, and, well. Curiosity got the better of me. I didn't think the spell would actually... point to anyone." He paused, his eyes flicking over Blitzø carefully. 

"Blitzø... How... How is this possible?" 

"Fucked if I know," Blitzø said with a shrug. "You're the one who reads spell books, Stols, I just... make shit up as I go. I probably faked my death or something, and I guess then I got so high I forgot how to switch out of my human disguise." 

Stolas stared at him, those red eyes wide and searching and a little terrified. "You don't remember?" 

"Well..." Blitzø coughed and looked at the ground and kicked at a pebble on the pavement as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Not... really. But it sounds like something I would do, doesn't it?" 

Stolas let out a muted noise, something between a choke and sigh, but the expression on his face was one that Blitzø didn't fully recognize. He had expected anger or frustration, not eyes wide and brimming with pity and understanding and maybe even...

"We buried you," Stolas said, his voice cracking on the words. "I was there, Blitzø. Your head was... You were executed on live television, darling!" 

Blitzø raised an eyebrow. "And you saw that?" 

Stolas scoffed. "Everyone saw it, what kind of question-" 

"Did. You. See it?" 

"Well..." Stolas frowned. "No, not personally. But I saw the recordings!" 

This time, it was Blitzø's turn to scoff. "Aw, come on, Stols, you know everything on TV is fake!"

"Well..."  

"Stolas," Blitzø said seriously, taking a step towards him. "If you didn't see if for yourself, how can you be so sure? And besides, you said so yourself. Your tracking spell led you to me. Why would it do that if I wasn't... me? Who cares how it happened, we'll figure that shit out later. Can't we just be happy that it happened at all?" 

They stood there in the darkness for a long, quiet moment as they considered one another. Blitzø was terrified with every flicker of the streetlamp that if he took his eyes off Stolas for one second, it would break the spell and his bird would be gone again, leaving him in the dark and searching for answers all over again. 

Then, too quick for Blitzø to fully register, Stolas was on him, his mouth crushing against Blitzø’s, his body folding around the smaller man as they stumbled backwards, Blitzø's back colliding with the brick wall of the alleyway behind him. Stolas' hands moved wildly—knotted into Blitzø's hair, hooking under the strap of his jacket, clutching at his cheeks—like he couldn't decide which part of Blitzø he needed to feel most urgently. The kiss was messy and eager and feverish with a desperation that Blitzø didn't remember being so intense before. 

Blitzø had definitely forgotten. He'd forgotten the way kissing Stolas made his mind feel like it was shutting down, everything except the tickle of feathers on his face, the press of the other demon's tongue wrapped around his own. He'd forgotten the kind of drug Stolas always was, how he kept Blitzø only ever wanting more and more. Forgotten how fucking much he needed this, that underneath irritation and confusion was a hunger that pulled at them both like an open wound. Forgotten how touching Stolas made his skin feel like it was on fire. 

Stolas groaned against Blitzø's mouth, and the sound vibrated through every cell of him. He felt alive. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. He was feeling too damn much to be dead.

And then-

Pain. 

Blinding white pain bloomed in his lip, and Blitzø pulled away from the kiss with a hiss, reaching a hand up and realizing that his lip was covered in fresh blood. Red blood. Human blood, not the black imp blood he was already covered in. He winced and looked up at Stolas, who had a horrified expression and a smear of red on the tip of his beak. 

"Blitzø," Stolas whispered, his voice trembling. "You're hurt." 

"Guess I'm not as built for this as I used to be," Blitzø said with a scoff, trying to wipe the blood away with the back of his hand. Catching Stolas' expression, he tried to give the owl a reassuring grin. "Relax, Stols, that barely hurt. Millie's beat me up worse than that as a birthday present." 

“I’m so sorry,” Stolas said, his voice as desperate as the kiss had been seconds before. He reached out towards Blitzø, then seemed to catch sight of his own talons, winced, and pulled back. "I didn't realize, I didn't know-"

"Feathers, it's not a big deal," Blitzø, taking a step towards the taller demon. Stolas sucked in a breath and took a step back. Blitzø scoffed and rolled his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Seriously. It won't even matter once I figure out how to switch back. You're not about to freak out over one tiny drop of human blood, are you?"

But Stolas was still watching him with wary eyes, like he would explode into dust if someone so much as breathed on him wrong. When neither of them said anything for what felt like forever, the owl demon lifted a hand to his neck and startled at something there, like he'd forgotten he had it around his neck until that moment

"Oh!" he said, reaching up to fiddle with something at the back of his neck, readjusting his collar and pulling out something before gently holding it out to Blitzø.

And there, in Stolas' hands, was the same red skull brooch that Blitzø had worn every single day for so many years. The same red brooch that his mom had worn every day for as long as he remembered. It wasn't on the same choker that Blitzø had put it on, instead converted to an actual pendant and hanging from a delicate silver chain that screamed expensive, plus there were a few more chips and dents than he remembered it having the last time he'd worn it. But. It was like he hadn't even realized how bare his neck felt until he suddenly saw it there in Stolas' hands. 

“I was holding on to it all this time,” Stolas murmured, his voice trembling. “In the hopes that… well. Rather silly, vain hope, I suppose. But… part of me never really believed…”

He trailed off, reaching out to press the pendant into Blitzø's hands. He could only stare down at it like it was alive, his breath catching in the back of his throat. 

"This is... This was my mom's." 

"I know," Stolas said quietly, and Blitzø snapped his head up to look at him. 

"Your sister told me as much at the, erm, funeral," Stolas continued with an awkward shrug. "She... Wasn't particularly keen on the idea of letting me keep it, but... she eventually gave in, for some reason. I suppose she probably pitied me. I just couldn't... I couldn't..." 

"Thanks, Stols." Blitzø's hands shook as he brought it up to his own neck, hesitating for just a moment as he fumbled with the unfamiliar clasp. And then-

"Blake?" 

He froze and turned, the necklace halfway up to his neck. Princess Charlotte was standing at the mouth of the alleyway, her eyes wide and panicked, and her hands splayed out as if she were approaching a wild animal. Blitzø stared at her for a long, tense moment, took in the way she subtly flicked her eyes over to Stolas, who straightened like a schoolboy who'd been scolded. Blitzø narrowed his eyes and clasped the necklace around his neck, taking comfort in the familiar weight. 

"Princess," he spat. 

She just stood there, seemingly frozen in place, her wide eyes flicking to Stolas, and then back to Blitzø. "You... You remembered?" 

"Remembered?" Blitzø said with another snort of a laugh that was bordering on hysteria. "Remembered what? I feel like I don't fucking remember anything!" 

"You don't know who I am?" the princess said in a soft voice, her raised hands lowering an inch. She almost looked... wounded at that, like a stupid little imp knowing who she was actually meant something to the third most important person in Hell. 

"Of course I fucking know who you are, your face is plastered all over everything in Pride," Blitzø said with a scoff and roll of his eyes. "Why the fuck do you care, anyway?" 

And then his mind flicked back to when he'd been scrolling through his old text messages, looking for anyone he knew, remembered noting that he had some person named Charlie he'd been texting- As he remembered it, he could just barely remember a scrap of some other memories, walking beside her on the sidewalk and laughing, standing behind a counter with her, rolling his eyes and playfully bumping her with his hip, sitting in a dark room with her as they passed a container of ice cream between them, their eyes glued on the glow of a tv screen. 

"Christ on a stick," Blitzø said, gulping in a breath of horrified air, pressing his hands to his forehead. "Have you been fucking following me? Why are you in my head? Why do I remember you?"

"Okay," Charlie said, taking a small step closer and still holding her hands up as if she were trying to approach some kind of wounded animal. "Okay. I understand there's been a lot that's happened tonight, Blake, but-"

Blitzø frowned. That other guy had said that same name when he'd looked out the window. He snapped his head up to glare at the princess. 

"And why the FUCK do you keep calling me that??"

A long moment of silence settled over the three of them, like some sort of bubble that cut them off from the rest of the world. Blitzø glared at the blonde standing in front of him, swearing that he could feel his tail lashing behind him like a whip. But there was no tail. Stupid squishy human body. If it weren't for that holding him back, if it weren't for Stolas already having demonstrated just how weak this body actually was, then Blitzø would have already jumped on the damn princess. Even if he was outmatched. He was so mad, all he could think of was biting her arm as hard as he possibly could. And she was just standing there, her head tilted to one side, as if she were considering a painting in a fucking museum. 

And then, finally, she took another hesitant step forward, looking at him like she was trying to see something hidden in his eyes. He huffed at her. 

"...Blitzo?" she said softly, frowning. 

"THE 'O' IS SILENT, BITCH!!"

Chapter Text

A long moment of silence settled over the three of them, like some sort of bubble that cut them off from the rest of the world. Blitzø glared at the blonde standing in front of him, swearing that he could feel his tail lashing behind him like a whip. But there was no tail. Stupid squishy human body. If it weren't for that holding him back, if it weren't for Stolas already having demonstrated just how weak this body actually was, then Blitzø would have already jumped on the damn princess. Even it he was outmatched. He was so mad, all he could think of was biting her arm as hard as he possibly could. And she was just standing there, her head tilted to one side, as if she were considering a painting in a fucking museum. 

And then, finally, she took another hesitant step forward, looking at him like she was trying to see something hidden in his eyes. He huffed at her. 

"...Blitzo?" she said softly, frowning. 

"THE 'O' IS SILENT, BITCH!!"

Charlie froze where she was standing, her eyes wide and looking for a moment like she was going to cry. Blitzø nearly wanted to laugh in victory. Something something misery and company or whatever. But from beside him, Stolas hissed. 

"Blitzø, that is our princess." A heavy weight settled on Blitzø's shoulder, and he could just barely feel the poke of talons. Much more gentle than he was used to getting from the bird man. He was opening his mouth to yell at Stolas not to treat him like a damn porcelain doll when Charlie interrupted him. 

"It's okay, Stolas. I mean. Prince Sto- Mr. Goetia. Mr. Prince Stolas." 

"Just Stolas is fine, Your Highness." The weight on his shoulder lessened slightly, and when Blitzø turned to look, he noticed that Stolas had straightened his posture again, smoothing the feathers on top of his head as if he was expecting that damn hat to be there. Now that Blitzø thought about it, he wasn't sure he'd actually seen Stolas around any other higher ranking royals before. It was odd, like seeing a customer service mask suddenly slide over a face you thought you knew inside and out. 

"Please," Charlie said with a scoff and wave of her wrist. "I'm just Charlie, my dad's the highness. I mean, the whole point of my dad being banished is that he's supposed to take care of Hell forever, so it's not like I'll ever have any kind of real power anyway." 

"Awesome," Blitzø said, crossing his arms over his chest and jamming his hands in his armpits as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "Let's just have a whole networking dinner out here in the middle of fuck all while I still have no clue what the fuck is going on."

"Blitzø..." 

"It's okay," Charlie said again, holding her hands up like some sort of peace offering. As if she were trying to say she were innocent. As if Lucifer's only daughter could ever be innocent. "He's right. We shouldn't stay out in the open like this." 

"Oh," Stolas said, as if that were simple enough, and waved his hand to create a portal. Through it, Blitzø could just barely see the familiar shapes and colors of the mansion, and for once, it actually felt like a relief. At least it was in Hell, in Pride. He could improve his way through a shitty situation so much better if he was at least in the right realm.

"No!" Charlie said, lunging forward and grabbing Blitzø by the collar. When she noticed the expression he was giving her, she coughed, let go of his collar, and cleared her throat, wagging both her pointer fingers in a X motion. "No, no, no. No. I just. Ah. Maybe we shouldn't be doing the thing that started this whole mess in the first place?" 

Something in Stolas' expression soured, and the portal snapped shut like a rubberband. "Of course." 

Blitzø frowned and looked between the prince and princess. There was something about seeing Stolas being reprimanded by someone higher ranking than him that twisted Blitzø's insides. Even if she was Lucifer's daughter, that didn't just give her the right to stroll in and make Stolas feel like that. He took another step towards her, placing himself between her and Stolas. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? How am I supposed to get home without a portal?"

"We can take your van!" Charlie said with a smile, holding her hand out to him like she we offering help to a child who wanted to cross the street. "I saw it parked in front of Tyler's place." 

Blitzø narrowed his eyes as he considered her, then glanced back at Stolas, who gave him a small nod. He sighed and turned back to look at Charlie, but didn't take her outstretched hand. "Fine. Lead the way, Blondie." 

As they walked, Blitzø followed closely behind Charlie, watching her shoulders and eyes for any more tells of betrayal. If she really was being so stupid as to just be leading him right into a trap, he at least wanted to be forewarned about it. Charlie marched ahead like a tour guide, constantly glancing over her shoulder with a nervous expression, like she was scared she could lose track of the two demons following her at any moment. Blitzø was next in line, his arms still knotted tightly over his chest and anger still pounding through his veins. He was so mad he could barely even savor it. All of that pent-up rage and nowhere to put it. Stolas was close behind, not quite walking at Blitzø's side, but also not fully falling in line behind him like a row of ducklings. He hovered by Blitzø's elbow, like he was suddenly the one on bodyguard duty. 

Blitzø was so tempted to lean in and whisper questions to Stolas, try to figure out what the fuck was going on. But Charlie was too close for him to do that without hearing, anyway. Which sucked in more than one way, considering that she had interrupted their hot make-out session. There was a lot more than whispering that Blitzø wanted to do to Stolas when they finally got a minute to themselves again. 

"You should have the keys," Charlie said, coming to a stop in front of a beat up red van that had paint chipping in more than one spot along with a dent in the front door. Blitzø shoved his hands into his pockets and dug out a pair of keys, tossing them to Charlie. 

"Oh," she said, blinking down at them in surprise. "I... Um. Actually don't. Have a driver's license." 

Blitzø rolled his eyes and stomped over to her before taking the keys back, trying not to catch Stolas' eye as he muttered something about all rich kids being the same with their stupid personal chauffeurs. He unlocked the front door and jabbed at the unlock button to let the other two in the car. Charlie went around to the passenger seat without question, while Stolas was left pulling at the side door like he expected it to open outwards. Blitzø sighed and reached over, pulling the door so it slid open instead, making Stolas jump back with a startled hoot, his feathers ruffling. When he looked over at Blitzø, his expression was so familiar that it made Blitzø smirk back automatically. 

"My, how chivalrous," Stolas said, leaning down and nearly purring the words. 

"Yeah, you like that? I can open a lot more than doors, pretty bird." 

"Oh my," Stolas said with a flustered hoot, his neck feathers poofing out in that adorable way that always wound Blitzø up. But just as he was leaning in for a retort, that damn princess was leaning into his field of vision again. 

"Uh, guys...?" she said, and Blitzø was about to snap at her to back the fuck off when he caught the glow of red and blue in the distance. Fuck. Human authorities. 

"Get in, Stols," Blitzø murmured, nudging Stolas into the van, trying to block off as much of him as possible with his own body. Not that it would do much good, considering how small and demonic he would look himse-

Wait. 

Blitzø scowled at the reminder of his stupid squishy human body. He sure as fuck hoped that Charlie or Stolas could help him take off his human disguise soon. Even if it was kind of useful to think that for once, he wouldn't look that suspicious to the human authorities. 

Well, if not for the fact that he was still covered in blood. 

He scowled and slammed Stolas' door shut, then climbed in the driver's seat, slamming his own door behind himself. He then took in a deep breath, putting both his hands firmly on the wheel. 

"Okay. Where am I going?" 

He glanced over at Charlie, who gave him a reassuring nod before pointing at the road ahead, in the opposite direction of the flashing red and blue lights. "Turn right." 

Blitzø nodded and pulled out of the parking lot. He sure hoped he could actually trust her to lead him where he needed to go. 

The car was heavy with that kind of uncomfortable silence that happened whenever there was a a Big Discussion that needed to happen, but no one particularly wanted to have the conversation in the car. But Blitzø had no idea what else he could possibly fucking talking about. So, gee guys, how's the weather down in Hell been during the past year that I apparently can't remember? 

"Turn left at that intersection," Charlie said, pointing again. Blitzø nodded without saying a word, easily flipping on his signal as he slid into the turning lane. Trying to fill the space with logistics, she added, "Just keep going straight for a few blocks, then we'll get on the freeway."

"Your driving has improved," Stolas said softly from the back seat after another few moments. That low purr had left his voice, taking on a more hesitant tone. Blitzø flicked his gaze up to his rearview mirror, his eyes connecting with Stolas' reflection for a second before he was dragging his attention back to the road. 

"Hey, if you want me to crash this piece of shit, all you have to do is ask, Birdie." 

"Noooo, no crashing," Charlie said, as if she were used to deflecting this kind of conversation all too often. 

Another long, awkward moment of silence later, and Blitzø was stabbing at the buttons for the radio. 

"Okay," Charlie said as they pulled into a quiet, dark parking lot. Golden light streamed from a couple windows of the building. It was the sort of place that looked rundown and forgotten, but still cozy in its own way. Maybe it was just that rundown places felt more like home to Blitzø at this point than anywhere fancy. It didn't seem like the sort of place that he would have expected Lucifer's daughter to live in. But then again, this was Earth, not Hell. Maybe she just preferred having something less noticeable when she was around the humans. Y'know. Like a demon that actually knew what they were doing. 

"So before we go in, if you don't remember things, then you need to know. There is a dog," Charlie said, putting her hands together as if she were giving some sort of serious debriefing. "Diana. She probably needs a potty break, so I'll take her out really quick, and get some tacos from the taco truck next door, and then I can answer your questions. Okay? And you won't... You won't just run off on me, right?"

Blitzø stared at her as he pulled the keys out of the ignition. 

"We won't," Stolas interjected from the backseat, making both people in the front turn to look back at him. He had his legs folded up to his chest, awkwardly squashed into the backseat among all the discarded fast food wrappers and soda cans. Something passed between Stolas and Charlie, and her face softened just a little. 

"Yeah, whatever," Blitzø muttered with a scowl. Fine. If Stolas wanted to play royal kiss-ass for now, then he could do that. Eventually Blitzø would get enough information that he would figure out some way to get back to Hell, even if Stolas wouldn't open the portal for him because he was too fucking whipped by the aristocracy. 

Charlie got out of the car and led them into the building, through a winding hallway that had a faded track worn down the middle and wallpaper that had the occasional scrap that had been ripped off. The fluorescent light in the hallway flickered as they walked, Charlie finally stopping in front of a small door at the very end of the hall, shoved in a corner like it had nearly been forgotten. The metal numbers on the door were mismatched, the 1 stained with time and hanging at a slightly crooked angle, while the 3 still had a bright brass shine like it was brand new. 

"Well, ya gonna unlock it, or what?" Blitzø said, looking expectantly at Charlie. 

"Bla-Sorry. Blitzø. This is your apartment." 

Blitzø slid his hand into his pocket and wrapped his fist around the keys, his knuckles turning white as he stared at the door. He hesitated for just a moment longer, then stepped forward and jabbed the key into the lock. It turned with an unsettling familiarity that made something in his chest tighten. 

As soon as he opened the door, a blur of a border collie launched herself at him, knocking the wind out of Blitzø. He found himself reflexively grabbing her as Stolas ducked into the apartment. Charlie grabbed a leash from a hook beside the door with a small smile. 

"She's... my dog?" Blitzø said with a frown, absentmindedly petting at Diana's head while Charlie clipped the leash to her collar. 

"She's your baby," Charlie corrected with a grin, reaching out to rub at Diana's ears. When Charlie noticed that Blitzø was frowning, she gave him a sympathetic smile. "It'll be okay. Go talk to Stolas. I'll be back in a couple minutes."

And then she was gone, taking Diana with her and leaving Blitzø to slip into the apartment, closing the door behind him. 

The apartment was... Tiny, nothing more than a studio that smelled vaguely of mildew. There weren't any pictures hanging on the walls, which wasn't really helped by the fact that the walls were an old, stained yellow with scuffs and scratches everywhere. There was a fold-out sofa bed against the wall, currently in its bed formation, its sheets rumpled and unmade. On the opposite side of the room was a small kitchenette, the sink piled high with dirty dishes.

Stolas looked almost comically large in the space, having to stand in a half-stooped position just so he didn't bump his head on the ceiling. He was standing in front of some sort of desk, frozen as he stared transfixed at whatever was on the surface. Blitzø tried to break the silence with a nervous laugh. 

"I'm supposed to believe this shithole is mine?" he said. And even though it didn't really feel like his place (Where were the pictures of his family? Where was the horse memorabilia?), he still felt oddly embarrassed, like he had to justify the place to Stolas somehow. "Yeah, right. My place in Hell is way nicer than this." 

"No, it wasn't," Stolas murmured without moving from his spot. 

Blitzø scoffed, wincing at the implication that it meant Stolas had actually seen his place. He'd also mentioned a funeral, and Blitzø found himself absentmindedly wondering if Stolas had been to the apartment before or after. Why had Stolas been to the apartment, anyway? Just to give his condolences?

Nope, no, that was way too creepy to think about everyone thinking he'd died. Clearly, he hadn't, or he wouldn't be standing there. People weren't supposed to know shit like that about their own funeral. Even if everyone secretly was desperate to know what everyone would say at their funeral someday.

"Still. I don't believe it," Blitzø muttered, jamming his hands in his pockets as he looked around the apartment. "Why would I get a fucking apartment in the human world?" 

"I'm... fairly certain these are your quarters," Stolas murmured, still looking at... whatever. It made Blitzø curious what could have captured Stolas' attention so completely, and he moved over to try and figure out what the bird was looking at. 

And suddenly, it made sense why Stolas was sure this place had to be Blitzø's. 

Sitting on the desk was a canvas, the smell of paint still hanging in the air. Next to it was a paint-stained rag and a jar with murky water in it, a brush set out to dry next to it. And on the canvas itself was a blood red sky with a red full moon hanging in it. 

Just like-

And off to one side was a somewhat obscured shape, almost impressionistic, made in wild, passionate shapes. Like someone had been chasing a dream they could only half remember. Like the person who had painted it hadn't fully known whether they were painting an owl or a man. 

But Blitzø knew exactly who it was supposed to be. 

"Well, that's some crappy planting," Blitzø finally said with an unsure scoff, like he had to convince himself. Stolas snapped his head up to look at him. 

"What?" 

"Well," Blitzø said with a shrug towards the painting. "If Charlie is trying to convince me that this is my place, that's a pretty stupid way to go about it. There's no way I could paint anything that good." 

Even without pupils, Blitzø could tell that Stolas rolled his eyes at that one. 

"This is one of the poorer times for you to choose to develop a sense of modesty," Stolas said, turning back towards the painting, drinking it in and reaching out as if he were going to stroke it. 

"Hang on," Blitzø said, making Stolas pause and look over to him again. "It's just... That's pretty fresh. Are you sure it's dry?" 

"Oh," Stolas said, blinking and looking back to the painting as if he'd been snapped out of a spell. "Yes, that's... That's a very good point, Blitzø." 

"Whatever," Blitzø muttered with a shrug as he turned to the kitchenette. "I'm thirsty. You?" 

"Yes," Stolas murmured, staring at the painting again. 

Blitzø grinned and snorted at the sight of Stolas openly staring at the painting with those obvious "fuck me" eyes of his. Just seeing Stolas so obviously turned on was enough to have Blitzø biting at his bottom lip, so he settled for instead focusing his attention on opening the fridge. 

"Damn, Feathers, you look like you'd fuck that painting if you could. You find yourself that hot?"

There wasn't much in the fridge, mostly condiments, a bag of cheese, a sad looking stalk of celery, some milk... And then a shit ton of some kind of soda or beer or something called "Rockstar." Blitzø had no idea what that was, but it was clearly a drink, which was good enough for him. There was also a plate of cookies covered in cling wrap, and Blitzø also grabbed those and put them out on the counter before grabbing two of the rock and roll drinks. He pulled away from the fridge wiggling his hips in a way that would have usually swung his tail from side to side. Somehow, the movement felt less satisfying without the weight of his tail in it. 

"It's not that I'm attracted to myself," Stolas said, finally pulling his gaze away, reaching up for his neck like he was looking for something to fiddle with that was usually there. "It's more of... Seeing myself through your eyes. Knowing that you see me like that is... Well, very attractive, yes." 

Blitzø glanced at the painting again as he held a drink out to Stolas. He still didn't believe that he had painted the damn thing, not when it had shit like lighting and composition and all sorts of fancy stuff that cost thousands of dollars and way too many years to learn. But. He did agree with how the artist had depicted Stolas. There was something about the way the moonlight glinted off of Stolas' feathers in the painting, the soft brushstrokes that wrapped around his face like a caress. 

"Are you sure this is alright?" Stolas said, nodding at the can as he took it from Blitzø, who shrugged as he turned back to the kitchen to grab the cookies from the counter. 

"It's supposed to be my place, right? It's hardly rude to take stuff from your own fridge," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Stolas did one of those adorable little hoot giggles he sometimes did, and Blitzø had to shove a cookie into his mouth to try and keep himself from reacting even more. The bed creaked as Stolas sat next to him, carefully crossing one leg over the other before taking a sip from his drink. 

It was cramped and tiny and... Well, kinda sad in a lot of ways. But there was something oddly reassuring about Stolas, of all people, sitting in the middle of it all, in the last place Blitzø would expect to see any fancy royal. 

"I missed you," he breathed before his brain had a chance to catch up with his mouth. Stolas jolted and looked over at him with wide eyes, the can frozen halfway to his mouth. Blitzø choked and frantically turned to shove another cookie in his mouth as a distraction. 

"Blitzø," Stolas started carefully. 

"Let's not," Blitzø muttered before taking a long draft of his drink. It didn't taste like alcohol, but it didn't exactly taste like soda, either. But it tasted like there was something in it that was supposed to have some sort of effect. Rock and roll effect, or something, judging by the name. Whatever it did, Blitzø hoped it would at least take the edge off of all... Everything. 

"How... How long has it been for you since we last saw one another?" Stolas said slowly, ignoring Blitzø's order. Because of course he fucking did. 

"You said it was, like. Over a year, right? So. Over a year," Blitzø said simply as he picked up a third cookie, trying not to inhale it like the two before. It wasn't his fault the damn things were delicious and tiny. 

"I wasn't asking how much time has passed," Stolas said, swirling his drink as he stared down at it like it was some sort of magic potion he was stirring. He sighed and looked up again, and Blitzø swallowed. "What's the last thing you remember? And how much time do you recall passing between then and now?" 

"Stolas..." 

"When you called me," Stolas started, his voice wobbling. Blitzø winced as he realized there were tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. He shoved the rest of the cookie in his mouth and reached for another. "When you called me, you said you knew things 'weren't great' between us. What were you referencing, Blitzø? What's your last memory of me? And why would you say you've missed me if you can't remember the past year?" 

"Fuck, Stolas, I don't know," Blitzø groaned, twisting his head around like the conversation was an uncomfortable skin. He shoved the cookie he was holding in his mouth and tried to use the delicious chocolate as a distraction. "I just said it, I don't know why, okay?" 

Stolas looked like he was trying to decide whether to cry or collapse. His can trembled slightly in his hand. Blitzø stared hard at the floor like it had personally offended him.

And then. There was a knock from the door. 

"I have tacos!" 

"It's open!" Blitzø yelled, picking up another cookie with a sigh. 

The door opened and Charlie came in, holding a steaming plastic bag over her head like it was some sort of trophy. Diana immediately made a beeline for Blitzø, and he scrambled to shove the last cookie in his mouth, whipping the cling wrap back over the plate of cookies and moving it to the center of the bed so it would take more effort for Diana to reach them. Ever since that one time he had spent fourteen hours losing his mind as Loona puked her guts out and trying to figure out if he could somehow get her into a hospital, he had learned to be hyper aware of chocolate whenever a dog was nearby. 

When he had dealt with that and was looking up again, absentmindedly scratching at Diana's ear, he found that Charlie was staring at him with wide eyes. 

"Uh, how many of those have you had?" she said, gesturing at the cookies. Blitzø frowned and shrugged, trying to think back over it. 

"I lost count after 3?" 

Charlie stared at him with wide eyes, looking like she was torn between horrified and laughing her ass off. "Well. You're gonna love these tacos." 

Blitzø narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Prin- Miss Charlie, there isn't something dangerous in the cookies, is there?" 

"Oh, it's not dangerous," Charlie said, moving over to the kitchenette to set the bag on the counter and opening a cabinet to pull out plates. "But. Ah. Blake doesn't really bake unless he's making edibles." She put the plates on the counter and turned around to add in the most painfully obvious stage whisper ever, "That means marijuana!" 

"Everyone knows what a fucking edible is, Blondie," Blitzø said with a roll of his eyes, shoving the cookies aside so he could flop backwards on the bed. Diana huffed and rested her head on his thigh. "Who cares? Weed is like... Trying to get high from drinking water. It does fucking nothing." 

Stolas cleared his throat and turned to look over at Blitzø. "That... Was true of your demon form, darling. But if you haven't noticed..." 

"Fucking..." Blitzø groaned and sat up again. "So what the fuck do I need to do to switch out of this damn human disguise, anyway? Do I have some sort of spellbook of my own hiding around here or something?" 

Charlie froze in the middle of putting a taco on a plate, slowly turning to look at Blitzø with wide eyes. "You. You think this is a human disguise." 

"Well, what else would it be?" Blitzø said with a dramatic shake of his hands, shaking his drink enough that a couple drops splashed onto his hand. It reminded him that he was holding a drink in the first place, and he took another dramatic swig of it as if he wanted to drown. Diana whimpered and squirmed until her nose went under his hand, and he absentmindedly started petting at her head as he stared at Charlie's back. 

Oddly, it helped. 

"Okay." Charlie set the taco down on the plate and turned to come back around to Blitzø. When she was standing beside Diana, she kneeled, making Blitzø jump in confusion. He could only stare at her, his heart pounding harder than he had ever felt it before, like it was going to rip out of his chest. What the fuck was the Princess of Hell doing kneeling before an imp?! 

"Blitzø," Charlie said in a soft voice, reaching out to put a hand on the knee Diana wasn't claiming.

"Blitzø, this isn't a disguise. You're... You're human now." 

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Blitzø said, feeling his voice starting to shake. Something about the words felt true in a way he hated. He hated this. He hated her for putting him through this. "What kind of fucking sick joke is this, huh?" 

He whirled to look at Stolas, feeling like every part of him was bristling, but there were no spines, no sharp teeth, not even a fucking gun. He was squishy and vulnerable and they were laughing at him! 

"Were you in on this?!" he snapped, and Stolas jolted as if he'd been bitten. "Is this some sort of revenge because you were fucking pissed at me?!" 

"Whoa," Charlie said, snapping in front of Blitzø's face. He whirled on her with a snarl, but she didn't even flinch. "I know you're scared, but that's not how we talk to our friends. No thank you." 

"Oh fuck you, Blondie!"

"And this is why I got tacos," Charlie said with a roll of her eyes. "You're hangry. You haven't had dinner. Stolas, could you...?" 

"Of course," Stolas said, moving so quickly to the counter that it almost looked like he had flowed like water. Blitzø blinked and tried to get a better look at Stolas, but it felt like his vision was swimming. He licked his lips and took another swig of the rock and roll drink. 

"Can I have your phone for a minute, Blitzø?" 

And there was just something about her that was so earnest that he didn't even question it, or maybe he just didn't care enough anymore. So he dug into his pocket with a sigh and unlocked the phone before handing it to her. It was only once her face was illuminated with the blue of his screen that he questioned his decision. 

But before he could think too hard on it, a feathered hand was thrusting a plate of tacos in front of him. And fuck, they smelled like the second most amazing thing he'd ever smelled. First place, of course, belonging to Stolas'-

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of music coming from his phone. Specifically, "Get Off My Back," from the Spirit soundtrack. He grinned. Okay. Okay, maybe Blondie wasn't all bad. At least she had good taste. She could at least be trusted enough to be in charge of the tunes. He went to grab the tacos, just to not only have to take notice of his stupid squishy human hands, but also the fact that they were still covered in blood from where he had scraped them on the pavement earlier. He grimaced. 

Holding his hands up only led to Stolas noticing the wounds, which led to all kinds of fussing on Stolas' part as he started insisting on bandages and disinfectant and other shit that Blitzø was sure he didn't need. But when he tried to protest, Stolas insisted that he couldn't eat finger food without sterilizing his hands first. And well, damn, Blitzø couldn't exactly disagree with that without saying something stupid about how he'd eaten worse before. And it was easier to sit there and let Stolas do it all instead of trying to drag himself to the bathroom to do it himself. 

As Stolas rifled through the bathroom cabinet for a first aid kit that Charlie promised was there, Blitzø just stared down at those damn human hands, like maybe he could will them to change if he stared at them long enough. 

"Do you want me to start explaining now, or do you want to wait until you've gotten some food?" 

Blitzø felt fuzzy and like the tips of his fingers were... floaty. He was so fucked. 

"Tell me now," he groaned. Stolas sat down beside him and reached for his hands, gently holding Blitzø still as he started wiping disinfectant over the tiny scrapes. The action seemed to comfort Diana that her ward was being watched over, and she got up, trotting over to her water bowl. 

"So," Charlie said, taking in a breath and tapping her hands together. "Oh gosh. This is hard to explain. I didn't think I'd ever have to. So. Uh." 

"You died, Blitzø," Stolas murmured, keeping his eyes focused on bandaging Blitzø's hand. "About a month after the party."

Even though he had already heard it once, it still hit Blitzø like a brick to the chest, and he took in a shaky breath. At the mention of the party, disjointed images floated back to him. Pushing through a crowd illuminated by colored lights. Stolas, up on stage, looking like the most beautifully tragic creature who had ever existed. A slice of cake that oozed red. Blitzø licked his lips, running his tongue over the salty spot where Stolas had accidentally nipped him when they were kissing earlier. 

Stolas had to pause to take in a breath, closing his eyes briefly. Then he let the breath out slowly and turned back to bandaging Blitzø's hand. "You were executed. For stealing the grimoire." 

Blitzø's first thought wasn't surprise. Instead, it was, "Yeah, that was bound to fucking happen eventually." His second thought was Loona, but then he remembered that he had just heard her voice over the phone earlier that night. 

"Then... Why I am I here?" he said, turning to look at Charlie. 

"When you died," she started slowly, rolling her hands like she was visually unrolling the story for them. "You... Showed up. At... Heaven's gate." 

Blitzø felt Stolas' hands go still in his work. He didn't look at Stolas. He only stared at Charlie like she's some sort of hallucination. Actually, on second thought, maybe she was some sort of hallucination. 

"Fuck," Blitzø said, the laughter bubbling out of him like a disease. He would have clutched at his sides if it weren't for Stolas sitting there holding his hands like some sort of anchor. Instead, he just tilted his head back, laughing harder than he ever remembered doing. "Fuck, no wonder humans love weed. This stuff is insane. Stolas, what the fuck did she actually just say?" 

Silence.

"She... She said you went to... Heaven, darling." 

His grip on Blitzø's hand tightened ever so slightly, and there was something about the way his voice sounded that made the laughter stop cold in Blitzø's throat. Maybe it was because of the way Stolas sounded so completely shell-shocked. Like he was just as surprised as Blitzø. Because a hellborn, going to Heaven? Absolutely not. But there was something in Stolas' disbelief, something in the way he breathed darling. 

Like he genuinely believed that if there was someone worthy of redemption, it was Blitzø. 

"No," Blitzø snapped, looking back at Charlie. "No. That's. That's. Im. Fucking. Possible. Okay? Hellborn don't have souls. When we die, that's... that's..." 

Blitzø could feel his blood pounding in his ears. Ears. Humans were fucking weird. And squishy. And stupid. 

"Well, if that's the case, why isn't he in Heaven now?" Stolas said, his voice rising. "If he ended up there, doesn't that prove he earned it?" 

"Well, they—I mean, some of the angels. They think it was some sort of mistake..."

It was too hard to pay attention to her story when his body felt weird and wrong and now it somehow felt weirder and wronger than it had before. Blitzø glanced down at his hands, wondering if he would be allowed to eat tacos yet, because tacos sure fucking sounded better than all... Everything. 

One hand was bandaged, but the other was still untouched. Blitzø made a face and nudged at Stolas. 

"Stols," he said, trailing his fingers over some feathers on Stolas' arm. Stolas was saying something to Charlie, but Blitzø found he didn't really care anymore. Had Stolas always been that soft? All he could think of was burying his face in the gray little chest floof. Personal feather pillow. "Stols. Stols. I want tacos." 

"Oh! I'm so sorry, my sweet Blitzy!" Stolas said, turning back to Blitzø's hands, cradling them like something precious. 

Blitzø could only sit and stare as Stolas set to work on his unbandaged hand, the word washing over him again and again. He wasn't going to say anything about it, of course he fucking wasn't going to. But of course he had noticed. He noticed every single time, but he didn't say shit. Because Stolas had every fucking right to talk differently to him after everything.

But damn, hearing that name again filled a hole so deep in him it almost felt like he was being stabbed. The same stupid nickname he'd once thought he hated, and he was somehow relieved to hear it. 

Because it meant Stolas didn't hate him. 

Chapter Text

Blitzø inhaled the plate of tacos as if he were some sort of feral animal who hadn't eaten in over a year. But in his defense, he had never eaten anything more fucking delicious in his entire life. So he was shoveling one taco after another into his mouth like the damn things owed him rent. At some point, Charlie and Stolas had stopped chattering and had switched to instead watching Blitzø like he was some sort of zoo animal. Meanwhile, Diana, the closest thing to an actual zoo animal, was sleeping curled up on the bed behind Blitzø, no one paying any attention to her. Even though she was arguably a million times cuter and more interesting to watch than Blitzø. 

The weed was still making his head spin, but something about getting some food down seemed to help, like it wasn't taking him down quite as quickly as it had been before. 

"So," he said with a shrug as he finished off his last taco, licking at his fingers. "Heaven didn't want me. Big fucking surprise." 

"Really? That's your response to this?" Stolas said, his words coming out in an indignant huff. "You've just been told you've done something so miraculous it could change the entire fabric of... everything, and that's your response?" 

"Stolas," Blitzø said with a soft sigh, leaning his forearms on his knees. How was he even supposed to fucking explain things like that to someone like Stolas, anyway? "Heaven's not going to let imps in. That's... That's ridiculous."

He frowned as he finished the last of his drink. "Kinda stupid choice on their part, though. Why send me back as a human? All I have to do is kill myself, and boom, I'm back in Hell. But as an immortal sinner overlord. Where's the fucking downside for me?" 

Blitzø paused as he flicked his eyes over Stolas, the words sinking in a little deeper. 

Immortal. 

He could actually live as long as Stolas now. At least, as soon as he ditched the stupid squishy meat sack. 

"You can't go back to Hell," Charlie cut in, her voice soft. Stolas and Blitzø both snapped their heads to look at her instead of one another, and she hung her head, looking down at her lap. She sighed deeply, then finally looked up. 

"You weren't the first imp to make it to heaven," she said slowly. "You were the first to be pardoned. You're... An experiment." 

"An experiment?" Stolas said, raising a brow. 

"Well... Maybe more of a bet?" Charlie said with a wince. "My friend was the one who-"

She was cut off by the sound of Stolas' phone ringing, and Blitzø had heard that specific ring enough times to recognize what it meant. Via was calling. Stolas frowned as he fumbled for the phone, his hands betraying a small tremor as he looked over to Blitzø. 

"I'm so sorry, just one minute," he murmured before ducking off to the kitchenette, just barely tucking himself away but still staying close enough to keep an eye on Blitzø. 

"We don't know how many imps have made it to heaven," Charlie murmured, making Blitzø snap his attention back to her instead of trying to listen in on Stolas. "But Emily said it sounded like they were used to dealing with it. A lot. And... We didn't know about it, so they're not sending the imps back to Hell. And Emily didn't know about it, so they're not getting let into heaven. No one knew about this. We don't even know who the first imp was to make it up there. They just... obliterated every single imp who showed up there."

Blitzø swallowed, his throat suddenly dry despite the drink. "Obliterated?" he echoed. "You're telling me they just fucking... vaporized them all? Into nothing?" 

And even though it was the sort of ending he had always been told imps ended up with, even though it was exactly what he had been trained to expect, it still made his blood run cold. Because if this crazy princess really was telling the truth, then he had only barely avoided being vaporized himself. And trying to imagine what it would mean to not exist at all stirred a deep, frantic darkness somewhere within Blitzø, like he could somehow outrun and hide from inevitability. 

And yet. He was still alive. 

Why the fuck was he alive?

"So... Why not me?"

"Because Emily was there," Charlie said softly. "And she knew it wasn't fair. Plus. She said she liked you." 

Blitzø's thoughts flicked back to when he had been scrolling through his human phone, looking for Millie and finding a contact named Emily instead. Was it this same Emily he didn't remember meeting despite the fact that she'd apparently saved his life? He sighed and rubbed at his forehead, trying to keep his thoughts somehow running in a straight line despite the fact that everything was slowly feeling like it was making less and less sense. 

"What's the fucking bet, anyway?" 

"You're supposed to live a normal human life. Without any sort of unfair advantages or disadvantages from either side. And when you eventually, erm, die... again... And go to Heaven.... again... Well. Then it's proof that it wasn't a mistake. That imps are capable of redemption." 

Blitzø swallowed. "And what if I die and... don't end up there?" 

"They keep doing the same thing they've always done," Charlie said softly. Blitzø could feel a heavy weight settle in his stomach. And even if it was Heaven and they were supposed to be better than the people in Hell they looked down on, Blitzø still knew exactly how this game was played. And none of the endings would involve him becoming an immortal sinner overlord. 

So much for the happy ending he'd been able to picture for exactly thirty seconds. 

Figured. 

"So because I just happened to be the right imp in the right place at the right time, now I'm stuck in some sort of cosmic fucking... game?" Blitzø muttered, shoving his hands into his armpits. The pressure made it so he could feel his pulse throbbing where he had scraped his hands before. And maybe it was a different body in so many ways, but at least the feeling of blood beating through it felt the same. 

And when he looked up again, there were four glowing red eyes staring straight back at him. 

Fuck, it had already felt like they were worlds apart. Now all Blitzø could feel was how different he was from who it felt like he was supposed to be, all the gaps where his tail and horns and spikes were all supposed to be. 

He shook his head. He was feeling fuzzy again. 

He had so many questions. 

He could hardly think. 

He wanted to get away. 

He wanted to tear something apart. 

He was so damn tired. 

"Doesn't Blitzø knowing about the nature of the experiment ruin the experiment?" Stolas said. "How exactly is one supposed to work honestly for their redemption when they know for sure how it's all going to turn out? Isn't the faith supposed to be a big part of it or something?" 

"No, he's only forbidden from actually going to Hell. Or Heaven, I guess," Charlie said. "But he's not forbidden from being told about it. Considering it only... Well, you saw how he nearly threw himself through your portal earlier. It only makes him more likely to lose. It's the same reason Heaven was okay with letting me be his life coach." 

"That sounds like they're trying to make him lose!" Stolas said, his voice squawking slightly with outrage. 

They were talking about him like he wasn't even there. Blitzø huffed and pushed himself to stand up, even though he felt a little wobbly on his feet. He looked down at himself. He was still covered in blood, and he grimaced at the sight, suddenly feeling the urge to hop in the shower. 

He ripped the leather jacket off like it was the human skin he wanted to rip off and flung it toward the overfilled hamper in the corner. Yeah, that wasn't where leather jackets really went, but he would figure it out later. 

"I can't," he said simply, running his hands over his face. It was too flat and weird and not shaped like him. "I just. I need a fucking shower." 

And then Stolas looked at him with in that concerned fucking way he did. Blitzø sighed as he looked back, and because he didn't know anything else to say, he helplessly threw his hands in the air. After a minute of searching for something that would explain his reaction, he huffed and slightly waved his hands around. "Just... Time out. Okay?" 

It was when he saw Stolas pause to mentally go over a checklist in his head that it suddenly occurred to Blitzø that something that was only a day ago to him was more than a year ago for Stolas. Something that came so easy to Blitzø was a faded memory to Stolas. 

"Just... Forget it," he muttered. 

He turned and ran off to the small bathroom, closing the door behind himself with a click. 

Blitzø started running the water almost immediately, partly because he wanted it to have a chance to heat up before he got in, and partly because he just wanted a chance to fucking think. Not like he couldn't think without the water running, just. There was something safer with the water running. 

He braced both hands on either side of the sink, taking in a deep breath as he stared down into the white porcelain.

And then, for the first time since he had come to on the pavement, Blitzø looked at himself in the mirror. 

It was a strange experience to look at someone who simultaneously felt so familiar and foreign all at once. On the one hand, the guy in the mirror was just... an ordinary human. But on the other hand... When Blitzø looked at his eyes, there was something familiar there. Sure, they were blue now, but there was that same... burning sadness.

Blitzø leaned in towards the mirror, trying to take a better stock of what exactly he was working with. It seemed like... Well, a normal enough human face. Hair in a dark shade of brown that at least managed to fall in an elegant swoop over his forehead, just long enough to have a rebellious air without becoming an absolute pain in the ass to maintain. The rounded curve of his jawline had been downplayed by rough stubble, and Blitzø couldn't entirely be sure if it was something he did intentionally, or if he just had forgotten to shave for a couple of days. His nose had a jagged bump in it that suggested it had broken at some point, but Blitzø had no idea how it had happened. 

Probably the most unsettling part of it all was how his skin was all... the same shade. No more harsh line down the center of his face that marked the division between Blitzo and Blitzø. And he couldn't help but feel that once upon a time, that was all he had wished for, wished people would stop staring at him on the street and wondering how fucking terrible that guy had to be at just existing in Hell if he was covered in that many scars. 

But now, it was like it had all just been... erased. Every single victory he'd fought for, no matter how hard-won it had been. Every single time he'd managed to drag himself to his feet and keep going when any other sane person would have fucking died. 

Just... gone. Like the whiteboard in the office at the end of the day. 

"Why did he suddenly remember everything now, of all times?" he heard Stolas say from outside the bathroom door. There was a tired sigh to it, and it immediately made Blitzø feel a stab of guilt. He looked back to the strange human man in the bathroom mirror. 

"Wake the fuck up," he whispered to the guy. 

The guy hissed it back at him. But nothing changed. 

Blitzø sighed and peeled his shirt off. 

"He got into a fight with an imp today," Charlie said with a sigh. He pressed his ear against the bathroom door and strained to hear as he fiddled with his shoes. She was harder to hear than Stolas had been. But then again, he knew the way Stolas spoke so well, it felt like he didn't have to hear words at all to know what Stolas was saying. "And big surprise, you can take the assassin out of hell but you can't take the killer instinct out of the assassin."

"Oh, yes, he's always been rather... ruthless in a fight," Stolas said, and Blitzø smirked at the way he rolled the word, picturing him slightly fluffing his feathers as he said it. That was always how he talked about things that he found attractive, like his dear Blitzy's devilish ruthlessness. "So then... do you suppose it was a matter of self-preservation? A reflex born of fear?"

There was a pause, and than an exaggerated groan from Charlie. "I don't know. Probably?"

Another silence, longer this time. 

"Will he be... punished for remembering?" Stolas asked, his voice a shade quieter. Hesitant. 

"Probably not...? He's... He's had little flashes of memory before," Charlie said, and Blitzø froze with his pants halfway down. "Usually it's just when he's had too many edibles. But then... Well, he'd crash, and by the next morning he never remembered anything. That sort of stuff has never been a problem before. But this?" She sighed again. "I've never seen anything like this. I don’t know what Heaven will decide if he doesn’t forget eventually."

"So... You believe that he might simply... forget?" 

"I hope so." 

Blitzø scowled and kicked his pants aside before he gave up on eavesdropping and climbed into the shower. He didn't really feel like hearing any more than he already had. He already knew he wasn't going to forget being Blitzø. No fucking way. 

His plan of letting the shower warm up before stepping in it had apparently worked a little too well, and Blitzø hissed as he stepped under the water, tensing for a second as the water assaulted him like a thousand tiny burning raindrops. After a beat, he felt himself relaxing, the feeling of the water slowly turning from pain into a massage. He sucked in a slow breath, then braced his hands against the shower wall and hung his head under the water. 

The water that ran off him was the same unsettling shade of warm black that it always was when he took a shower after a job. It didn't take much imp blood to be present for the water to start looking like ink, but there was always a touch of red from the human blood that turned it muddier, warmer toned. Seeing it felt different this time, though, knowing that the red was his.

But at least cleaning off a human body wasn't really all that different from cleaning off an imp body. Soap was still soap. 

Blitzø found himself slipping into autopilot as he cleaned himself off, and he felt oddly guilty for it. He needed to do a check for injuries, considering how fragile this damn body was. He needed to... Well, to fucking look at himself without letting his eyes glaze over, for one. 

But he was so fucking tired. 

And it was so fucking easy to let himself slip into the daze of the high, only letting himself think about the feeling of water hitting his back.

He lowered himself down until he was sitting on the floor, right underneath the flow of water, then pulled his legs up to his chest and pressed his forehead to his knees. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wished he was smaller. 

The nice thing about showers was no one could tell when you cried in them. 

He wasn't sure how long he sat like that before he finally heard the door open, but he knew the water was cold. He stayed on the floor of the bathtub with his head pressed against his knees. 

"That better fucking not be Charlie," he muttered.

"She had business to attend to," Stolas murmured as he closed the door behind him. 

There was a beat of silence. 

"I... I brought you something to wear," Stolas added. "And a drink, if you're interested."

"Is it Beelzejuice?" 

There was the sound of a soft rustle, and he knew without looking up that Stolas was probably awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Blitzø... You know as well as I do that humans can't consume Beelzejuice without-" 

"Without turning into a monster?" Blitzø said with a bitter laugh, turning his head to look at Stolas. His wet hair was plastered to his face, and a stream of water ran from his chin. "I got bad news for you, Stolas. I already am."

Stolas frowned and uncomfortably shifted his weight again, but didn't say anything, didn't protest it. Blitzø let out another bitter laugh and turned back to thump his head against his own knees. There was no reassuring vibration in the tips of his horns this time, though. 

There was another rustle of something being set down, and then the shower curtain was pulled back. All Blitzø could think of was that unfamiliar face in the mirror, the unfamiliar scraped hands, the unfamiliar hair that kept running water in his eyes. This wasn't what he was supposed to look like. If Stolas was going to grieve, he wanted him to grieve Blitzø the way he actually was supposed to be, not tainted with this pathetic, broken version of him. He pulled his legs in closer to himself and pressed his forehead harder into his knees. 

Not like this.

"Don't," he muttered around the lump in his throat. "Don't look at me, Stolas."

Stolas didn't say anything, but then there was a soft weight against his head, a caress that gently brushed and rearranged his hair so it wasn't falling in his eyes anymore. And then another rustle, and he could tell from the way Stolas' hand shifted that he was sitting on the floor beside the tub. 

"You aren't a monster," Stolas murmured. "You never were. Even when you tried to be." 

Blitzø scoffed. "You don't know half of what I've done." 

Stolas laughed then, the sound resonating on the tiles around them. Blitzø frowned and looked up, blinking through the water. 

"What? What the hell is so funny?" 

"My darling," Stolas said with another chuckle, looking at Blitzø with that soft fondness that made his heart pound just a little faster. "I wrote your biography."

Blitzø stared. 

"You did what." 

"I used a pseudonym, of course. The press would have had a field day otherwise," Stolas continued with a dramatic wave of his hand. "And every penny it makes goes straight to Loona. But..."

He paused and looked at Blitzø, and there was that little pinprick to his eyes that somehow made him look that much more haunted. 

"You were too much of a martyr. Too much of a hero," he continued with a sad smile. "Too inspiring to imps who had been told they were worth nothing their whole lives. And... There were rumors among the royals of a... smear campaign. Plans to release a sordid tell-all that would ruin the taste of your name in their mouths. And. I couldn't let them ruin your name."

He frowned and paused as he reached out to pick up a strand of hair. "Blitzy, please don't take offense to this, but... there seems to still be some... blood..." 

"I don't fucking know how to wash hair on my own head," Blitzø said with a scowl. Okay, so maybe taking a shower wasn't exactly the same. "How the fuck does anyone do that? You can't fucking see it! How do you know where the shampoo has gone?" 

Stolas let out a little trilling hoot of a laugh, and, despite everything, Blitzø found himself smiling just a little. Maybe it was something about the way that Stolas always seemed a little surprised at himself whenever he started laughing, like he hadn't been aware it was something he was capable of doing. 

He didn't ask if Blitzø would like help, because they both knew that Blitzø wouldn't say it. Not with the day he'd had. So instead, Stolas rolled up his sleeves and reached for the shampoo bottle. 

"So..." Blitzø said slowly as Stolas started lathering his scalp. He found himself closing his eyes at the way Stolas just barely scraped his talons against Blitzø's scalp, scratching in a way he hadn't been able to with his sad human fingernails. It wasn't exactly like having his horns scratched, but it was satisfying in a new, different kind of way. 

Blitzø blinked and tried to focus. "How does... How exactly was writing a book about all my secrets supposed to help? Wouldn't that just get me canceled faster?" 

"Yes and no," Stolas said, gently tilting Blitzø's head to massage a spot behind his ear. Blitzø hummed, and felt himself frustrated that it didn't come out as a purr. Even though it always used to frustrate him when he ended up purring without meaning to. "Yes, I exposed the same secrets, but... I wrote the book to show everyone else the Blitzø I saw. And yes, some people were... very angry online about some of the... details. But there were a great deal more who did see you the way I saw you. So of course they all loved you even more." 

Blitzø's breathing stuttered and he froze at that. He was suddenly very grateful his eyes were closed so he didn't have to know whether Stolas had noticed or not. Stolas just quietly tipped Blitzø's head back, gently rinsing the suds out of his hair. 

And then, the hands pulled away from him, and the water shut off. Oddly, even though he hadn't been able to bring himself to turn it off, Blitzø found himself relieved, immediately feeling a little warmer without cold water pounding at his skin. He let out a slow breath and relaxed, his legs falling into a half crossed position. 

When he opened his eyes, Stolas was holding a towel out to him, blinking as if he'd frozen in the middle of the action, staring downward. Blitzø's breath caught in his throat as he sat there, looking up at Stolas and the eyes that were locked on him. He realized—too late, way too late—that from this angle in the tub, with his legs askew and no longer curled into a ball, Stolas was suddenly getting a very good view of the human dick Blitzø had been studiously trying to ignore. 

His first instinct was to curl back into a ball. But he'd already had more than enough being weak for one day, and he sure wasn't going to let himself get weird over Stolas looking at his dick. 

"Come on, Feathers, don't tell me you've got a human kink," Blitzø said with a smirk and toss of his head. "We never did that as one of our roleplays." 

Stolas made a strangled squeak in response, his face turning a bright shade of red, and Blitzø couldn't help but think that all of it was fucking adorable. He stood up in the shower, making sure to stretch out his back in a way that showed off even more, getting rewarded with Stolas' face turning redder as he thrust the towel into Blitzø's hands. 

"Well, i-it's not so much a human kink as a... you kink," Stolas stammered nervously, waving his hands around. "Though that's not to say I don't enjoy... I mean, you do make a rather... dashing human, but I..." 

Blitzø snorted as he toweled off his hair, trying to figure out if Stolas was saying that just to make him feel better about the whole situation. Because why the fuck would he still look attractive to Stolas when he looked nothing like himself? Probably it was just that Stolas didn't really care what he looked like, as long as Blitzø still had the same fucking skills. 

Wait. Wait. Everything had been such a fucking mess and he had been so caught up in trying to understand it all that he hadn't even taken time to think about what had happened between him and Stolas. Theoretically, they weren't... whatever they had been before. Granted, that probably would have been the case no matter what. Stolas thought he'd died, after all. 

Did a year of Stolas thinking he was dead mean that they just... were going to pretend that whole night hadn't happened? Like some sort of bad dream?

Blitzø wanted that. He so badly wanted to just fuck Stolas so hard that there was nothing left in his head by the end of it. He wasn't sure whether it was a side effect of the edibles, or the horrible day he'd had, or maybe just because of the drug effect Stolas had on him and the kiss from before still vibrating through his veins, but he was so damn horny. So fucking horny it felt like he was going to break. 

But Stolas had already pushed him away and ended their... Whatever. Not a relationship. Their deal. And even though there had been that kiss, even though he had called Blitzø a "dashing human," even though he didn't seem to care that Blitzø was standing completely naked in front of him... 

Well, that was exactly the problem, wasn't it? Stolas didn't really seem to care about the fact that Blitzø was standing naked in front of him with a massive boner. Once upon a time, that would have meant Stolas wouldn't have been able to keep his hands off Blitzø. Now, he was standing on the other side of the bathroom. Which, granted, wasn't very far at all, but it might as well have been an ocean if it involved a horny Stolas. 

Maybe it was because he was human. 

Maybe it was because of the full moon. 

But one way or another, things between them were different. 

The entire night had been so stressful and had so many things happening that it been so easy to fall into old habits, calling him Stols, the kissing, the teasing. He had gotten so caught up in acting like everything was just like it had always been, he had forgotten that nicknames and kisses and teasing weren't exactly the same as fucking. 

"W-Well," Stolas stammered, fumbling for the door handle behind him. "I-I should... Perhaps you need a moment to, erm... I do believe I need a smoke break!" He nearly tripped over himself in the rush to get out of the bathroom. 

Blitzø scowled and looked down at his stupid human boner. 

He decided to make the excuse that he couldn't do anything with bandages all over his hands. Even though that had never been an obstacle for him in the past. Instead, he turned to grab the clothes Stolas had brought him—a pair of black sweatpants, a blank tank top, and a soft black bathrobe, because of course Stolas always figured a bathrobe was vital. 

As the bathrobe spilled out from his fingers, a scrap of red poked out, and when Blitzø investigated it, he realized that it was a reversible bathrobe, black on one side, red on the other. He grinned at the sight. 

And maybe, for a second when he looked in the mirror, he kind of understood what Stolas had been saying when he'd said that Blitzø looked like himself. But then he blinked and the feeling was gone, the strange human frowning at him again. 

He sighed and opened the bathroom door. Diana didn't so much as lift her head, sprawled on the bed with all four feet in air, so Blitzø ran a hand over her exposed belly as he passed.

Stolas was standing out on the tiny little square foot that counted as a balcony, a smoking cigarette hanging from his fingertips as he leaned over the railing and looked up at the sky. There was something about the way he was standing there with one leg casually hooked behind the other, the moonlight reflecting off his feathers in a way that almost looked a little like glitter, or maybe the very stars themselves. 

And hanging in the sky above him was a full moon. Because of fucking course. 

Blitzø felt his chest constrict at the sight, a scrap of panic curling and twisting in the bottom on his stomach. He wondered what it must have been like for Stolas to get a call on the booty call number that only the two of them had ever known about, his dead lover talking to him like not even a day had passed, let alone a year. On the night of a full moon, of all nights. 

"What kind of moon is it?" he said as he slipped through the sliding door, closing it behind him. Stolas blinked and looked over with a confused frown. 

"It's... A full moon." 

"No, I know that," Blitzø said with a scoff and roll of his hand. "I meant like. You're always going on about what kinds of moons they are. Like blood or wolf or harvest or whatever. What's this one?" 

"Oh," Stolas said with a small smile. "I didn't think you paid attention to that."

"I don't, that's why I've got you to fill me in on what I'm looking at." 

"The pink moon," Stolas said with a chuckle as he looked back to the sky. "The first moon of spring is the pink moon. It represents new beginnings, young love..." he trailed off and looked over at Blitzø. "...Rebirth." 

Blitzø frowned up at the sky. "Stolas, I hate to break it to you, but... that is not fucking pink." 

Stolas laughed again, tapping his foot against the back of his other leg as he looked up at the moon. "It was named after the pink flowers that bloom at this time of year, not because it literally turns pink." 

"Stupid," Blitzø snorted. "They should have called it the flower moon, then." 

"The flower moon is next month, darling. May flowers."

"Seems redundant, if you ask me." 

 A long moment of silence passed between the two of them, interrupted only by the distant whir of traffic from some highway Blitzø couldn't see from there. He sighed and turned so his back was leaning against the half wall of the balcony, arching his back and resting his elbows on it as he looked Stolas over. 

'Fuck me,' a part of him thrummed silently, as if he was begging Stolas to pick up on it telepathically. 'Fuck me fuck me fuck me, you damn beautiful bird. Pin me to the wall and fuck me until I can't walk anymore. Make this body actually feel like mine for a few hours.'

Stolas straightened and looked over at Blitzø, tilting his head to one side as if he actually had picked up on some of the "fuck me" energy beam Blitzø had been trying to put out. "What?" 

Blitzø sighed and tilted his head backwards. "Nothing," he muttered.

But fuck, he needed some sort of answers, even if he hated asking, hated that it made him look like some sort of pathetic teenage girl waiting for a boy to call back.

"I mean. Where... Where do we go from here, Stols?"

Stolas kept his eyes trained on the sky as he took another long drag of his cigarette. "What do you mean, darling?"

"I mean that," Blitzø sighed. "You calling me darling and Blitzy and stuff. Like nothing's changed. But then there was the whole... thing."

"The whole thing?" Stolas repeated, raising a brow.

"Y'know... The... Full Moon thing."

Stolas was quiet for a long minute, then took in a slow breath.

"Right," he said as he twisted his cigarette out on the railing. He then slowly turned to pin all four of his crimson eyes on Blitzø. Like he had been bracing himself for the conversation for the entire time Blitzø had been gone, even though he never would have known he would ever have a chance to actually have it.

"Blitzø, I..." he started slowly. Sighed. Turned to look at the moon again.

"I lived one of my worst nightmares for the past year," he finally said, his voice a broken whisper. "Do you know how many times I worried that you would get caught? How much I used to fret and track and worry? I always thought that if things ever did go wrong, I would be able to stop it because of how constantly I watched over you. I actually had this stupid, naïve idea that I would come marching in like some sort of romantic hero to save the day if anything went wrong. I always thought about what I would say to-"

He broke off with a sigh. "But it didn't matter. It all happened so quickly. And you died because I missed my thirty minute window. Do you know what it's like to live with that kind of... guilt?"

Blitzø swallowed a lump in his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. "You wrote my biography. You tell me."

"That was the worst part of writing it!" Stolas let out a crazed bark of a laugh and ran his hand through his bangs, making the feathers fluff and fall in that irresistible way over his forehead. Blitzø bit his bottom lip, his crossed arms loosening until he relaxed his elbows against the railing. 

"I was learning about all these things that happened to you, but I couldn't ever ask you how you felt about it all! I had every newspaper clipping, every forum board, every interview with your exes, your employees, but I could never sit down and ask the one person whose opinion I wanted to hear most!"

That. Had to be an exaggeration. No way could he be the one person Stolas wanted to hear from more than anyone else. Blitzø frowned and licked his lips.

"What... did you want to ask me?"

"Everything!" Stolas said, his voice cracking as he threw his hands in the air. A tear slid down his cheek, and his arms fell uselessly to his side for a moment before he wrapped them around himself. Another tear slid down his cheek.

"Anything," he whispered.

And fuck- Fuck. Blitzø did know exactly how that felt. He had whispered the same anything into the darkness, cried the same tears. Until he had been sure it would swallow him whole.

"I told myself, if I ever got a second chance, I wouldn't... I would..." Stolas trailed off in a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Blitzø's first instinct was that he wanted to slide into the space between Stolas and the railing, wrap his arms around the bird and never let go. Because Stolas—his Stolas, his birdie—was hurting. And he would do anything to make it stop.

"Stols..." he murmured, taking a step forward and reaching out. A human hand reached out towards Stolas, and Blitzø froze to stare at it. None of the scars were there. No claws. And even in the dark of night, he still couldn't pretend that the skin color was anywhere close to right. His hand shook as he stared at it and he slowly pulled it back with a slightly magic laugh.

Stolas had opened his eyes again at some point and was just watching Blitzø. Not angry or upset, just... sad. He sighed and turned to look to the moon again.

"I don't want to force you to be in my life in a specific way, Blitzø," he murmured. "I just want you to be in it at all. You called me, so I assumed... But if... If you don't want me to be here, then of course I would-"

"No," Blitzø snapped, the word coming out of him panicked and breathy. All he could think of was trying to go back to that tiny room and that sofa bed alone, without Stolas, when Stolas had been the only thing keeping him from spiraling and wondering why he would even bother to play Heaven's games at all. He opened his mouth to try and say... something. A reason. Any reason. But all he could think about was how everything was better when Stolas was there. Somehow he could deal with being human, and trying to wrap his brain around the fact that he'd actually fucking died. Any time he focused on any one thing too much it felt like it would all just smother him and he would die all over again. 

Unless he focused on Stolas. Somehow, Stolas made it all melt away. 

But he didn't know how to say that, didn't even know how to begin saying all of that. All he knew was that he needed Stolas like... like he needed his own damn heart. But fuck, Stolas was staring at him with those eyes and he had to fucking say something, some reason why he needed to stay. But even Blitzø didn't know why Stolas needed to stay, only that the thought of him leaving felt like drowning. 

"Please," he started, and... Fuck, he was crying. Human bodies were so pathetic. 

"Please stay," was all he managed to whisper. 

Blitzø didn't know what possessed him to say it. It wasn't sexy. It wasn't cool. It was pathetic. It was quiet and trembling and scared. 

And so, so fucking human. 

Stolas had frozen, still leaning over the railing, but stared at him with the widest eyes Blitzø had ever seen. Which was saying a lot, considering owls didn't exactly have small eyes to begin with. And then it was like something in Stolas snapped, and he let out a shaking breath, his body trembling.

They both lunged for each other at the same time, crashing in the center in a burning kiss that was messy and desperate and frantic. Blitzø didn't know words for what he was feeling, didn't know what he was feeling other than that it burned and twisted at his insides. So he tried to show Stolas how he felt through the kiss instead, panting against Stolas' mouth, digging his fingers into Stolas' back and dragging him closer, like there was no amount of space between them that would ever be acceptable again. Stolas smelled like smoke and night and home. Blitzø clutched at him and let out such a ragged moan that it nearly sounded like a sob. 

"Blitzø," Stolas whimpered. 

It wasn't the overly exaggerated yowls and screams of his name that Blitzø was used to, but something about that made it even hotter. But there was one part that could be improved. He put his forearm on Stolas' chest and pushed him into the sliding glass door with a solid thunk. 

"That's not what you fucking call me," Blitzø growled, leaning in until his nose was a breath away from touching the bird's beak. He could feel Stolas' chest heaving into his as they stared at one another. Stolas' red eyes were wide as he looked down at Blitzø, like it was taking him a minute to place what Blitzø was getting at. Blitzø could tell the exact moment it clicked into place from when Stolas melted. 

And then Stolas was reaching for him and cupping Blitzø's face between both his hands like it was the most precious thing in the world. 

"Blitzy," he breathed. 

And for a minute, it was like falling into a memory, like nothing had changed at all. And it burned and pulled at his skin, left him gasping and grabbing for Stolas like an anchor. His head spun and he ground his hips against Stolas, shuddering at the feeling pushing back against him, far too many clothes between him and all those feathers and heat. 

Stolas was clutching at him, his hands sliding up Blitzø's face until they tangled in his wet hair, talons running over his scalp. Blitzø gasped and shuddered into the sensation that was somehow so familiar and yet completely unfamiliar. He had always grabbed onto Blitzø's horns almost like they were handles to keep Stolas from collapsing. But now his hands wrapped around Blitzø's head like a protective shield. And now, instead of Blitzø having to do gymnastics just to get to that position, he was simply standing, and still nestled just barely against the base of Stolas' neck, breathing raggedly against his down feathers, getting drunk on the scent. 

Stolas was too much of a fucking drug, and it drove him crazy. Blitzø squirmed and pressed harder into Stolas, sliding his hands under Stolas' shirt as he enjoyed some of the new angles he suddenly he had access to. It wasn't the same as wrapping a tail around one of Stolas' legs, but even if it was different, Stolas made it somehow feel like home. The feeling overtook him and pounded through him, making Blitzø feel like he was going to explode. 

Blitzø let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed with feeling, did what he'd always done when the feelings got too overwhelming. And reached out and sank his teeth into Stolas' shoulder, only resisting Stolas' neck because he knew he would get to it later. His teeth weren't as sharp as they used to be, but it was still enough to have Stolas gasping and arching his back into the contact. 

Then there was another, different sensation, of his hair being tugged on, slightly pulling his head backward. And Blitzø let out a low, aching moan, digging his nails into the flesh of Stolas' hips. Fuck, it was like every little thing he did just made Stolas react more, and the more Stolas reacted, the more he reacted, and the more he reacted, the more Stolas reacted...

"Oh," Stolas said, his voice low and needy and tinged with a hint of smug recognition. "Does my Blitzy like his hair being pulled?" 

"Inside," Blitzø growled, scrabbling for the door behind them. 

"Yes, please, Blitzy," Stolas said breathlessly. 

They fell through the sliding door in a tangle of feathers and awkward limbs. Diana was still sleeping soundly on the bed, but that was fine. At least if they stayed on the floor, then Blitzø didn't have to figure out how to get both of them over to the bed. Stolas had fallen to the floor in their rush, and it seemed like he wasn't particularly worried about picking himself back up, panting as he stared upwards. Blitzø practically tripped out of his sweatpants, while Stolas was able to magic himself as effortlessly out of his own clothes as he had always done.

"Fucking showoff," Blitzø muttered as he turned to tackle Stolas again. 

Only to pause when he noticed Stolas staring down at his dick, and suddenly, it came crashing back down. It felt the same, but it wasn't. He found himself swallowing a lump in his throat as he slipped the bathrobe off, more carefully, draping it over the back of the desk chair. And then he was peeling his shirt off, fully aware of how Stolas was staring at him. So he stood there and let Stolas study him in a way he hadn't even been able to do to himself. The only thing he didn't take off was the necklace, not able to bear the thought of not wearing it for even a minute. 

"It's not..." he whispered, gesturing weakly down at himself. He didn't even know what he meant to say. It's not the same. It's not the rugged imp peasant. It's not me. 

"It is," Stolas breathed, reaching for him. 

Blitzø only hesitated for a second before he felt himself stepping forward, letting those sharp talons gently run up his legs before they grabbed at his hips, dragged him forward. Stolas' looked half-mad with want, his wide eyes drinking in the sight of Blitzø like a man dying of thirst. 

"I see you, Blitzy," Stolas murmured. "No matter the skin you're wearing." 

And fuck, that was all it took to get Blitzø dropping to his knees. Their mouths met again, sloppy and hungry and desperate, and Stolas gasped when Blitzø pulled him in by the feathers at the back of his neck, grinding against him with a ragged groan. He buried himself in the familiar feeling of feathers and Stolas whimpering beneath him and heat, so much fucking heat it felt like he was burning alive. Blitzø panted and gasped for air against the feeling, and a bead of sweat slid down his temple. 

Sweat. That was new. 

"Fuck," Blitzø moaned into Stolas' shoulder. "Fuck, Stols, I missed you so damn much." 

Stolas let out a choked whimper, and Blitzø burned even more. He was gasping for air, everything feeling a little too hot and too much and too good all at once. He rocked down against Stolas' hips, each motion making Stolas shudder beneath him. 

"Blitzø, my Blitzy," Stolas cried and whimpered beneath him, panting and pulling Blitzø closer. His hands scrabbled at Blitzø's back as if he were looking for the same familiar spot where spines had once been, settling instead for digging his talons in a little more and pulling Blitzø tighter against him. "You found a way back to me. You always come back to me. My Blitzy." 

The sensation of claws on his back ripped through Blitzø and he cried out, a helpless, panicked sound that had his hips stuttering against Stolas. It was too much. It wasn't enough. 

"Fuck, fuck," he whimpered, not having any other words to reach for, only knowing how much he needed Stolas, how he couldn't bear the thought of ever being without him, without this. He couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't do anything other than chase that familiar feeling, that familiar heat. He drank in the look of Stolas completely undone underneath him, his feathers sticking out wildly, his thighs trembling around Blitzø, his voice reduced to nothing more than pathetic, broken cries. 

Home.

It wasn’t about rhythm. It wasn’t about control. It was pure, feral need, the kind that came from missing someone so much that your bones remembered them better than your brain. 

He gripped Stolas by the shoulders, rolling his hips down harder until Stolas arched and screamed, clawing at the floor like he didn’t know what to do with the feeling. Blitzø bit down on his shoulder—not hard, not with the same teeth he used to have, but enough to leave something. And Stolas shook beneath him.

And fuck—fuck—there was no fucking way he could have died, not when he felt so alive, not when he was burning, not when Stolas was flooding his brain like a drug and making him feel everything-

Blitzø had once teased people who cried when they orgasmed, said that his life wasn't pathetic enough to leave him crying over an orgasm, over someone actually wanting to fuck him. Really, it absolutely was sad enough to be worth crying over, and he fucking knew it. But he also knew that no one fucking wanted to look up and see the person they were supposed to be finding sexy crying and sobbing into an orgasm. Because being pathetic and broken wasn't attractive. 

So part of him hoped that Stolas was too lost in his own experience to notice the tear that slipped down Blitzø's cheek, didn't hear how broken and shattered Blitzø sounded when he cried out, clutching Stolas against him like he was the only one that could keep Blitzø from losing himself. 

Chapter Text

The next thing Blake was aware of, he was stretched out completely naked on his bed, afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window and warming his back. Whatever party he'd been to must have been good. Everything about him felt sore and ached, and not just in the usual way. In the way that usually meant he'd gotten fucked so thoroughly he forgot who he was for a few hours. The mind-melting kind of sex. And the most unfair part of it was that he didn't even remember it, even though the afterglow was strong enough to make him grin up at the ceiling as he rolled onto his back. 

Fuck, he really hoped he'd gotten their phone number. 

The internet is for porn! The internet is for porn!

Blake could hear his phone going off from somewhere on the floor, which was probably why he'd woken up in the first place. He groaned and dragged a hand over his face. He realized there were bandages on his hands as the fabric dragged over his face, and something around his neck shifted. He frowned and fumbled to feel for it. Some kind of necklace...?

Why you think the net was born? Porn, porn, porn!

He'd missed his morning alarm, too, which meant he'd missed out on the entire morning rush. And he wasn't particularly feeling like immediately dragging himself out the door to sit around and have hardly any orders. Things were always dead at this time of day. And it especially didn't sound appealing when the alternative was laying in bed and grinning into his own afterglow like an idiot. 

His phone was quiet for a few seconds, and then immediately launched into another round of the song. Apparently, she wasn't giving up just because he wasn't answering today. Blake groaned and dragged himself across the bed, draping himself halfway over the edge to grab it. It had ended up nearly all the way over by his desk in the commotion of the night before. Still draped over the edge of the bed, he grinned into the phone. 

"Gooooood morning to you too, Trust Fund!" 

"Well, good morning," Charlie said with a laugh from the other end of the phone. "You sure are cheerful. Did you sleep well?" 

"Like a rock," Blake said, dragging himself out of bed and over to his desk chair, looking for the bathrobe he always kept draped there. "Rocks don't sleep. Like a... Bear? Wait, Sleeping Beauty. She definitely sleeps. It must have been a pretty wild fucking party, for you to be doing a wellness check first thing in the morning."

On the phone, Charlie laughed. "It's... two in the afternoon, Blake."

"That counts as morning after a party like that."

His bathrobe wasn't draped over the chair. He frowned and looked under the desk to see if it had fallen, but it wasn't there either. He usually tried to keep it nearby for exactly this sort of reason, so he would have something to throw on immediately whenever he needed. He instead settled for picking up a black pair of sweatpants and a tank top from off the floor instead. It wasn't even what he remembered wearing the day before, but it also wasn't the sort of clothes he would wear to a party, and it wasn't his normal pajamas. Mystery clothes. 

"There wasn't any party," Charlie said with a laugh. "You just had way too many edibles."

"What, were you here?" Blake said as he did his best to shrug on the sweatpants while trying to keep a grip his phone. 

"For a bit. You needed a sitter." 

"Well. I still could have gone to a party after you left, you don't know!" 

Even shrugging on the sweatpants with his spare hand was uncomfortable. Blake somehow felt like he'd been thrown down a flight of stairs, been attacked by a wild animal, and had sex with some sort of sex god. Plus it felt like he'd had so much sex that his dick had rug burn. Pussy burn. Or maybe ass burn. Fuck, he didn't even remember. 

"Uh-huh," Charlie said, and Blake could just hear how she was doing that little smile she always did when she didn't believe him. "Sooo... Morning after a hard night... Feelings check in?" 

Blake sighed and rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. He did a mental scan over himself, then paused. 

"Good," he said slowly, his grin stretching. "Really good. I mean, it feels like I got kicked by a horse, but... Something feels. Better."

He didn't want to admit it to Charlie, but it was also the first night in ages that he didn't remember waking up from a nightmare. But telling someone like Charlie that he'd been having nightmares every single night for the past year was likely to just make her worry and fret. Even if nightmares weren't exactly something new for Blake. 

But god, having a night where he had actually slept through it felt like the first breath of air he'd had in a year of drowning. Even if he hardly ever remembered the nightmares, it was still always exhausting to wake up in the middle of the night wanting to cry and feeling like he'd lost... something. Maybe everything. 

"That's really good to hear," Charlie said, her voice soft. "You sound... lighter. I'm... I'm glad. You've been carrying a lot for a really long time. You deserve-" 

"Gross," Blake said with a snort as he plodded to the kitchen. "You're going Disney princess on me again, Trust Fund. I'm gonna hang up if you start singing." 

"I'm not going to sing!" 

"You already had a chorus and two verses queued up in your head." 

Charlie spluttered excuses as Blake opened the fridge, trying to look for... Breakfast? Or would it technically be lunch? Maybe that made it brunch? Whatever. Something to stop his stomach from screaming at him. But his fridge might as well have been bare aside from the magic chocolate fudge bites. Not even an energy drink left, and he could have sworn he had four left before he'd gone out last night. 

"I forgot to go grocery shopping," he groaned. He remembered walking Charlie to the bus stop and feeling so tired that he'd thought maybe he would just leave grocery shopping to be a problem for Tomorrow Blake. Blake wrinkled his nose and slammed the fridge shut again. 

"Char, I think I've gotta go. I have to figure out something to eat."

"Oh! Okay!" Charlie said quickly. "No worries! I just wanted to make sure you were okay after last night." 

"I'm great," Blake said, turning from the fridge, noticing the empty taco truck containers spread out over his counter. Damn past him, that sounded delicious. "Hungry and sore as fuck, but good." 

"Okay, well... Text me later?" she said, still sounding a little reluctant to hang up. Like she was afraid that if she let him go, all the progress he’d made overnight might vanish like smoke.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving her off even though she couldn’t see it. "It's the weekend, don't you have all sorts of hotel stuff to do instead of mothering me?" 

She laughed. "Yeah... Okay. I'm just. Really glad you're okay." 

Something in her voice sounded so relieved that Blake couldn't help but feel a little guilty as he hung up. How out of it must he have been for her to be worrying about him like that? She usually didn't get that worried about him unless he had some sort of mental breakdown, and it made him wonder what all he'd said the night before. The memories from that night were a blur, just feelings of confusion and panic, the taste of tacos, something about taking a shower, and then he could vaguely remember feeling horny as fuck as he smelled the smoke of cigarettes. 

Okay. So the nameless, genderless sex god was a smoker. That was a start.

Thinking that reminded Blake that he had planned to check and see if he had gotten the sex god's number, and he flicked open his text messages. Usually he was too lazy to program in a new contact from scratch, instead preferring to just type his number in their phone and have them text him so he could do it later when he was sober. 

There were no new texts, so he decided to navigate to the calls. The calls from yesterday were all ones he had placed, one to Charlie and one to some 1-800 number he didn't recognize, but another one seemed promising, considering he had called it three times in a row. Blake had no idea 666 was a real, functioning area code, though. He would have thought people would throw a fit over something like that. Still. He shrugged and tried redialing it. 

The phone didn't even ring before it went to voicemail. 

"Well, hey, there, you angry fuck, you're reached the offices of I.M.P., that's the Immediate Murder Professionals!" 

"What the fuck?" Blake said with a nervous laugh. Was this one of those weird joke voicemails people sometimes did?

"I bet you probably want someone killed right now!" the voicemail continued in a chipper voice. "Unfortunately, we're probably out killing someone for somebody else right now. Yeeep, there's a lot of killing to be done. So you just leave your name, number, and whether you want them dead, double dead, or really double dead, and we'll get back to you when we're less covered in blood. And if this is Moxxie calling to see if he left one of his musical CDs at the office again... I swear to fucking Satan, Moxxie, if I saw your CD, I would have set it on fire, okay? Anyway. How long do I have to record before this-" 

Beep

"Oh, uh!" Blake blinked and fumbled for the phone, taken by surprise when he was suddenly on the line to leave a message. "Uh, sorry! I, uh... Wrong number!" 

It was instinctive to find an excuse to get off the phone as quickly as possible rather than trying to explain that he'd called because he was trying to figure out how he knew this person. Or... business? Had he really called some sort of... assassin? It had to be some sort of joke. Maybe he could try calling again later. 

He paused, his finger hovering over the strange 1-800 number. It would most likely connect him to some sort of machine before it would actually direct him to a person. Which would mean he could at least figure out what the number was for. 

The phone rang enough times that Blake very nearly hung up and gave up on the whole idea. And then, to his surprise, rather than being directed to a machine voicemail, he got a distinctly non-robotic voice purring in his ear. 

"Hello there, you insatiable beast..." 

For a second, Blake's heart almost stopped. Something about the voice was familiar in a deep, aching kind of way. The sex god. This guy had to be the sex god from the night before. 

"Hi!" he said quickly, clutching at the phone. But before he could continue, the voice cut him off. 

"You've reached the exclusive pleasure line of your favorite prince of Hell. For dark rituals, press one. For filthy talk, press two. For me to scream your name while perched on the chandelier again... Well, you already know what to do."

Blake stared blankly at the wall. Oh. 

He felt himself sag in disappointment as he hung up the call. Just... some kind of sex worker line. Whatever weird dream he’d conjured last night—whatever connection he thought he’d felt—he was clearly just another horny idiot with too much imagination and not enough common sense.

But if that was the case, why did he feel like...

Blake sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Forget it. He needed food. He sighed, and on autopilot, went to the bathroom for his long overdue morning piss. 

He blinked at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. His hair was a mess, his eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like absolute shit, even though he felt better than he had in months. There was a remnant of a scratch on one of his cheekbones, some kind of small wound on his bottom lip, and when he twisted, he could see the marks of bloody scratches on his back. Fuck, was all of that just from sex? It looked like he'd been attacked.  

And then there was also the necklace he'd felt around his neck, the silver chain glinting in the mirror. Who had given him that? The "demon prince of hell" sex worker guy? It was styled to look like some sort of round, red skull, so it at least seemed to fit the theme, but it didn't really explain why he had it. He debated taking it off for a minute. After all, he didn't know where it had come from; it could have a tracker in it, or just about a million other things wrong with it. But when he thought about taking it off, it felt like something cracked inside him. So even though it was against his better judgment, he decided to leave it on. At least, for now. 

As he thought about the necklace, he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out his hydroxyzine. Somehow, even though he had the best sleep he'd had in years, he also felt like he was about to spontaneously combust from anxiety. 

There was an unopened energy drink sitting on the kitchen sink, which was at least a welcome surprise. At least he hadn't managed to drink all of them. He narrowed his eyes at it in consideration. It was probably stupid to wash down anxiety meds with caffeine. 

Blake cracked the can open. 

As he took a long sip, his eyes fell on a pile of rumpled clothes that looked like they'd nearly been kicked behind the toilet. Just from the color, he could tell it was his favorite shirt, a red graphic tee that had the words "punch today in the face" printed on it in blocky letters. The same shirt he had been wearing yesterday, only now it looked like it was stained with... ink? Blake frowned and reached down to grab it. 

When he got closer, a sulfuric smell hit his nostrils, and Blake was suddenly flooded with a flash of memory from the night before, getting attacked by that... No, not...

Blake hissed and dropped the shirt. He stared at it for a long minute with a frown. He remembered Tyler texting him for help with pests in his alleyway the night before, but... 

Nope. Not today, Satan. That was a Tomorrow Blake problem. 

"Okay, Di," he said as he strolled out of the bathroom. She looked up from her spot where she was curled up on her bed, and he couldn't help but flash a grin at how cute she was. "Daddy's gonna go down to 7-Eleven really quickly, but I'll be right back, okay?"

She settled her head back on her paws like she couldn't believe she had been woken up if she wasn't even going to get anything out of it. Blake grinned at her and went to grab his leather jacket from the closet, only to find it wasn't there. Everything was fucked up and different. Whatever. He grabbed a hoodie and zipped it up, trying to ignore the way his fingers shook as he shoved them in the pockets.

Music. Music would help. 

The last music he'd been playing on his phone had been his 'songs that shut up the 3am demons,' playlist. He had ended up listening to it all day yesterday, even though he usually only listened to it when he woke up in the middle of the night with the itch to paint. He thought about changing to a different playlist, but then his eyes caught sight of "HOT TO GO!" And, well. Who was he to say no to the great lady Chappell Roan?

I could be "the one", or your new addiction
It's all in my head but I want non-fiction

Outside felt like spring, and with music blasting in his headphones, Blake felt his mood slowly pick back up. Even if everything was a little weird. He felt himself walking in beat with the song, trying to breathe and focus on the stupid little human errand. 

Maybe when he had a chance again, he could call that weird 1-800 number and leave a message asking about the necklace or something. 

The 7-Eleven was empty aside from the cashier, and Blake made a beeline for the freezers at the back, slipping his headphones around his neck as he did. A few pizzas, some soda, and he'd at least be able to hold himself over until he felt like actually going grocery shopping. Maybe some chips and dip while he was at it. 

A minute after he walked in, there was a ding from behind him, and he turned to see a woman enter behind him, probably about ten or fifteen years younger than him. She had silver hair that was shaved on one side along with a crop top that had an inverted pentagram design perfectly centered over her cleavage. 

Holy Killer Goth Girl, Batman!

She was hot. And usually exactly the type of girl he would go for. But it felt like something in his brain had suddenly slammed on the brakes. It was like his thoughts slammed into a wall, bounced back, tried again, and shorted out with an error message that just read: DO NOT ENGAGE.

Maybe his brain was still just hung up on the guy from last night. Whatever. He was too tired for this shit.

He didn't think much else of her until he was heading out of the 7-Eleven with his one bag of ridiculously overpriced food. And then, before he fully knew what was going on, he was suddenly pinned against the wall, the breath knocked out of him with a wheeze. It was the same killer goth girl from inside, but her eyes were suddenly rage-filled, and he could have sworn she was growling at him. There was a tug at his neck, and he realized, belatedly, that she had ripped the necklace off him. 

"Where the fuck did you get this?!" she snarled. 

"Christ on a stick!" Blake yelped, his arms flying up over his face, the bag of food flying out with the motion. He could feel the smack of an energy drink in the bottom of the bag connecting with her cheekbone. She staggered back with a curse. 

For a second, Blake felt bad for her and wanted to ask if she was okay. But then logic kicked in. None of this was worth it for a necklace he'd never even seen before that morning. Probably some sort of cheap piece of costume jewelry. If this crazy homeless lady was on something that made her want it bad enough to be violent, then she could have it. 

So after a couple seconds of hesitation, Blake turned and bolted. 

No plan, no direction—just pure adrenaline and the overwhelming sense that he had to run. He didn’t look back to see if she was following. He knew she was. He could hear her screaming something at him as he ran, though he didn't really care enough to figure out what exactly she was saying. 

His apartment was only a block away, but he knew better than to lead her straight there, so he went in the opposite direction. He ducked into a side street, then another, then darted into a narrow alley crammed with trash bins and chain-link fences. He squeezed through a gap in the fencing, the hem of his hoodie catching and tearing as he stumbled out the other side and back into open air, just in time to crash headfirst into a low-hanging tree branch.

"FUCK-"

He fell to the ground in an explosion of pink cherry blossoms. 

Some sort of buried instinct took over as he fell, and he found himself tucking his chin and rolling with the impact, using an arm for leverage to push him into some sort of somersault, rolling him over his shoulder and landing him on his back. Like he knew exactly how to fall like a guy in an action movie. Like he'd done it a million times before. 

It was so unfair that no one had been filming that, because it was probably the coolest he'd ever looked in his life.

Blake scrambled to his feet, flailing and coughing as blossoms clung to his hair, his hoodie, everything. Coolness gone immediately. He expected to see Killer Goth Girl show up any second, as he struggled to pull himself back together, but she didn't show. Somehow, he seemed to have managed to lose her.

Still, he was tense all the way back to his apartment, looking over his shoulder and expecting her to jump out at any minute. He sure hoped she wasn't going to be hanging out in the neighborhood for the foreseeable future. It would be a bitch to constantly have to worry about her wanting to stab him from behind any time he went out. 

He hurried back to his apartment, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets and head down. Cherry blossoms were still all over him, in his hair, on the shoulders of his hoodie, but he didn't have it in him to care. A wave of relief hit him as soon as he walked through the front door of his apartment building. He still took the stairs two at a time, and his key shook when he jammed it in the lock. 

As soon as he was through the front door, he slammed it shut behind him. Locked. Chained. He debated shoving the sofa bed in front of it for a minute. His heart was still pounding in his ribcage, and he rested his back against the door, slowly sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, dropping his bag of food on the floor beside him. He sure hoped he hadn't lost any of it in the chaos. 

And then, the soft, pitiful whine. 

Blake snapped his head up to see Diana sitting in front of him, her leash in her mouth as she looked at him, then the front door, then him again. 

"Right," Blake said with a grimace. "Okay. But we're just going down to the tree out front and then straight back in, got it, sweetie?" 

Thankfully, Diana seemed to understand the assignment perfectly, maybe from the fact that Blake kept looking around like they were going to get attacked any second. So it was only five minutes before they were back in the apartment. Blake draped his hoodie over the back of his desk chair and busied himself with putting a pizza in the microwave and putting the rest of his food away as it cooked. And then, for good measure, took a couple cookies from the fridge and popped them in his mouth. He needed to calm the fuck down after Killer Goth Girl. 

As he gnawed on the pizza, he wandered over to his desk. The painting he had been working on the night before was sitting where he'd left it to dry, though some cherry petals had spilled out of the hood of his sweatshirt. Something about the pink petals on the moon stirred some fragment of a memory in him, and he frowned at the painting. 

Pink moon. 

Something about it seemed more appealing to him than the same red moon he had painted a thousand times before. He could almost see it as he looked at the painting. He could tweak the red to be more of a pink, bring out more of the blue on the owl... And for some reason, he had the urge to paint some stars into the owl's feathers. Maybe he'd even be tacky enough to crack out the glitter. Before he knew it, he was filling some jars with water and pulling out his paints.

Time slipped sideways.

He didn’t think, didn’t plan, just moved. Brushstrokes softened the red into dusky pinks, like cotton candy stained with longing. He darkened the blues in the owl’s feathers, let the colors bleed into violet shadows, and then, on a whim that felt more like instinct, he dabbed tiny white stars into the wings. A whole little galaxy tucked into feathers, like a secret he didn’t remember learning. 

At some point he tried to slip his headphones back on, only to realize they had been damaged when he fell, and now sound only came out of one side. Awesome. Fantastic. Because he definitely needed to go buy a new pair of headphones on top of everything else. He ended up settling for playing music from his phone's speaker and let himself get lost in the process of painting. 

It was hours later when he was jolted out of his reverie from the sound of a text message notification interrupting his music. Blake blinked and looked at the screen, expecting Charlie checking in with him, but instead, it was a couple texts from Tyler.

Tyler: yo man i found some new stuff 🍄

Tyler: come hang

Blake sighed and took in a long breath. Actually, yeah. He could use a fucking night off. And taking some questionable substances and watching shitty old cartoons with Tyler sounded like a decent way to go about it.

A quick walk for Diana later, and then he was slipping on some shoes and grabbing his hoodie before heading out to the van. He found himself still looking over his shoulder for Killer Goth Girl, but didn't see her lurking anywhere nearby. Maybe that one meeting had been the only time he'd ever see her. 

It was golden hour outside, the sun suspended low in the sky and casting everything in a surreal amber glow. Thankfully, there wasn't much traffic, and once he was on the highway, Blake found himself relaxing, berating himself for getting so scared by Killer Goth Girl. She'd probably just been on some sort of really bad trip. He doubted he would ever even see her again. 

Tyler’s apartment was a third-floor walk-up in a building that always smelled like weed, cheap incense, and old paint. Blake buzzed in and made his way up, the dim hallway lights flickering ominously as always. Classic. He knocked on the door to Tyler's place, but the door swung open at his touch. Blake frowned. Weird. 

"Yo, Tyler, you left your door open," he said as he shut it behind him. He turned around, only to freeze in his tracks. 

Tyler was sitting on a chair in the middle of the living room, his arms and legs tied so he was immobile. And standing on either side of him were two... women?

The tall one who loomed over Tyler was some sort of... furry? She was covered from head to toe in white fur with gray patches and a dark tail. He would have absolutely expected it to be some sort of fur suit, but something about the way she moved didn't seem like someone who was packed into an elaborate costume. When she growled at him, her lips curled and showed pink gums and sharp teeth just like any other dog. Only she was standing upright and had boobs. But her face wasn't quite that of a dog. But it also wasn't quite a human face, either. 

The other... woman? creature? on Tyler's other side was almost even more terrifying, despite being a good couple feet smaller than Blake. She was... Well, Blake honestly didn't have any clue what she was. Some parts of her seemed human, like her dark hair hanging around her face, but other parts of her seemed almost... lizard-like. 

Oh, yeah, and she had fucking red skin and dark black horns sprouting from her head. 

And she was holding a gun up to Tyler's head. 

"Glad to see ya could make it!" she said in a deep Southern accent, smiling at him as if she were just inviting him in for a glass of sweet tea. Her smile then dropped, and she used her gun to point at the couch, glaring at him in a way that sent shivers down his spine. "Now sit, mister. Talk." 

Blake hissed, his breath coming faster as his mind flicked back to the night before. He hadn't wanted to think about it, wanted to believe it when Tyler had said it had just been a strange creature and nothing more. He'd tried to yell at Tyler that animals didn't talk and wear clothes, but he'd still wanted to believe it. He hadn't been able to get as solid of a look at them the other night, and it had been dark in the alleyway, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was the same... People? Creatures?

But his legs didn’t want to move. His brain couldn’t decide whether to scream, bolt, or just blue screen entirely. He stared at the red-skinned woman, the gun, the tied-up Tyler, then back at the furry nightmare with glowing red eyes and claws the size of steak knives. 

Every part of him, every instinct, screamed at him to run again. But he couldn’t just leave Tyler tied up as bait, and the looks the two women were giving him made him pretty sure they'd catch him before he even made it out the door. He swallowed and held his hands up in surrender. 

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he said slowly. "For beating you guys up the other day. And for the other... I just didn't want to see Tyler die."

"We're not here about this asshole today," the wolf girl said with a snarl. "You're gonna tell us what you know about Blitzø or we're going to rip you apart and hang you with your own intestines!" 

"Kinky," Blake said with an instinctive grin before his brain could catch up with his mouth. Maybe it was just the stress of the situation. Maybe it was because he had no bandwidth left in his brain to spare on having a filter. "Though I'd prefer if you at least took me to dinner first. Maybe whisper some sweet nothings in my ear before you disembowel me. I mean, take some fucking pride in your work, right?" 

The wolf girl gave the red woman a sharp look. "Do you see what I'm fucking talking about? That's exactly what he would have said! It's weird!!"

"Like what who would have said?!" 

"How did you get the number for the office?" the red-skinned woman demanded, ignoring Blake's question. "And how did you know our names?" 

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Blake’s breathing was ragged now, chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted a mile. It felt like he was slowly drowning in the memories from the other night that he would have preferred to forget. Being terrified that he was going to die. A raging, burning white anger. The feeling of swinging a baseball bat and feeling a skull crack underneath it.

He could feel his hands trembling. 

Then the wolf girl pulled something out of her pocket, and he recognized it instantly. The necklace. And suddenly, he realized that even if her face was different now, he recognized her outfit. 

"Where did you get this?" she said, holding it in the air for emphasis. 

"Killer Goth Girl?" Blake said in disbelief as he looked her over again. "How the fuck did you-"

"Where did you get this?!" she snapped, shaking the necklace. 

"Fuck, I don't know! I just woke up with it!" 

His head was spinning, and his mouth was dry. The room felt lopsided, like the walls were breathing. It felt like his brain had gotten shipped through USPS under a fragile label, dropkicked straight across the country. The trembling spread from his hands to his shoulders, and before he fully processed what was happening, his legs dropped out from underneath him. He caught himself on the couch just before he hit the ground, barely able to stay upright with a rug that seemed to be alive and swirling under him. 

He remembered hitting one of them with the bat. He remembered watching it stagger back. He remembered the feeling of blood splattering across his face. He remembered what brains looked like. Or at least, pieces of brains. 

Blake dry heaved. The edges of his vision were black. He could vaguely hear the red woman and wolf girl arguing in the background, but he had no idea what they were saying. Words didn't make sense anymore.  

He didn't remember how he'd gotten home.

The next thing Blitzø was aware of, he was kneeling on the floor, draped over the edge of a couch.

Chapter Text

The next thing Blitzø was aware of, he was kneeling on the floor, draped over the edge of a couch.

He didn't know how long he had been out—days, weeks, months, it would have all felt the same. All he knew was that he wasn't waking up warm and comfortable in Stolas' arms. His ears were ringing, and he shook his head to try and make it stop, only to get rewarded with a chunk of hair flopping in front of his eyes. In the background, he could just barely hear the sound of two voices arguing. 

"I'm finishing this fucking job. Move." 

"No." 

"I don't like leaving loose ends, you know that." 

"You kill him, I'm going straight to Stolas." 

Something about hearing the name felt like it shifted something in Blitzø's brain, pieces moving and clicking into place. He knew those voices. That familiar Southern drawl. That same angry growl. 

He used the couch as leverage to clamber to his feet—quickly, too quickly—and the whole room spun with the movement. Blitzø groaned and held a hand to his head. Stupid squishy human body. It apparently couldn't even handle stupid shit like standing up without throwing a fucking temper tantrum. How did humans survive like this, anyway?

The first thing he saw when the world stopped spinning was Loona. Or more accurately, Loona’s back—standing between him and danger, tail lashing from side to side in that twitchy, pissed-off rhythm she always got right before she kicked someone’s face in.

The second thing he saw was Millie. Pointing his old gun straight at him. 

"I said, move," she growled. "For fuck's sake, Loona, he's just a stupid human!" 

Blitzø was grinning from ear to ear before he could help himself, trying to pretend he didn't feel the prick of tears at the corners of his eyes. "I missed you assholes so much." 

He could see the argument get paused as they both snapped their attention to him, both wearing identical expressions. Which, for the record, were expressions somewhere between shock, horror, and "what the absolute fuck." It was always nice to make a grand entrance. 

 But then Millie’s finger tensed, and he heard the soft but unmistakable click of the hammer being cocked back. Blitzø’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.

"I say we finish this fucking job. Now." 

"Okay, I'm loving the energy, Mills, but..." Blitzø said, holding up his hands in the most non-threatening way he could, even though his voice was starting to shake. He frowned as something clicked into place in his brain. "Wait, job? Did someone order a hit on me?" 

He couldn't say he was exactly surprised. He had left enough of a trail of pissed off people in his wake. It made sense that someone would event- Wait. Wasn't he theoretically just a normal human now?

"Not you. Your friend, dumbass," Loona said, gesturing to a guy tied up in a chair. 

Oh. Right. That made more sense. 

"Tough break," Blitzø said with a sympathetic shrug to the guy in the chair. The guy looked back at him with wide eyes, but didn't seem to know what to say in response. 

"He's not the only one dying," Millie said, her voice coming out in a vicious growl. Blitzø felt himself wincing and taking a step backwards, but he ended up just backing up into the wall beside the sofa. Fuck, she was terrifying when she wanted to be. That was exactly why he'd hired her, of course, but he wasn't really used to having her direct her terrifying-ness towards him. 

"You're going to pay for what you did yesterday!" 

"For-" Blitzø frowned, thinking back to the last thing he remembered, which was curling up naked in Stolas' arms. But why would Millie care or even know about that? Let alone be mad enough to kill him over it?

Then his eyes settled on his gun in Millie's hands. Hang on. Millie was a close range fighter. Even if he'd been dead for a year, even if they had wanted to hold on to his gun for sentimental reasons, it still wouldn't have been her weapon of choice. The person who would have been most likely to use his gun would be Moxxie. So why was she the one holding it? For that matter, where was Moxxie, anyway?

And then his brain snapped to his first memory he had of the day before rather than the last. The imp body in the alleyway that had been mangled beyond recognition. 

"So then... do you suppose it was a matter of self-preservation? A reflex born of fear?"

Stolas' words from the night before echoed in Blitzø's head as he froze. His breath caught, and he could feel his blood pounding in his stupid human ears. He tried to force his brain to remember the night before, tried to focus on the brief glimpse he'd gotten of the imp (Was there a bow tie? What did the horns look like?), but it was just a faint blur. Surely he would have recognized Moxxie's corpse, even if had been beaten to a bloody pulp, right?

"Moxxie," he whispered, holding a hand to his head. No horns. Just stupid human hair. "Fuck. Oh fuck."

Millie’s expression hardened at the name, and the recoil came before he could even think to brace for it. In about two seconds, she had closed the distance between them and slammed Blitzø into the wall, gun digging into his chest.

"Keep his name out of your mouth, you sonuvabitch," she growled. 

Blitzø’s breath hitched. For one long, terrifying second, he was sure she was going to pull the trigger. He considered knocking the gun away, knocking her feet out from under her, anything. But that would only convince her that she was right in seeing him as an enemy, would only escalate everything into a full-on fight. And he was a stupid, squishy human this time around. 

Plus there was the fact that his brain was still hung up on the thought of Moxxie. He desperately tried to keep his brain clear, tried to focus on Millie in front of him, because there was every chance she could kill him if he didn't drag the situation back into control soon. But all he could think of was the heat of fire all around him and smoke burning the back of his throat. And for a second, he saw Fizz on the ground- No, Moxxie-

Fuck, it was all happening again. No matter how he fought it, no matter how far he ran, he always ended up back here again. Hurting the people he was supposed to care about the most. 

"I'm..." he started, and the word came out strangled, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. "Fuck, Mills, I'm so sorry." 

"Don't fucking call me that!" The gun twitched deeper into his side, and she snarled at him. "I ain't got no problem putting ugly animals out of their misery."

"Okay, wow, rude," Blitzø snapped back reflexively, even if maybe wasn't the smartest plan when he happened to have Millie shoving a gun in his side. "I mean, I know this stupid squishy face is a downgrade compared to before, but going as far as calling me an uggo is a little far."

"Fuck, would you stop doing that?!" Loona snapped. Her hands were tense at her sides, like she was preparing to rip him into shreds any second. 

"What the fuck am I even doing?!"

"Talking like him!" She then stormed over and pushed Millie out of the way so she could grab Blitzø by the collar, pressing him uncomfortably into the wall. Her forearm pressed into his windpipe, and Blitzø found himself coughing and reaching up to grab at her. No use. Hellhounds were way too fucking strong, especially against a squishy, stupid human body. 

"Loonie Toonie, sweetie," he choked out as he struggled. "I don't really wanna crack a pervy joke to my daughter just to make her let go of me, but—ack—I kinda need that to breathe."

Loona's eyes widened, and the pressure against his neck loosened slightly, leaving Blitzø to cough and splutter. But before he could even fully recover, she was leaning in again, snarling at him in a way that made him scared she was going to rip his throat out. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

"Fucking Christ on a stick, I'm Blitzø!" he snapped back, holding his hands up in a plea of mercy. Shit, he never needed to plea for mercy, but that was what he got for hiring the best of the best. They were damn good at their jobs. 

The room went silent.

And then, everything erupted into chaos, everyone speaking at once. 

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"You better start explaining, mister." 

"What the fuck, Blake, are you saying you're related to these freaks somehow?" Tyler yelped from his tied-up position on the chair. 

It was just unhinged enough of a distraction that Loona managed to actually let go of Blitzø's neck. He braced himself against the wall behind him, gasping and doubling over to hold his side. Apparently, stupid, squishy human bodies didn’t appreciate being choked out. Who knew? 

Damn, he missed being a demon. At least then, if someone tried to kill him, it was just foreplay. 

Though then again, that would also mean it would take a whole lot less effort before his brain would freak out and give him the "shit, we're dying" chemicals. Which certainly had... potential for testing later. The way his body was reacting so much more intensely to the rush of adrenaline definitely had him curious. 

"Are they, like, your weird cult family or something?!" Tyler continued, dragging Blitzø's attention unwilfully back from horny jail. 

"I mean, cult family is a new one, but sure, buddy. Kinda." 

"Is this, like, some freaky cosplay kidnapping ritual thing?! Are you going to sacrifice me?! Holy shit, are you guys furries?!"

"Christ on a stick, shut the fuck up!" Blitzø snapped, the words coming out a little fried with the strain. "How is being a furry the worst thing you can think of, anyway, fuckwad?"

He staggered a little, catching himself against the wall, his chest heaving. His eyes flicked back to Millie, who still hadn’t lowered the gun. Not by an inch. She looked ready to pop his skull like a soda can if he so much as twitched the wrong way. Loona wasn’t much better, her hackles raised and breathing ragged as she stared at him like he was some sort of ghost. 

Which, he supposed, in some ways, he was. 

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up, again, like it would do anything against two demons who could shred him like pulled pork if they wanted. “Let’s just... everyone calm the fuck down, yeah?"

Blitzø tried to take in a breath, reaching up to rub at his throat where it was sore from Loona. When he glanced over at her again, he caught the slightest twitch of her ear, like she was resisting the urge to tilt her head to one side and consider him more thoroughly. Like something was clicking into place, even if she was too pissed to admit it.

"Loonie," he said in a low tone, slightly lowering his hands as he tried to think. He hadn't needed to prove anything with Stolas because he'd called a number only he and Stolas had known about. He needed something like that with Loona. 

But all he could think as he looked at her was that he hadn't seen her looking so scared in years. It reminded him too damn much of when he'd first brought her home from the shelter, when she would eat in the corner while growling and glaring at him. And even if he knew that logically it wasn't his fault that he'd died, it still felt like it was his fault somehow. He was her dad, and he was supposed to protect her from shit like this. 

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry," he murmured. 

"Don't call me that," Loona whispered, but it didn't hold anywhere near the same amount of bite Blitzø was normally used to. 

"Oh for fuck's sake," Millie groaned, making Loona and Blitzø snap their attention over to her. "He's lying, Loona! His stupid friend has all those occult texts, and B has been all over the news for the past year. Humans will say anything if it means saving their own skin."

She paused, scowling as she looked over both of them. "We've got a job to finish. I don't have the patience for this." 

She turned from Blitzø, and it was such a minor thing, maybe just the way her finger twitched against the trigger, or maybe the glint in her eye. Or maybe it was just because he knew her so well, knew that she would be itching for someone to kill, somewhere to direct her anger. 

"Mills, no," he said lunging for her at the same moment she was pointing the gun straight at Tyler's head. He didn’t think, didn’t plan. He just reached for her, grabbing at her wrist and pulling it upwards at the last second.

The shot rang out with a bright flash. 

Blitzø felt more than saw that the shot embedded itself in the ceiling, a small piece of plaster flying out with a poof of dust. The sharp, acrid taste of gunpowder filled the air, only made worse by the thick smoke still billowing out from the gun. Meanwhile, Tyler was babbling some sort of nonsense that Blitzø wasn't sure was even real words. 

Millie spun around to glare at Blitzø, her eyes blazing like two tiny bonfires. His old gun still smoked in her hand as she pointed it straight at him instead. 

"Are you serious right now?" she snarled, taking a step towards him. 

Blitzø looked down at the gun. His old gun. That he knew better than anyone else. Definitely better than the person who usually preferred to use an axe. In that moment, all the anxiety fizzing around inside Blitzø settled just enough. Sometimes you just needed something constant in your life to focus on when everything was falling apart. That was exactly why no one had ever been able to talk him out of that gun, even if it was more dramatic than sensible. 

"Come on, Millie Billie," he said in a low tone, smirking as he nodded at the barrel of the gun. "There's no use threatening me with that. We both know you've gotta reload it." 

Millie's glare stuttered, like a GPS that was trying to account for a sudden u-turn. Recalculating. She frowned at him, and the gun slightly relaxed in her grip. He could tell she had questions from the way her eyes darted over him, taking in his hair, the rumpled blue hoodie he was wearing, then finally settled back on his face. But she didn't say any of the questions she was thinking out loud, only narrowed her eyes at him.

And then there was a faint whooshing sound, like wind tearing open a seam in the air. His heart stuttered in his chest. He knew that sound. A flicker of light flashed against the wall, sharp and blue.

"Blitzy, what's going on? I saw a missed call from you but no message and- Oh."

For a second, as cliche as it fucking felt, it seemed like everything froze. Blitzø couldn't fully describe why just the sight of Stolas there gave him such a warm feeling of hope in his chest. Maybe because he knew he didn't have to explain this shit to Stolas. Maybe because he knew Stolas would make sure nothing bad happened. Or maybe it was just because the adrenaline was making him kinda horny and his human body seemed to like the sight of Stolas in his human disguise. 

Yeah, it was probably just the horniness. 

"You fucking knew?" Loona exploded, snapping Blitzø out of his train of thought. "You knew about this and you didn't tell me? How long did you- Is that why you were wearing that stupid bathrobe that smelled like him at breakfast?!" 

"Now, now, my little wildfire, there's no need for-" 

"There's every fucking need!" Loona looked around wildly, then grabbed a mug from the coffee table and lobbed it straight at Stolas. 

The mug didn’t hit. Of course it didn’t. Stolas’ magic caught it midair and redirected it gently, absurdly, placing it down on the dining table with a small smile as if he were just playing tea time with an unruly child. But Blitzø still saw the flinch, saw the way Stolas’ fingers shook for half a second, saw the miniscule crack in the practiced smile. 

He'd seen that flinch before. Not like this, not standing in a living room. But on full moon nights. On nights when Blitzø had gotten a little too caught up in everything and let his voice raise a little too loud. When Stolas would stiffen under certain touches and Blitzø had learned how to read the tension in his shoulders like braille. He didn't know the full story, but he knew enough. 

"Loona." 

His voice was sharp. Not angry, not bitter, just firm. It was a tone he hardly ever used with her, and he didn't miss the way she immediately froze. 

"That's not fair fight rules for Stolas," Blitzø continued, gesturing to the mug on the dining table. 

Fair fight rules had been a concept he and Loona had come up with the first week after he'd adopted her. Their first few fights had been legendary, and they realized quickly that they would probably kill one another if they didn't establish some ground rules, fast. So they had quickly established that certain topics were just forbidden from arguments. That way could at least avoid triggering one another into an apocalypse. 

But then something else clicked into place in his brain, like it had just been processing in the background all that time. Loona had said something about Stolas in a bathrobe at breakfast. And Stolas definitely wouldn't wear his slutty little bathrobe out to a restaurant. 

"Blitzy, that's really not necessary-"

"Wait, wait. Hold on," he said, squinting between both of them. "Breakfast? Are you two, like, living together or some shit?" 

Stolas shrunk slightly in that way he always did when he didn't particularly want to talk about something. Although there was something extra hilariously adorable about the gesture when he was in his human form. Maybe it was because Blitzø could better see the way his eyes were flicking around like he was looking for an escape. 

"Yeah," Loona muttered with a roll of her eyes. "He beat your record of most useless adoption ever. No one fucking adopts people in their twenties." 

"I had to!" Stolas said indignantly as he stood up straighter. 

But the rest of his words faded into white noise as Blitzø stared at him with what he was pretty sure were gross, melty, goo-goo heart eyes. Stolas had adopted Loona when Blitzø hadn't been there to take care of her. Stolas had kept his baby safe for him. And Blitzø couldn't think of anything that could have been a bigger fucking romantic gesture, somehow. 

Before he could spiral even further in the stupid mushy feelings, he was cut off by the sound of a knock from the door. Loud, firm, but somehow still polite. Blitzø froze and looked around at the room. Stolas was at least in his human disguise, and Loona switched to her own disguise immediately at his glance towards her. But that still left Millie standing there, completely exposed, her gun in one hand. Not to mention Tyler tied to the chair just a few feet away from her. 

And then, another knock, a little more insistent. 

"Who the fuck is that?" Blitzø hissed at Tyler, who shrugged. 

Blitzø hurried over to the door and slid up to the peephole like the door itself would come to life and bite him if he weren't careful. But when he looked through, he was greeted with the distorted image of none other than Charlie. He sighed and rolled his eyes, his posture relaxing. 

"Fuck, she's like a parole officer," he muttered before reaching out and opening the door, giving Charlie a tight grin as it opened. 

"Princess. Came to join the party?" 

Charlie took a split second to take in the sight of Blitzø, the chaos of the room, the three other demons tensed behind him, Tyler tied to a chair... And even though she kept smiling, Blitzø swore he could see Charlie's eye twitch as she took it all in, stepping in the room and closing the door behind her as she took in a deep breath. Then, she slowly turned to focus her attention solely on Blitzø. 

"I left you alone for a day," she said, her voice raising slightly as she spoke. "Blitzø, this... This is... What the fuck, Blitzø?!"

"Oh, a day, great," he said, a grin splitting across his face. "That answers a few questions for me. I was wondering how long it was." 

"Blitzø..." Charlie let out a long, controlled breath through her nose, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked like she was having a whole argument with herself in her own head. "Mind catching me up on what exactly happened here?"

"Oh, fuck if I know," Blitzø said with a groan, throwing his head back. "Last I remember is-"

He paused, his eyes flicking over to Stolas, whose eyes widened, and a bright blush jumped up his neck, quickly coloring his cheeks. 

"-falling asleep," Blitzø finished with a cough. "And then I was here. And, y'know, Millie and Loona nearly killed me, then they nearly killed that guy, then Stolas showed up, and uh... Yeah, that's basically it." 

Charlie had managed to pull off one of those expressions that was both horrified and so, so incredibly done with everything. Blitzø was very familiar with the expression. People tended to get very good at making that face around him. 

"So... He really is Blitzø?" 

Millie's voice was soft, quiet in a way he wasn't used to hearing from her, and when Blitzø turned to look, she was frowning at him like he was some sort of puzzle. Like she was afraid to believe in something if it just meant she was going to be let down again. Charlie's expression softened as she looked over, her gaze flicking over to Blitzø for a split second before answering. 

"Yes and no," she said slowly. 

Blitzø hated that answer. There was nothing clear-cut about it, and it just opened the door for a million more questions, each one shittier than the last.