Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Peter should never doubt, it was the fact he was well-loved.

In the beginning, that love was given to him by his first parents; the ones who used their power to bring him into the world of the damned.

After their untimely death - when Peter was barely 50 years old - it was Abba who stepped forward and offered his love. Peter was the first parentless demon Abba took in, and he remained to be the youngest of that powerful creature’s ever-increasing collection of wards throughout his life.

Although Peter was the first orphan to be carried through Abba’s doors, he was not an only child for very long. When he was just beginning to learn how to walk, a sibling was brought to Abba’s doorstep in the form of steely-eyed Darius. At just over 1,500 years old and newly parentless - thanks to humanity’s growing obsession with exorcisms - it was Abba who was called upon to volunteer to take in the young demon, as he already had nearly a century of experience under his belt with Peter.

An infant and a teen were two very different creatures, as Abba had tried to argue, but the one child limit was set in stone among all demonkind; it went above law, as it was tied to old magic. 

In any case, there were no volunteers in the general population who did not already have a child of their own. Abba was a special case– a demon with special privileges, thanks to his position as one of Satan’s elite. He was called Mammon, and was the first of his name and the first of his kind. The first human who Satan offered the unique opportunity of working directly under his rule, instead of being tortured with the countless other human souls who occupied Hell.

There had been no orphans before Peter, and after Peter’s parents were killed, a new law was set that limited visits to upstairs when it came to new demon parents. If their child hadn’t yet come into their power, then only one parent would be permitted to travel up to earth at a time. This ensured that, should an unfortunate event befall whichever parent was upstairs, the child would still have at least one demon to care for them.

Plenty of demons toed the line of this new rule, however, including Darius’s own parents. With the statute of one parent staying behind with a child who was defenseless, many parents with children who had long grown into their power took advantage of a loophole: simply bring the child with them upstairs, and then both parents could do their business simultaneously.

Darius was the second orphan in Peter’s lifetime, and the existence of these sorts of children was such an anomaly that both Satan and his trusted elite came up short on what to do with them. 

While new laws were drafted up to prevent more orphans from being thrust into the world, Abba set up a room in his estate for Darius, and Darius and Peter learned the impossibility of brotherhood. With such a large age gap between them, there wasn’t much room for connection or bonding. Especially with Peter barely able to form a word or two, as he approached his mid 100s.

Still, a spark of a relationship was struck, as Peter’s staggering steps often followed after Darius while the teen roamed the extravagant halls of his new home, and Darius scooped up the infant whenever Peter’s little legs refused to hold his weight for more than a handful of steps. They’d become brothers under strange conditions, but they were now brothers all the same.

They were the only siblings in the realm - aside from the occasional set of twins - and it was decided their odd circumstances were to be kept a secret from Hell’s general population. If word spread freely of Mammon’s two sons, other demons might get ideas for challenging the one-child law. As it was, there were barely enough soul fragments to allow parents to try for a baby at least once. It was best to avoid the trouble of murmurings of unfairness altogether, and so Peter and Darius’ existence was kept quiet outside of elite circles. 

Eventually, a law was drafted and agreed-upon that not only limited visits upstairs among parents, but all demonkind. The exorcism crisis was beginning to affect the realm as a whole, as more and more demons were unaccounted for after teleporting to earth to do business among mortals. Satan and his elite spent years tracking down witnesses who had last seen these unfortunate souls, but not everyone had eyes on who teleported upstairs, where on earth they teleported to, and what humans they made dealings with.

It was a terrible oversight on the higher-ups’ end, and it was costing them greatly. 

There were drawings and spells in the works to rewrite the magic of all demonkind, ones that would prevent any creature from using their abilities to teleport upstairs at their leisure, and instead force all demonkind to rely on sanctioned portals in order to access the mortal world. But spellwork like this took time, and demons were going to continue to do their business with humans unless each and every citizen in the realm could be monitored by the Guard. And there weren’t enough soldiers to do that kind of work.

So, while the groundwork was laid for a world-changing spell, laws were posted which clearly stated that no minor was allowed upstairs under any circumstances, and parents of young demons under the age of 2,000 were to designate a partner to stay at home with their child whenever a visit upstairs was warranted. 

All leisure visits to earth were banned– not just among parents, but all demonkind. If a demon needed to travel upstairs for business or necessity, then they would need the proper paperwork which allowed them to legally do so. Routine checks were to be carried out by the Guard on a regular basis, where soldiers would visit the homes of each and every demon in the realm and check that they had the proper, written approval for a visit upstairs. If a demon didn’t have such paperwork, then they would be monitored over the next year to ensure no unsanctioned visits to earth were being carried out. 

And if a demon was caught illegally teleporting upstairs, the consequences would be severe.

The establishments that had been built to draft up and grant approval for upstairs teleportations quickly became sites of pandemonium, as demons lined themselves out the door in swathes, which would often expand down the streets for miles. There were new buildings being erected to meet the needs of a population of demons who all had business upstairs, but the construction of such areas didn’t happen overnight– not even with the best magic. 

It was during this time of law-enacting and confusion over what was considered a leisure visit, and what was considered essential, and all the endless paperwork creation for crowds and crowds of demons, that Peter and Darius’ five additional siblings entered Mammon’s estate.

Parents were still getting killed in pairs, although Satan and his elite were doing everything they could to limit the amount of children Mammon was forced to take in. Still, the earth was large, and Hell was even larger, and it was impossible for every single household to be monitored. So there were creatures who slipped through the cracks, whose untimely demise gave Peter more siblings to celebrate.

When Peter was nearly 300 years old, and Darius just cresting into his 1,700s, Agnes was brought to Mammon’s doorstep. 

She was only a century younger than Darius, and Peter’s first impression of her was that she was beautiful. Where Darius was broad and thick with muscle, she was dainty and lithe. She had the thickest hair he’d ever seen, and it cascaded all the way down to her waist in soft waves, curling up delicately at the ends. Darius had short-cropped, stark white hair, but Agnes had dark, velvety strands that Peter wanted to touch and braid.

Unfortunately, Peter didn’t get much of a chance to see if Agnes’ hair was as soft as it looked, as the girl spent her first month at Abba’s estate locked up in her designated room, crying. Peter did not know how long it had taken Darius to acclimate to the change of scenery - he’d been too young to remember the arrival of his first sibling - and his brother didn’t offer up any insights about the topic when pressed.

Peter didn’t have much time to mull over whether or not to bother his new sister during her first month in his life, however, as his next four siblings were thrust through Mammon’s threshold in quick succession.

There was Amira, freshly 1,000 years old, who made her presence well-known and celebrated with her loud atmosphere after taking just a week to settle in. And by the time that week was up, the estate got a little louder and a little fuller with the arrival of Emmeline, who was only fifty years older than Amira, and somehow even louder. Peter didn’t have much time to get a good look at either of them or figure out what he thought about his newest sisters, before they had run off to hidden nooks on the property, only making their presence known as distant giggles and shrieks.

Amira and Emmeline had become fast friends, while poor Agnes was still sniffling in her room. Peter resigned himself to spending the rest of his life bored under the company of his older and only brother, until the end of the year marked the final addition to his strange family.

Twins, Amira and Emmeline had cooed from distant hallways. A new brother and a new sister.

Peter wasn’t about to let those two drag off his newest siblings before he could even introduce himself, and he forced his little legs to carry him quickly to the foyer while he heard the menacing giggles of his worst favorite sisters on his heels. 

He managed to slide to a stop before crashing into the pair who were idling in the open doorway, and the first thing that struck Peter was their age. They couldn’t have been too much older than he was, which bode well for whether or not Amira and Emmeline would whisk them away to rooms he couldn’t find, hoarding all the siblings to themselves.

The twins were barely 800, which meant they were closer in age to Peter’s terrible sisters, but only by about a century. Peter wasn’t about to let a 500-year age gap stand between him and his potentially new favorite siblings, so he firmly planted himself between the looming sisters at his back and the shy pair of children hovering on the edge of the threshold of the estate entrance. 

But everyone only got to learn the twins’ names - the boy was Mylan, the girl was Further - before Abba swept into the foyer and shooed away Peter, Amira, Emmeline, and Darius (who’d been halfway down the stairs, curiously sizing up the latest siblings) so that he could give the pair a tour of the estate and show them to their rooms.

Luck was on Peter’s side, however, as his terrible sisters had to leave the estate for magic studies on a regular basis, while Peter got to stay home since he was barely 300, and showing no signs of coming into his power. So Peter sought out his newest siblings as soon as his awful sisters were off the grounds, and he made it his mission to bond with the twins as fast as possible. That way, Amira and Emmeline couldn’t commandeer all the sibling time for themselves.

Mylan had hit a growth spurt recently, and he had at least a foot on his twin. He kept tripping over his gangly legs as he and Further followed Peter to his room, where Peter showed them the hand-carved animals Abba had made for him, and he let the two play with whichever ones they wanted, even though he never let anyone touch his favorites, which were the bear and the goat. But he let Mylan and Further play with them, because he wanted to make a good impression.

Mylan was happy with the toys, but Further was dark in the face from the tears she’d been holding back since the two had first arrived. Eventually she let out a high, abrupt wail - right when Peter was about to dig out one of his favorite tomes with funny pictures of more animals - and Mylan ended up excusing them both as he hoisted his crying sister to her feet with a hand under each armpit, and then led her out of Peter’s room by the hand.

Peter could only watch them go with a pout, hoping Further wouldn’t make her brother stay locked in their new room for months on end. Agnes was crying less and less by that point, but she still rarely left her room.

Amira and Emmeline continued to come and go from the estate for their magic studies, and even though they spent most of their time at home in the twins’ presence, Peter didn’t get the impression that his tricky sisters were trying to steal his new siblings from him. If anything, he thought the two were doing everything they could to make Mylan and Further feel welcome and settled. So he grudgingly allowed the twins to split their time between him and his giggling, loud sisters.

A shift fell upon the grounds as Peter officially stepped into his 300s, and Abba made every sibling take turns watching him (even Agnes!). 

Peter was meant to be coming into his power soon, and Abba was busy with his duties as he and his fellow elite finished organizing new laws and setting up statutes that would prevent Peter from getting any new siblings in the future, and Abba was away from the estate more often than not. Peter wasn’t too happy about that - both that Abba was gone so long, and also that he wouldn’t be getting any more precious siblings - but with all his brothers and sisters spending time with him in shifts, his sourness didn’t last very long.

He finally got the chance to get a good look at his elusive sisters. Amira had peppery hair that reminded him of charcoal, and a gap between her two, sharp front teeth that made her voice recognizable from her constant companion, even when Peter could only hear their distant giggles and shrieks when she and Emmeline were hidden away at some far corner of the estate.

Emmeline had shiny, tight curls which haloed her round face, and her pitch black hair could catch the light of torches and lanterns in a way that made it shine like the little fires themselves. Peter learned that she liked bears too, and he hesitantly let her play with his prized carved caricature of the creature, and she didn’t try to break the thing, so he changed her title from ‘terrible sister’ to ‘sweet sister’ in his head.

Mylan and Further had hair as white as Darius’, but their wild locks seemed to have a mind of their own. Not even Abba could tame it with a brush, when he was home long enough to try. That was where the resemblance between the pair ended, though. Mylan was still shooting up faster than his sister, and it made his limbs wiry and long. Further was plump in comparison, with short fingers and chubby palms. She was Peter’s favorite sibling to hug, not just because she was the softest, but because she was also clingy like Peter. If she didn’t have Mylan’s arm tangled up in her limbs, she was latching onto the next closest sibling.

Peter learned from Agnes’ turns standing vigil by his side that his oldest sister liked to sing. And when he learned that fact, he pulled as many songs from her as he could get away with, which turned out to be a lot. Her pinched, sad face smoothed out a little with each new tune, and Peter thought that maybe the singing helped Agnes in a way that none of his other siblings had managed to.

His 300s came and went, as did his 400s, and Peter didn’t show any signs of growing into his power. Sometimes he’d hear whispered, worried conversations with his name on his siblings’ and Abba’s lips, but whenever he tried to sneak closer and make out more of the words, the murmurings would come to an abrupt halt, and his Abba would walk out of whatever room Peter had tried to creep up on with a smile, and then he’d usher Peter towards the kitchens for a sweet.

Peter wasn’t fooled, however. He knew something was wrong with him. He knew he was well past the time when he was meant to have come into his power. His Abba had said so himself, when Peter first asked why he couldn’t leave the grounds shortly after entering his 300s. His siblings had recounted enough stories of their own experiences coming into their power for Peter to know that the timing for such an event had long passed him by. There was something wrong with him. But he didn’t know what.

His siblings continued to watch him in shifts, and the estate took on a weighted, stiff feeling, as if the entire grounds were holding its breath. Still, nothing changed. Peter remained as weak and defenseless as a human.

When he reached the day that marked 500 years since his birth, his Abba sat down with him in his great library, right in front of the huge fireplace set against the far wall, and Peter miserably watched the fire crackle and pop, its flames licking upwards against the stone while Abba told him a story about himself - about the life of little Peter - just as he did every century.

Peter bitterly ate his sweet bread - a warm treat he got to have every 50 years or so, something sweetened by honey and spiced with cinnamon - while Abba recounted his young life, right up to the present. How he was the first of Mammon’s children. How the rest of the siblings came upon Abba’s doorstep. How old Peter was when he learned to walk, and then run. His favorite animals. His favorite foods. His smiles. His laughs.

And then, at the end of the tale, Peter was allowed one question. 

“What more do you want to know about the story?” Abba asked, and Peter knew he had to be careful.

He was only allowed one question, one query in which Abba would tell him whatever he wanted to know about his life. Abba would answer truthfully - no matter what the question was - but only if he had an answer. If he didn’t know something, then that was a question wasted, and Peter would have to wait another century to try again.

Why haven’t I come into my power yet, Peter wanted to ask, but he was afraid of what the answer might be. Worse still, he was afraid Abba didn’t have an answer for it. So instead, he stared up at his Abba - the strangest demon he’d ever seen, with big, round ears and blunt teeth and brown skin - and breathed his question into the space between them:

“How did my parents die?”

Chapter Text

Abba considered Peter for a long moment, his umber eyes catching the firelight and flickering gold intermittently from it. Finally, he drew in a short breath and asked, “Are you sure this is what you want to know?”

Peter nodded, not giving himself any time to second-guess his choice. Abba always asked this question, no matter what kind of additional information Peter requested from the story. And the older demon sat there stoic as always, not giving any hint as to whether or not he had an answer to Peter’s question. 

All Peter could do was sit and wait, stuffing the last of the sweet bread into his mouth as he stared imploringly up at Abba.

Finally, Abba gave a tired sigh out through his nose, and then he slid off his seat so he could join the young demon on the floor. 

“This is not a happy story, my little טללא,” Abba warned, and Peter was too excited over asking the right question - one Abba actually had an answer for - to feel afraid. 

He slammed his palms against the oriental rug beneath him as he leaned forward in anticipation. “I don’t mind, Abba,” he said, adopting the bravest face he had in his arsenal.

Abba gave a quiet chuckle at his expression, and then he reached into his robes, pulling out a little block of wood, and a carving knife. He stopped regarding Peter altogether as he set to work chipping away at the wood in his hands, his low rumble filling the space between them as he started in on another story…

Peter was 43 years old when his parents took him upstairs with them to do their business. It was not the first time Peter had been among mortals, but it would be the last. Or, it would be the last for a while, until Peter decided whether or not he wanted a career that involved dealing with humans when he reached adulthood. 

Peter’s parents carried out important work upstairs. Their discoveries helped shape and propel demonkind forward when it came to magic. They were part of a small unit of demons who were tasked with meeting with humans who had made it their life’s mission to learn and practice all that they could when it came to sorcery and enchantments. Demons who met with these individuals exchanged information– sharing small advancements from down below, and receiving new insights and disciplines in return.

All was going well - as these things typically did - with humans cooing over little Peter and Peter’s parents recording the latest stream of information from the mortals. But then, uninvited guests arrived at the scene, and the harmless meeting quickly dissolved into tragedy.

It was a group of priests who had interrupted Peter’s parents and that small number of magic-enthused humans, and these particular priests were part of a slowly-growing belief system who labeled all magic as dark and dangerous; something spawning from demons, something that would damn a person’s soul.

These priests knew nothing about how magic truly worked, if they believed such nonsense, but it didn’t matter. Because the power they wielded - which was its own form of sorcery and enchantment - rivaled that of Peter’s parents and their companions.

The group was quickly overrun by the power and number of the priests, and it was all Peter’s parents could do to hand Peter off to a quick-footed human ally before they were detained by the priests. So the two put their trust in an almost-stranger, bundling little Peter into the human’s arms and begging them to run and hide. And that’s exactly what the human did. 

They escaped in the confusion of the struggle between their magic-loving companions and the priests. Peter’s parents were not so lucky.

Although the two put up a fight and injured quite a few individuals, their demonic makeup worked against them in breaking free from the priests. The magic the priests used was tailored to their dark nature; new spells which bound them to the spot with lighted symbols that made their skin hiss and sizzle at every point of contact. 

And all Peter’s parents could do in retaliation was harm, but not kill. Because the first law between demonkind and humans prevented them from landing a fatal blow, and their physical makeup prevented them from even trying.

So the two were bound where they stood, skin bubbling and steaming under the restraining spells the priests had placed on them, and they watched as their human companions were killed with whatever weapons the priests had on hand. The deaths were quick and relatively painless. Peter’s parents were not to be so lucky.

Exorcisms were relatively new at this time, and the priests were hungry for creatures to test and perfect their methods on. Peter’s parents ended up being a stepping stone in the long march toward a clean exorcism. 

Their exorcism was anything but clean, but the ordeal allowed the priests to hone their craft that much more, so they could perform future exorcisms more swiftly.

It took hours for them to die. 

The first exorcism failed. So did the second. But that didn’t mean the rituals didn’t leave any damage. No, by the time their bodies finally collapsed into a pile of ash and sparks, Peter’s parents were unrecognizable. Their throats had lost the ability to scream. There simply wasn’t enough left to allow for any sound to form.

It was a brutal, horrible death, and Satan and his elite mourned their loss as soon as they caught wind of it. 

They were able to track down Peter’s whereabouts - safe with the human who had fled with him - and they brought Peter back home to Hell, where the debate on what to do with him was eventually settled by Mammon stepping forward and offering his estate and his care.

“And you know the rest,” Abba finished, brushing wood chips off his now perfectly-carved animal. He handed the thing to Peter, and Peter weighed it in his hands, feeling its strange, curved shape.

“This is a snake,” Abba said, reaching out to trace the twists and turns of the little figure with his finger.

Peter was silent, his voice caught somewhere halfway up his throat, his cheeks wet as he thought about his parents so mutilated they could not even voice their hurt in their last moments. Abba had warned him this would not be a happy story. But Peter had wanted to hear it anyway. 

He suddenly wished he could forget everything he’d just heard, but he knew Abba’s low words would be visiting him again and again for years to come, delivered in a rumble Darius would describe as distant thunder.

His older brother had told him about the storms that would rage upstairs; the pounding rain that fell in sheets and felt like icy needles on the skin. Peter’s tears were hot as they raced down his cheeks, but he shivered as if the wetness was instead raindrops from some terrible storm; something which soaked and froze him to his core.

The wooden snake vanished in the space between his palms as Peter gripped the thing until he could feel the imprints of its curves mark his skin, and Abba gathered him up when the first sob jumped out of his throat. 

Peter let himself be lifted, hiding his face into the folds of Abba’s robes, breathing in the scent of strange spices while Abba settled down into his favorite chair and rocked Peter as if he were an infant.

Abba hummed a soft tune in a language Peter didn’t recognize, and Peter sniffled and hiccupped and clutched his new wooden toy. He didn’t think this one would ever be his favorite.

It took Peter some time to calm down, especially after he remembered that he wouldn’t be celebrating 500 years in the realm like other children, because he hadn’t yet come into his power. The rituals which marked that rite of passage required magic from himself, magic he didn’t yet possess. And so when Peter was struck by the fact that he wouldn’t be performing any of those intricate spells, a new wave of tears fell upon him.

Abba seemed to know just what to say, however, and Peter’s latest round of hysterics didn’t last nearly as long as the previous one.

“We’ll perform all the proper incantations the day you step into your power,” he soothed. “And we’ll make sure all of your siblings attend and take part.”

“Promise?” Peter whimpered.

“I swear it on my soul,” Abba vowed.

Peter didn’t know how much weight could be placed on a promise like that, as Abba’s soul already belonged to their dark god. But Peter didn’t get much time to refute or challenge Abba’s words, because his father tensed in the next moment, his gaze going distant as he no doubt heard something well beyond Peter’s range of capabilities.

Peter was familiar with this particular look: someone was calling for Mammon outside the front doors of the estate.

He could already hear Amira and Emmeline whispering excitedly from a distant hall, and he fought the urge to whine when Abba gently lifted Peter out of his lap and onto the cushion beside him. He didn’t want Abba to leave, but he knew there was no helping it. When Mammon was summoned, there was no time to be wasted comforting crying children.

“Darius,” Abba called as he stood. He only waited for Peter’s older brother to make a faint sound of acknowledgement from the floor above them before he went on: “Watch your siblings. I’ll be back shortly.”

A blaze of smoke and embers swirled up from the carpet beneath Abba’s feet, and Peter caught only a glimpse of fond umber eyes sliding over him before Mammon was enveloped in a whirlwind of gray and gold. Peter stared at the wispy smoke hanging in the wake of his father’s teleport, clutching the wooden snake in his hands and feeling very sorry for himself. His 500th day of life was turning out to be one of the worst personal occasions in his existence.

When he grew tired of wallowing in self-pity, Peter decided to roam the estate and see what his other siblings were up to. He knew where Darius was - in his room right above the great library - and so Peter climbed the steps to the second floor and caught his eldest brother striding down the hall toward him.

“Ah, saves me some trouble,” Darius muttered, glancing down at Peter before he continued forward and walked right past him, venturing deeper down the hall. Peter picked up his pace so he wouldn’t be left behind, but Darius must have been in a mood, because he was moving fast with sharp, stalking steps.

Peter grabbed for one of the loose fists hanging by his older brother’s side, and he helplessly caught the demon’s eye when Darius threw an annoyed look at him over his shoulder. But then his furrowed brow smoothed out when he seemed to remember just who he was looking at, and his hand enclosed around Peter’s before he hoisted the younger demon up to rest on his hip as he continued his trek forward.

They landed in the threshold of the sitting room, and Darius hissed Agnes before the subject of his dark mood looked up from the couch she was perched on with a caught-out expression. Peter’s eyes trailed to her hand, which was daintily holding a needle, its thread pulled taut from the cushion beneath her, the beginnings of a delicate floral pattern trailing around it.

Darius adjusted Peter on his hip while he glared at their sister. “You know Abba doesn’t like you embroidering the furniture!” he scolded. “The demon’s not even gone five minutes, and you–”

“But my dear brother,” Agnes interrupted, “you wouldn’t dare tell Abba what I’ve been up to in here.” She let her eyes fall to her work as she tied off her thread and snipped the excess with some small scissors she’d pulled from her skirts. 

“If you were to do that,” she continued, her dark eyes peeking up at Darius through her lashes in a charged way that had Peter tensing alongside his brother, “I may have to let our father in on some information regarding your use of his portals, and your unsanctioned visits upstairs.”

Darius flushed with anger, his grip on Peter’s side tightening. “You know I’ve only been going up there because I want to get ahead of my Guard training. And don’t pretend to be so sinless here, my dear sister, ” he mocked. “Who’s been asking to tag along on my ‘unsanctioned’ visits, hm? It isn’t this one,” he jostled Peter on his hip to indicate who he was referring to.

Agnes’ eyes widened in shock, before narrowing into slits. “Out of the two of us, I’m the better at stringing up half-truths. So tell me, dear brother, what stories will you spin out of thin air when Abba corners you over your secret upstairs visits? Will they be better than my hedged falsehoods regarding my harmless little hobby?” her eyes glanced down at her latest embroidery venture, before sweeping back up to stare a challenge at Darius. “Or will Abba be able to taste your clumsy lies immediately?”

Darius drew in a sharp breath, but even Peter could see Agnes had him beat. Like all demons, Abba could detect any untruths spoken into the air. But Agnes was clever, and she was able to wheedle her way out of trouble by giving half-truths bordering a lie just enough to go undetected by their father. It was a talent that had spared her from getting into trouble when her little hobbies - like embroidering the furniture, and even sometimes the hems of Abba’s robes - were discovered by the powerful demon.

Whatever rebuttal Darius had for his sister was cut short by the distant, excited squeals of Amira and Emmeline. Peter felt Darius tense, and he looked to see Agnes straightening abruptly. 

Abba had returned. 

The pair spent a breath having a stiff conversation with only their eyes, until finally Darius muttered, “I don’t recall when exactly those flowers appeared on the upholstery,” before swiftly turning on the spot and striding away from the sitting room. Peter barely caught the look of triumphant glee on his sister’s face before he was swallowed up in a tilting mist of smoke as his brother teleported them both to the entryway of the estate.

The rest of their siblings were already there, crowding into the foyer as they peeked outside the front windows, where Abba was having a heated discussion with a member of the Guard. Peter had a height advantage over the rest of his siblings - thanks to his perch on Darius’ hip - so he was able to get a better look at the reason behind the excited chatter around him:

Abba had a young, sleeping demon in his arms.

It was a girl, a teenager by the looks of it. She was frowning, even in her slumber, but that was all Peter could see of her face. The rest was masked by her dark, matted hair, which fell over her eyes and tufted almost past her nose.

“ A sister, ” Amira and Emmeline cooed simultaneously. “A new sister.”

“What happened to her,” Mylan whispered, and it was only then that Peter noticed how torn and dingy her clothes were, how the skin he could see was littered with grime.

He heard Agnes step up behind him and Darius, and Peter turned to his oldest sister to tell her the good news, but he stopped short when he caught the worried look she was sharing with his older brother. Peter went to turn to Darius and ask what was wrong, but the demon chose that moment to set him on his feet, and then Peter was pushed backwards by the rest of his siblings as everyone made room for Abba to step into the entryway.

His footsteps were light and sure as he made his way through the flood of demons stacked up in the foyer, and he ignored everyone’s questions as they crowded around him and followed him deeper into the estate. 

Only after he had turned into one of the more informal sitting rooms did Abba speak to them, and he only addressed Darius.

“Don’t let her near any of your siblings,” he ordered, catching his eldest son’s eye. After getting a hesitant nod from Darius, his sharp gaze slid over to Agnes, who had stayed behind in the doorway with the rest of Peter’s siblings.

“Keep your brothers and sisters out of this room,” he said, and Peter and his siblings started to whine their protests, but Abba silenced them with a grave look.

“Abba, you’re bleeding,” Agnes gasped, and everyone turned to see what had been initially missed in the excitement: the cloth at Abba’s shoulder had been torn, and beneath that rip, his brown skin gleamed with streaks of red. The blood had started to soak the sleeve of his robes, and Peter wondered at the small puncture marks that looked a lot like teeth imprints.

“She bit you?” Darius asked incredulously, but Abba ignored him as he carefully lowered the sleeping girl in his arms into a plush seat. He then turned and ambled over to the young demons gathered around the threshold. Abba held his hands out toward Amira and Emmeline.

“You’ve been studying sound-dampening spells, yes?” he asked them, and they both nodded mutely. “Then you’ll come with me. We need to prepare the herb rooms. I’ve got more experienced healers on their way, and I don’t want anyone to hear us.”

He cast a pained glance behind him at the unconscious new member of the family. “She’s been terribly injured, and the initial healing attempts didn’t take as well as we’d hoped.”

A round of questions bubbled up at that, but Abba didn’t offer up any explanation. He simply waited for Amira and Emmeline to take his hands, and once he had their fingers in a gentle hold, he teleported the three of them out of the room.

Peter wanted to get a better look at the new sibling, and Mylan and Further seemed to have the same idea, because the three of them made to enter the room just as Agnes stepped in front of them and spread out her hands with a stern expression.

“We just want to look!” Further pleaded. “We aren’t going to get too close.”

Agnes just shook her head at them. Her brow creased in concentration as she started to murmur spells under her breath. Mylan cried out in dismay as a temporary barrier shot up through the threshold– it glimmered and crackled like a new fire, and made the air of the doorway thick with a strange haze. Peter and the twins could still see into the room, but the image was blurred.

If the twins knew how to teleport, this spell would be useless against them. But teleportation was taught to demons in their late teens, and so the only siblings capable of teleporting were already in the room Peter desperately wanted to be in.

Peter was familiar with barriers such as these. They took the spellcaster’s complete attention, and Agnes resolutely ignored both him and the whining twins as she continued to hold out her hands and mutter old words under her breath. But what she didn’t know about this barrier - and what Peter had kept as a secret for himself ever since he first discovered the weakness in a wall like this - was that it was only useful against magical creatures. 

Peter didn’t have any magic, and so he could push through the barrier and into the room, so long as he didn’t mind the sensation of a thousand knives slicing across his skin and through his core. The feeling was temporary, and it would be gone after he’d crossed into the room, so Peter was fine with the pain, because he knew it wouldn’t last. 

He pushed through the threshold - wincing and hissing at the full-body sting - and Agnes was too preoccupied trying to keep the barrier up against the twins to do more than briefly glare at him, but Peter still ran deeper into the room to keep out of arm’s reach, just to be safe. 

Then Darius was there, stalking toward him with a stormy expression, and Peter yelped as his brother dove for him.

Somehow, he managed to scramble out of the way, but he knew he wouldn’t be so lucky a second time, and Peter prepared to sprint toward the newest sibling to get as much of a better look as he could before Darius dragged him away, but he froze when he saw that the couch where Abba had placed the sleeping demon was empty.

Darius must have noticed this too, because he cursed softly behind Peter, and Peter turned to see him scanning the room for their missing sibling, but then his view of his brother was blocked as a pair of spindly limbs encircled him from behind and twirled him into a torso that was bony and smelled of something burnt and wounded. 

Peter’s stomach flipped as his new sister leapt off the floor with him and landed smoothly against the high ceiling of the room, and then the whole room flipped in a way that was dizzying. Peter blinked again and again, his stomach doing somersaults as his view of the world turned from upside-down to right-side up in the space of a breath.

He looked up, and then felt confusion when he saw Darius staring down at him in horror from his place on the floor. Peter’s head turned left and right, and he saw the light fixtures of the ceiling beside him, hanging upwards. He looked up again, and saw the top of Agnes’s head as she continued to focus on keeping up the barrier in the doorway, and he could barely see the warped, hazy silhouettes of the twins beyond that. 

The thing that was bothering him about seeing his siblings, was the fact that they all appeared to be hanging upside down. From the floor.

Realization crashed through him then, as Peter remembered Amira and Emmeline complaining about their extracurricular studies in certain demonic disciplines which were apparently becoming dated.

Wall-walking, they’d bemoaned. Ceiling-crawling. It had been a great asset to have when visiting upstairs - where teleportation-friendly areas were limited - but in Hell, demons simply didn’t have much use for it. By the time Mylan and Further were at the point in their studies to try it, it had been taken out of the curriculum. Peter remembered how jealous and affronted his sisters had been when they’d found out.

He didn’t know exactly how this kind of magic worked, only that it involved adjusting one’s center of gravity so that, when on a wall or ceiling, the spellcaster would feel upright. From his sisters’ complaining, Peter knew getting the balance correct was tricky, and the whole feat required an amount of discipline and concentration that made many demons have little to no interest in perfecting the technique after learning the basics of it. It was simply too much work and not enough payoff.

His new sister seemed to be an expert at it, however, as she crouched on the ceiling with Peter in her arms, her dark, tufty hair the only indication of their strange perch, as it hung straight upwards like the light fixtures around them, and Peter finally got a good look at her face.

Chapter Text

A button nose. Gaunt cheekbones. Eyes like Peter had never seen before. Stranger than Abba’s, even. They were white all the way through, and they glowed slightly. She had a terrible patch of scarring crackling around her eyes - cutting across most of the top half of her face - and that too was the same, foreign white hue of her eyes, and had the same glow as well, although it was faint.

Curious, Peter managed to wiggle out an arm so he could touch that strange, marred skin, but then the girl’s chin abruptly snapped down towards him, and her expression turned cold.

“Don’t,” she hissed. 

“Sorry,” Peter blurted, feeling chastened.

Her face smoothed out at that, and she shook her head. “No. It’s only– You’ll hurt yourself. If you- If you touch it.”

Peter’s expression pinched up in confusion, but then the boom of Darius’ voice above them stole his attention.

“I’m coming Peter!” his brother shouted down at them. “Stay where you are!”

Peter craned his neck to watch his older brother leap off the floor like his new sister had, and the arms holding him tightened before the girl scurried toward one of the arched embellishments in the ceiling. Peter watched Darius land just behind them, his expression pinched in concentration as he appeared to attempt a straight ceiling crawl like their new sister had done. 

But Peter knew it was easiest to start on a wall and walk one’s way up, as adjusting a center of gravity from upside down took much more energy and discipline. He’d heard Amira and Emmeline complain about the technique enough to gather that much.

So he wasn’t surprised when Darius was unable to stay on the ceiling for more than a few seconds, before he slid off that flat surface and fell back toward the floor. He rolled as soon as he hit the carpet, landing smoothly and springing to his feet in the next moment.

Really, what was surprising Peter the most out of everything, was this girl’s ability to stay stuck to the ceiling this long, and with another demon in tow no less.

Peter watched his older brother glare up at their newest sibling as he angrily muttered to himself. Eventually he stomped over to the nearest wall for another try at ceiling crawling, this time beginning with a wall walk. But he only made it about a fourth of the way up before he slid down with a frustrated shout. 

His hands disappeared into his white hair as he stalked back to the center of the room, his face unhappy as he caught Peter’s eye. 

Peter tensed in surprise when his newest sister suddenly shouted up at Darius: “You’ll not have him! You’ll not have this one!”

Darius’s expression turned stony as his eyes slid to their new sister in a glare. “If you hurt one hair on his head, I swear–”

“The only person who’s a danger to this one is you!” the girl cut him off with a shriek.

That made Darius stumble on the spot, as he was visibly taken aback by the words. His furious expression pinched up even more as confusion overran his features. 

Peter was confused as well. This whole time he’d been wondering if this was some new sort of game, but none of it made sense to him. “What’s happening?” he whispered to his new sibling. “Are you fighting?”

“I will if I must,” she answered under her breath, glaring up at their older brother. 

“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Peter heard Darius growl, and his neck craned up just in time to see the teen disappear from his spot on the floor as he teleported. In the next moment, he materialized next to them in midair, his arms reaching for Peter. 

Their new sister roared out a terrible sound, one of her arms leaving Peter to swipe out at their brother as she called flames to her hand. Darius was knocked away by a burst of fire, and he was clumsy to catch himself when he hit the ground.

When he got to his feet, he had a dark look on his face that Peter had never seen before. 

“If you don’t let him go, right now, ” he started dangerously, but their new sister cut him off with a growl. 

“You’ll not have him!” she cried again, clutching Peter close to her. 

A shouting match ensued after that. 

It had been a few minutes of exchanging harsh words when Abba teleported back into the room, a few feet from where Darius stood, the teen dark in the face from his yelling. But the older demon was ignored by Peter’s brother, as Darius was apparently too focused on tossing every rotten word he had in his vocabulary down at his new sister. 

Peter wasn’t distracted by anything, however, and so he immediately met his father’s eye as the older demon took in the situation. Abba squinted at Peter for a moment, and when he seemed satisfied Peter wasn’t hurt or in danger of being harmed, he slowly worked his way around the room until he stood directly under the arched ceiling corner, where Peter’s new sister had shoved them both into.

Darius and the girl were still arguing, still completely unaware of Abba’s presence, so they didn’t notice the older demon pulling what looked like a thin needle out of his robes. Peter watched curiously as Abba flattened his palms, and the strange needle stood upright on its own in his hands. 

Abba tilted his head as he eyed Peter and his new sister, his expression completely focused. He adjusted his stance, then caught Peter’s gaze once more. He inclined his head in a way that meant he wanted Peter to duck down, or at the very least crouch away from the girl currently holding him, and so Peter shuffled around as much as he could.

His new sister paused in her shouting match with Darius to adjust her hold on Peter. She lowered her chin towards him with a worried expression.

“Be careful, little one,” she said gently. “You’ll fall.”

Peter looked up to meet her eye, and it was only then that he realized she wasn’t looking directly at him. Her face was pointed toward his face, but her eyes were directed at a spot just over his head. Peter thought that was strange, and he craned his neck to try and see what she was looking at, and then something whistled past his cheek at a speed that had a light breeze ruffling his hair in its wake. 

Peter startled, his head whipping back to his new sister to see the small needle Abba had been holding lodged delicately in her neck, and then he yelped when the girl immediately went limp, her slack arms releasing him as they started to fall away from the ceiling. 

“Grab your brother!” Peter heard Abba bark, and then Darius’s strong arms were catching him before he was even halfway to the floor. His older brother landed smoothly on solid ground, and Peter immediately looked around for his new sister, hoping she’d made it back to the floor as safely as he had.

He didn’t have to search far; Abba was cradling the newest sibling with one arm, his free hand coming up to dislodge the needle sticking out of her neck. Peter noticed the wound on his arm had already closed up - thanks to his demonic abilities - but his father hadn’t bothered to change into fresh clothes, and the sleeve of his arm was still torn and stained by his blood.

After he’d plunged the needle into the deep pockets of his robes, Abba turned to where Agnes was still holding up the barrier in the doorway.

“That’s enough, Agnes,” he said softly, and the oldest daughter instantly let her arms fall with an exhausted huff. Mylan and Further immediately barreled into the room, and Agnes trailed behind them as everyone gathered around Abba.

“Is Peter hurt at all?” Abba asked Darius, and Peter felt the way his older brother tensed when their father looked over at him evenly.

“No Abba,” Darius shook his head. “But he was able to get past Agnes’ barrier - which he’ll need to tell me how exactly he accomplished,” he added, side-eyeing Peter in a way that meant the youngest sibling would be getting a stern lecture later.

“That one was too fast for me,” he continued, nodding over at the sleeping girl curled up in Abba’s arm. She looked so small against his chest, frowning again in her sleep. “And she was able to ceiling crawl like nothing I’ve seen before. And– She spoke as if she thought I was going to hurt Peter.”

Abba nodded, unsurprised in the face of everyone’s confusion. “She probably thought you were a human,” he muttered, glancing down at the newest addition to the family. His free hand came up to carefully brush the hair away from her face, and the rest of Peter’s siblings got a proper first look at the scarring around her eyes. There was a round of shocked gasps and whispers as everyone leaned forward to see.

“She’s having some confusion,” Abba went on, his eyes sliding over the circle of children around him. “When our healers were working on her earlier, nothing they said would convince her she wasn’t still upstairs.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Agnes softly implored, looking at her new sister with worried eyes.

Abba’s expression turned troubled then. “There were a handful of demon children we were never able to locate,” he hesitantly explained. “Children who had gone upstairs with their parents, but didn’t return. We tracked down the parents of everyone - all killed - but we were never certain about the fate of those children.

“Recently, a Guard member was patrolling new grounds, looking to update our maps and block out areas with known priest activity, in order to protect the other soldiers who carry out work upstairs. That demon came across a highly-warded building, and inside he found her.” Abba lifted his hand away from the dark hair of the girl he was holding, and it fell flatly over her face, concealing her marred eyes once more.

“There was enough evidence to place the rest of the missing children at the scene as well, but what we found suggested their deaths happened a hundred or so years prior. And based on the torture this one went through, we don’t think any of those deaths were quick.”

“Torture?” Mylan asked, his voice choked with fear.

“She’s been blinded,” Abba told them all, something tired and desolate in his rumbling tone. “The scars on her face are from holy water, but they’re strange. The healers who have treated her so far have surmised the wound was caused by one of the earliest forms of holy water, and that aligns with the period she was most likely captured.”

“And… and when was that, exactly?” Agnes hesitantly asked. 

“She was in her 1100s when we lost track of her,” Abba revealed, his lips turning down in a miserable frown. “She turned 1,666 this year.”

500 years. She’d been trapped upstairs for as long as Peter had been alive. Longer, even, by a handful of decades.

Agnes let out a wounded sound, her hand flying to her mouth in distress. Mylan and Further clung to each other anxiously, and Darius’ grip on Peter tightened ever so slightly. Everyone was speechless as they stared at their newest sibling in horror.

“She- She’s never had the chance to learn how to teleport,” Agnes said wetly. “There’s so much she hasn’t been able to learn. So much magic she never had to escape with.”

“But she excels at what she already knows,” Darius pointed out gruffly.

Abba nodded. “We haven’t been able to get much information out of her regarding any of that. We only know what we’ve been able to divine from the place she was found, and her wounds. She’s untrustworthy of her current situation. She still believes she’s in the hands of humans, upstairs and far from the safety of Hell.”

He let out a sad sigh. “It will take some time to convince her otherwise, but in the meantime, the sleeping tonic I’d dipped that needle in will not keep her under for long. I must take her to the herb rooms before she comes round. As you’ve seen, she can be a bit unpredictable when awake.”

He turned to Agnes. “Please go collect Amira and Emmeline from the herb rooms, and keep them far away from that area of the estate, if you can. They were finishing up sound-proofing the space when I left them, and they should be finished now.”

His eyes then slid over to Darius. “Put Peter to bed, and then help Agnes keep the rest of your siblings away from the herb rooms. I don’t want anyone to see the healing. So far, it has been anything but clean.”

Agnes teleported away as the first round of whining rebuttals started up from Peter, Mylan, and Further. Abba’s expression took on the seriousness he usually adopted when talking his children down from getting their way - a rare occurrence all around - but Peter didn’t get to hear whatever good reasons he had to keep the newest sibling shut off from everyone as she underwent what was bound to be a painful healing session, because Darius teleported them away from the sitting room. They landed in Peter’s own room at the farthest corner of the second floor of the estate, and Peter griped and complained as he was set on his bed and tucked into the sheets.

“It isn’t fair!” he grumbled, kicking at the blankets until Darius leveled him with a dark look. He immediately stopped his flailing, but not before letting out the most petulant huff he knew he could get away with. “Our new sister is confused, and- and blind, and scared, and we’re not allowed to be around her!”

“Come off it Peter,” Darius chided, pulling the covers up to Peter’s chin. “We both know the real reason you want to be around her: you always want to bond with the newest sibling before anyone else can.”

Peter didn’t dignify that with a response, because he didn’t want his brother to know he was right. So he turned away from Darius with another huff, grumbling when his older brother simply mussed up his hair in response.

“Sleep now, little troublemaker,” Darius murmured. “You have much to explain when you wake.”

Peter’s shoulders crawled up to his pointed ears as he remembered the trouble he was going to be in when he had to face the fact that he’d gone against Abba’s wishes. Not only that, but he’d be losing one of the few advantages he had when it came to not having magic, because his older siblings would learn of the weakness of certain barriers from this whole experience. 

He sighed miserably into his pillow.

A little while later, he woke to whispered voices at his doorway, and Peter was familiar enough with the happenstance to not be bothered by the interruption. His room had some sound proofing spells - to help him sleep - and his siblings often lingered in his threshold when they wanted to discuss secrets. Peter wasn’t in the business of spilling those secrets, either, as his siblings had developed an agreement with him when he was small, where they would bake him whatever he wanted from the kitchens in exchange for his silence.

It was an arrangement that had worked well for Peter so far, and he turned towards the voices of his oldest siblings as he thought about what treat he was going to have them make in exchange for the information he was overhearing.

“I’ve sent them all off to the markets,” Agnes was saying, “to find some fabric for us to use for our sister’s new clothes. They’ll be arguing over colors and textiles for at least a day.”

Darius huffed out a laugh. “You always know how to occupy our siblings’ time when you really need to corner me about something, don’t you?”

There was a brief silence, but Peter didn’t want to risk opening his eyes to see whatever expression was on his eldest siblings’ faces, so he laid in his bed and listened.

Darius eventually broke the quiet with a gruff, “Out with it.”

A frustrated breath from Agnes. “It isn’t right. You know it isn’t right. All of those children, killed by the humans. Tortured, even. And there’s no retribution for it. Those humans won’t hesitate to do it again if they get their hands on another child, I’m sure.”

“No retribution?” Darius scoffed. “Demon or no, it was children they tortured and killed, all for the sake of experimentation and ‘progress.’ I doubt the heavens will have their souls when they expire. You’ll get your retribution then, dear sister. If I were you, I’d sign up for soul torture now, so you have a place ready for when those humans arrive.”

“I don’t want to torture a handful of humans,” Agnes hissed. “I want every last one of them to suffer for what they’ve done. They’re all the same– all terrible, evil creatures.”

The air coming from the doorway seemed to turn cold. “What are you suggesting?” Darius hesitantly asked.

“I have an idea for a spell,” Agnes whispered conspiratorially. “But I need more information before I can try anything. Information that isn’t here, unfortunately.”

“Ah, so this is where I come in,” Darius muttered darkly. “I take you along with me upstairs, and then you somehow convince the humans to share their magical knowledge with you, so that you can destroy them. All the while, you put both of our lives at risk, as we’ll be out in the open for any priest to come upon us, and do to us what they did to our sister. Which, need I remind you, is the very same torture you’re currently miffed about.”

“I won’t need to speak to any humans,” Agnes argued. “There’s a library upstairs, hidden away from mortal eyes. It can only be accessed in the human realm, but it exists outside of it.”

“...What?”

“The Immortal Library,” Agnes explained. “I’ve been reading about it. If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you the manuscripts. Darius, please. You’re the only one who knows how to use Abba’s portals while masking your magical signature. If I did this on my own, he’d know the second I stepped through. I need you with me on this.”

“If we get caught…” Darius warned.

“Then you’ll blame me. For all of it. Your past upstairs visits included. I’ll manipulate the truth as well, so no fault will fall upon you.”

Darius seemed to seriously consider the offer, as the next moments were filled with a weighted silence.

Finally, Darius groused, “Very well.”

“ Thank you,” Agnes murmured, relief heavy in her hushed tone.

Darius didn’t reply. Peter heard his eldest brother’s careful steps enter the room, and then he felt a large presence looming at his bedside. Peter peeked open an eye to see Darius staring down at him with crossed arms and a scowl.

“Let’s get this out of the way,” his brother huffed. “What do you want this time?”

Peter’s other eye shot open, and he sat up with a smile so wide he could feel it stretching out his face. “You’ll not ask me how I made it through Agnes’ barrier,” he said, risking a new kind of reward for his silence. 

Darius squawked in indignation, but Peter ignored him as he leaned forward to catch his sister’s eye from behind his older brother’s back. “And you’ll not ask me either,” he added.

Agnes smiled like she was impressed. “Very well,” she said simply, before turning away from the room with a flip of her thick, wavy hair. 

Darius grumbled unhappily as their sister’s footsteps retreated down the hall to her own room. Eventually he slumped down and sat on the edge of Peter’s bed with a sigh. “Clever little thing,” he admonished, turning to poke Peter in his ribs until Peter couldn’t stifle his giggles.

Peter pushed his hands away, the smile leaving his face when he remembered Darius’ earlier words. “Did the humans really torture our new sister - and those other children - so that they could get better at their own magic?” he asked quietly.

Darius froze, and then a tired expression swept over his features as he motioned for Peter to lay back in his bed. Peter hesitantly complied, biting his lip anxiously. 

“We’ve only heard bits and pieces from the healers as they’ve been taking breaks,” Darius said softly, tucking the bedcovers up around Peter. “But apparently new information has been discovered from the Guard members still investigating the site where she was found, and also from the morsels they’ve been able to get out of Juniper.”

“Juniper?”

“Our new sister. Her name is Juniper.”

“I’ve never heard a name like that before,” Peter whispered, thinking about all the terrible things his new sister had been through, all the terrible things his own parents had to endure in their final moments. 

Agnes was right; humans were all the same. Even if, by some slim chance, the humans who killed his parents were the very same who tortured Juniper, she would have long outlived them in her time trapped upstairs. That meant there were generations of terrible humans doing those awful things to her, as well as the other demon children who hadn’t made it home.

Years and years of evil acts from numberless humans. It was no wonder Agnes wanted them all to suffer. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. 

“Get some sleep,” Darius murmured, running a soothing hand up through Peter’s dark hair before he bent down and kissed Peter’s temple. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet.”

“Will Juniper be alright?” Peter asked hurriedly, flinging out a hand to catch Darius’ sleeve before he left. “Can they– Will they be able to heal her eyes?”

A painful look swept across his brother’s face. “I don’t know, Peter,” he whispered, reaching down to gently pry away Peter’s fingers.

“Get some sleep,” he said again, teleporting out of the room before Peter could ask him any more worried questions.

Chapter Text

When Peter next woke, he knew it was far too early.

Abba’s hand was on his shoulder, the older demon’s rumbling murmur dragging Peter toward consciousness, though not quickly enough for the words to register.

“Hm?” Peter slurred, a hand coming up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“I’m so sorry to wake you, Peter,” Abba softly apologized. “But your sister has been very adamant about speaking with you, before I show her to her new room so she can sleep.”

Peter heard sniffling, and his eyes shot open to see his new sister standing at his bedside, silent tears rolling down her cheeks in sizzling trails that hissed against her skin. She was wearing Mylan’s clothes– the trousers held up by a belt he didn’t recognize - her waist was too tiny, really - and her thin fingers clutched at the hems of one of Mylan’s larger shirts, the sleeves just a little too short for her gangly arms. 

Peter vaguely remembered Agnes saying something about his siblings getting materials for dresses for the new sister, and he blinked at the crying girl as he realized she was only a little taller than Mylan, which made her very short for a demon her age.

“Juniper, please,” Abba said, an exasperated edge to his tone as he held out a handkerchief toward Peter’s new sister. Her milky eyes were still unseeing, unfocused on anyone in the room, but she must have sensed the movement, because she lashed out in Abba’s direction with a snarl, before hopping up onto the ceiling and crouching low when she got there.

“Juniper?” Peter asked, before remembering that that was his new sister’s name. He craned his neck to stare at the girl who was hissing in Abba’s general direction. She paused when she heard her name, her head tilting as her pointed ear inclined toward Peter.

“I’ve never heard that name before,” Peter said groggily, sitting up in his bed, his eyes glued to his sister as her head twitched slightly. Her tears had paused, so had her viciousness, and her eyes stared blankly ahead before she crawled toward the nearest wall and slowly made her way down. 

“It’s a tree,” she supplied, her voice muted as she huddled down against the wall after making it back to the floor.

“Oh,” Peter said, perking up. He’d seen pictures of trees in the books in Abba’s library, and there were some plants in Abba’s garden he liked to watch grow, so he was familiar with the concept of such foliage. Still, he found himself wanting to seek out images of a juniper in the tomes housed on the estate; he couldn’t recall reading about them before.

“Peter?” Juniper creaked, her hands sliding against the floor as she cautiously began to crawl towards Peter’s bed.

Peter immediately threw back his sheets and hopped onto the carpet. He stumbled over to his sister on sleepy legs, plopping down on his hands and knees when he was a couple feet in front of her. “Right here.”

Juniper’s lips twitched on a smile, but it was gone in a flash. The glimpse of it told Peter she was very pretty when she smiled, and he took a moment to get a proper look at her without the grime and matted hair she’d arrived with when he’d first seen her. 

Her dark hair was soft and fluffy, thick on the top of her head and gathering in thin, tufty strands just past her shoulders. The dimmed lights in Peter’s room caught onto it in strange ways, making it glow almost blue if Peter turned his head just right. She still looked far too thin, but there was something about her gray skin that appeared healthy; healthier than it had been the last time he’d seen her. 

She might have still been blind, but the healers had managed to help a little.

“I can hear you,” she muttered, snatching Peter away from his thoughts. “You don’t have to announce yourself.”

“Why do your tears do that?” Peter asked suddenly, worriedly watching the way Juniper’s eyes still shone, hoping no more of those sizzling tears would fall. They looked like they hurt.

Juniper flinched slightly, and to Peter’s dismay, more of those hissing trails escaped down her cheeks. “It’s holy water,” his sister whispered, her head turning away from him. “It’s– The way it was explained by the - healers? - there’s still traces of it in me. Because it got in through my eyes. It’s hard to get out. And– So there’s holy water in my tears. A little bit.”

“If you would use a handkerchief– ” Abba started, but Juniper’s head snapped up to hiss at him, her lips curling over her sharp teeth as if she would bite if he got anywhere near her. Peter didn’t doubt it; he still remembered the teeth marks on Abba’s arm not a day before.

Peter looked over his shoulder to see his father still seated on his bed, looking a mix of tired, pained, and indignant. It had to have been a long night for him. For Juniper too. 

Peter wondered if his sister was tired. Whenever extreme healing was needed, the recovery included plenty of rest. The toll that such magic took on a demon’s body could be severe, depending on the injury. And if Juniper had only recently finished her healing - with the same scars and blind eyes - there was no telling how much energy had been used in an attempt to heal her completely. How much of it had failed.

“Abba said you needed rest,” Peter recalled, turning back toward his sister. “But you wanted to speak with me first?”

“Yes,” Juniper breathed, her eyes widening as she turned towards Peter. Her shoulders climbed up to her pointed ears, a blush dusting her cheeks. “I realize now how childish this must be, but… I wanted to ask you. We- We are in Hell? We aren’t upstairs?”

“No,” Peter quickly shook his head. “Hasn’t anyone told you?”

Her hands clenched around the soft strands of the rug beneath them. “They have,” she said quietly. “And- And I couldn’t taste any lies in their words, but that doesn’t mean. That doesn’t mean– They could still be lying. Somehow.”

“I’m not lying,” Peter told her, squaring his shoulders. He didn’t like being doubted by any member of his family. He disliked being doubted by his new sister even more. 

Juniper blinked at him. “No,” she said slowly. “No, you aren’t.”

“Wonderful,” Abba said, clapping his hands once as he stood. “Now, let me take you to your room so you can sleep. I doubt your feet will carry you much longer.”

Every inch of Juniper tensed as Abba stepped towards them, and Peter instinctively put himself between her and their father, his arms flying out protectively as he turned to face the older demon.

“I don’t think she likes you,” Peter apologetically stated. “She doesn’t listen to you very well.”

Abba tiredly shook his head. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Then let me take her to her room. There aren’t many spare ones left up here. Will it be the one beside Darius, or the one by twins?”

“I don’t–” Juniper started, her voice choking off before she could get out much else. Peter glanced at her over his shoulder, but her hair had fallen over the top half of her face as she hunched into herself, so all he could see was the deep frown pulling her lips down.

Abba gave a long sigh that sounded sad. “I know it will take some getting used to, Juniper, but I promise you that you’re safe now. This is one of the safest places you could be in the realm. The estate is lined with protective sigils. The grounds are heavily warded. Only certain demons have permissions to be on site. Anyone who isn’t, I have to grant access myself.” 

Juniper just shook her head, again and again in jerky movements. “Nowhere is safe,” she breathed, so soft Peter barely heard it. And then her lips continued to move, soundlessly forming the words over and over.

“Juniper,” he despaired, turning around to face her properly so he could fling his arms around her. She froze as soon as he made contact, but then all of the tension left her body at once as she slumped into him. Peter wasn’t strong like his siblings, so he had to brace himself in order to keep them both upright. But Juniper was breathing wetly, so he didn’t want to ask her for help.

“Don’t leave,” she begged into his hair, her spindly arms snaking around him. “I need to - see you. I need to be able to see you. You’re the only one I can trust.”

“Alright,” Peter promised. “I won’t leave. I’m not lying,” he added, daring her to doubt him.

But she only shook her head, her nose ruffling his hair from how close she was. “You’re not.”

“You can sleep in my bed,” Peter offered. “It’s not as big as yours will probably be, but we can fit. If you were bigger, maybe not. But you’re small, so it will work.”

Juniper laughed, the sound popping out of her as if it was a surprise, and the sharp tone of it made Peter smile. He decided that he liked her laugh.

Without another word, Peter guided Juniper’s arms off him with a gentle nudge of his hands, and then he took his sister’s knobbly-knuckled palm into his. Carefully, he led her the short distance to his bed, grinning at his father as the older demon stepped back to give them space. There was something proud glimmering in his umber eyes, and it warmed Peter through.

He made sure Juniper could feel the bed with her hands before he let go of her fingers, and then he clambered onto the sheets after her as she navigated her way through the tangle of blankets until she was on the farthest side. 

Juniper curled down into what looked to be the smallest ball she could form her body into, and then her arm shot out to latch onto Peter’s shirt, her wide eyes almost making contact with his own.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered. 

“I won’t,” Peter promised. 

“You don’t mind?” Abba cut in. 

Peter turned to look at the older demon. He shook his head. “No.” A smile crept its way across his face. “She’s the only sibling I’ve been able to nap with. I think it will be fun.”

Abba smiled warmly at him, nodding once. “Very well. Call for me - or any of your siblings - if you need anything. Or if her condition declines.”

“I will,” Peter said. Abba left the room without another word, and Peter settled down beside his new sister. He wasn’t tired, but he thought he might be able to doze for a little while, at least until Juniper fell into a deep slumber. Then, he would sneak off his bed - briefly! because he wasn’t a liar - and grab some toys and maybe a book to keep him company until his sister woke up.

He hoped he’d be able to sleep a little, though. It was too much of a marvel - sleeping beside a sibling - to pass up.

Juniper relaxed into the sheets with a shaky sigh, and Peter took the hand clutching his shirt and entwined their fingers. Her hand was larger than his, and her palm was warm. 

“Don’t cry anymore,” Peter said quietly, as Juniper’s eyes started to drift shut. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Juniper breathed tiredly. “I hardly feel it anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Peter whispered, something angry and unfamiliar heating the words. “I don’t want you to hurt anymore. You’re my sister and I love you. So please don’t cry anymore.”

Juniper’s eyes shot open, and she stared out into the space between them, not breathing at all. 

Then, she choked, “You love me?”

Peter nodded, the pillow beneath his head whispering from the movement. Juniper’s chin twitched at the sound. “You’re my sister now, so I love you.”

Slowly, a smile slid its way across Juniper’s face, and Peter was right. She was very pretty with a smile.

“That must mean I love you too, then,” she said, laughing under her breath.

Peter nodded again. “That’s how it works.”

There were many hearths at the estate, and Peter liked how their flames warmed him through whenever he crawled inside one. But there was something soft and bright in his chest as he watched his sister fall asleep with that smile, that made the hearth fires seem so cold in comparison.

Unfortunately, that smile didn’t last long. As soon as she was deeply asleep, the frown that must have been a partner to her slumber was back. Peter eyed it with distaste as he slid off his bed and collected a few toys to keep him entertained– he was wide awake now, so dozing was off the table. He made sure to pluck his brand new wooden snake off the floor before crawling back onto the bed. 

Nearly an hour later, as he was quietly using his favorite carved animals in a game of chase - where the bear prowled behind the goat, preparing to devour it in one bite - his sister shot up beside him with a sharp gasp. Peter turned to watch her stare unseeing out at the room, her head twitching every now and then as she seemed to be listening to every single sound in the space.

Her fingers shakily traveled across the bedspread, and she jumped when they brushed against one of the discarded animals there.

“That’s a snake,” Peter supplied, looking back to the bear and goat in his hands. He knocked the bear’s muzzle against the goat’s flank, making a chomping sound with his mouth.

“A snake?” Juniper asked breathlessly. Peter glanced her way to see her fingers tightening around the wooden thing, as her other hand came over to trace its shape.

“It’s my newest toy,” Peter explained. “Abba carves them for me.”

“Abba?” Juniper said, sounding slightly dazed. Her head slowly turned towards him. 

“Yes,” Peter nodded. “Our Abba. Maybe he can make you some animals as well, if you ask.”

He wasn’t sure if Juniper was listening to him. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, her expression lost. 

“...Peter?” she breathed, each letter stepping out of her mouth with such hesitancy, as if she wasn’t sure about the name at all. 

“Right here,” Peter said, reaching out with the hand clutching the bear until it could knock against the snake in her hands.

Juniper blinked. “Oh,” she said softly, slumping back down to the pillows. “It’s– We’re not. I’m not upstairs?” She sounded very unsure at the end, the final word curling in question.

Peter shook his head. “No, silly. You’re in my room. You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

His sister seemed to take a moment to let the words fall over her, nodding a few seconds later. “That’s right,” she whispered, as if just remembering that fact. 

The blankets shifted around her as she turned towards Peter, her body curling into a tiny lump underneath the covers. Her hands slid up to rest by her mouth, the wooden snake secure between her palms. 

“Goodnight,” Peter murmured, watching her eyes drift shut. 

He continued to play with his wooden animals as she fell back to sleep. He brought more up to the bed intermittently, because as the hours passed, Juniper took another one again and again, as she woke with a start over and over.

“This is a wolf,” Peter said, passing over the little toy the next time she woke.

“This is a raven,” he offered - a few hours later - watching as her fingertips passed over its outstretched feathers. 

“This is a goat,” he mumbled - a little over an hour later - begrudgingly pressing it into her hands. “It’s one of my favorites, so you have to be careful with it.”

“It’s lovely,” she said softly, adjusting the other animals that were either in her hands or on her pillow to make room for it. She pressed the tip of her button nose against it as she settled back down.

“Thank you, Peter,” she whispered. When she drifted off that time, she slept uninterrupted for the rest of the day.

Peter guessed that Abba had told the rest of his siblings to leave them both undisturbed so that the new sister could sleep, but he could hear Amira and Emmeline giggling outside his door by the end of the day. He looked to see them peeking through the threshold, excited smiles stretching their faces out wide. 

They crept into the room, and the twins must have been right on their heels, because Mylan and Further shuffled in soon after.

“She’s sleeping, ” Peter hissed, scooting protectively in front of Juniper.

“Then be quiet, ” Amira hissed back. Emmeline stifled a giggle behind her hands as they stepped up to the bed and peered around Peter. The twins crowded behind them.

Emmeline sank down until she could rest her elbows on the bed as she got a good look at her new sister. “We found some pretty fabric for some new dresses for her,” she murmured.

Amira nodded. “But we’ll need to get her measurements, before we can start sewing.” She braced herself with a hand on the blankets as she leaned past Peter, her head tilted in thought as she eyed the scarring that was visible in between Juniper’s sleep-mussed strands of hair.

“Oh, it’s like feathers,” Further breathed, on her tiptoes as she reached toward some loose tangles flying out across the pillow.

“Feathers?” Peter asked, watching as Further’s chubby fingers traced the dark, tufty ends of Juniper’s hair.

“Bird feathers,” Mylan explained, gingerly sitting on the bed and making as little movement as possible as he looked over the new sibling. “Her hair is feathery like a bird’s.”

“Oh,” Peter said. He’d never seen a real bird - not that he could remember - and he suddenly wanted to look in the great library and check if there were any books that depicted their feathers up close. All he had for reference was his wooden raven, but that was currently clutched in between Juniper’s sleeping hands.

He got more use out of his toys when compared to the books at the estate, but it seemed the new sister would make the books littered around the place more essential to him now. He needed to research trees when he had some free time. And birds too, apparently.

A disapproving tut from the doorway, and everyone’s heads swiveled over to see Agnes and Darius, both looking equally unimpressed. 

“I told you lot to leave her alone to rest, ” Agnes chided, stepping into the room.

“We haven’t woken her,” Amira argued.

“That doesn’t mean you can all just crowd around her while she sleeps,” Darius scolded, shaking his head.

Mylan and Further started to offer up their own protests, but then Juniper made a soft sound as she stirred, and an immediate hush fell over the room as Peter’s siblings scrambled off the bed, a wide range of caught out looks on their faces.

Juniper let out a sleepy sigh as she slowly sat up, her tufty hair a funny mix of haphazard and flat against her head. She had slept rather hard for a while, so Peter wasn’t surprised to see it like that. Still, it was funny, but he held in a laugh to be polite, since she was the newest sibling, and couldn’t be teased just yet. Maybe in a week, he’d laugh out loud the next time her hair was in such a state.

“Good morning,” Further whispered, hidden behind her brother and peeking out from over his shoulder. 

“Good evening, actually,” Mylan corrected, his lips twitching on a smile as he took in Juniper’s sleep-mussed appearance.

The newest sister rubbed at her eyes tiredly, wincing slightly when her fingers made hissing contact with the scars there, but not stopping their clumsy movements.

“We have some fabrics for you to pick out, for a new dress,” Emmeline chimed in excitedly.

This caught Juniper’s attention, and her hand fell away from her face as her head snapped towards the small crowd on the far side of the room. 

“What’s… happening,” she said hesitantly. 

“We wanted to say hello!” Amira beamed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“They were supposed to leave you alone to let you rest,” Peter told Juniper, glaring at all their siblings. Amira stuck her tongue out at him. 

“They…?” Juniper started quietly, and then she trailed off as she cocked her head to the side, a far-off look falling over her gaunt features. “Six,” she whispered after a few moments. “There are six of you.”

“That’s right,” Agnes confirmed, taking a step forward. “I suppose you gathered that by hearing our hearts and our breaths, yes? I know you haven’t been here for very long, so it may take some getting used to, but we’re all a part of your family now. After you’d woken, we were going to introduce ourselves. But we were going to wait until you woke naturally , instead of disturbing you,” she added, sending an unimpressed look out at the children behind her.

Juniper slowly shook her head. “I don’t– A family? You all are - related to each other?”

“Not by blood,” Darius explained. “Abba adopted all of us. You’re a part of that list of un-blooded children now.”

“Oh,” Juniper said softly. “You’re the mean one.”

Darius bristled at that. “I wasn’t trying to– I only did what I did because I was worried about Peter. He could have gotten seriously hurt back there.”

Juniper’s thin fingers tangled into the sheets; her shoulders rose defensively. “Peter was perfectly safe with me. I would never do anything to put him in harm’s way.”

“I understand that now,” Darius said, the patience in his tone clearly forced. “But he still could have gotten hurt on accident, during all that. And if that happened, the damage might have been fatal, since he doesn’t heal as quickly as the rest of us.”

“What?” Juniper asked in bewilderment.

“He hasn’t come into his power yet,” Agnes softly clarified.

“ What? ” Juniper turned her face towards Peter. “How old are you, Peter?”

“I turned 500 yesterday,” Peter said shyly, looking at the toys scattered across the bed so he didn’t have to see any of the various, pitying looks his siblings were all giving him.

“How awful,” Juniper said breathlessly, as if she’d been punched in the stomach by the information. “All of that confusion on such a special day, and what’s worse, you couldn’t even celebrate it properly, could you?”

Peter shook his head miserably, even though she couldn’t see it. He didn’t want to talk about the festivities he’d had to miss out on– not because of the excitement of a new sibling, but because he didn’t possess the magic needed for such a ceremony.

“I hope I didn’t scare you, earlier,” Juniper went on fretfully, her fingers uncoiling from the sheets to slide over toward Peter and pat his hands in apology.

Peter’s head snapped up to look at her. “You didn’t!” he assured her. “I thought it was a game, actually.”

“You thought–?” Darius’ choked voice tore through the room, and Peter turned towards him. His eyes were wide with shock. 

A giggle bled into the air - it was Amira, something gleeful stretching out her features - and then Emmeline began to laugh as well. Soon, the rest of the siblings were following suit, and Darius eventually shook his head, muttering, “The survival instincts on this one…” 

He could hear Juniper’s sharp laugh join in with the rest of their siblings, and Peter felt a smile crawl its way across his face. 

But then Abba stepped into the room, something tired and grave in his expression, and all the mirth in the area dissipated faster than the smoke left behind from a teleport.

He nodded a somber greeting to Peter’s siblings, then turned toward the girl on the bed, who had tensed as if she could feel his attention the moment his eyes landed on her.

“The healers have been working all day to devise more methods for treating your eyes,” he said softly, stepping up to the bed. “I was told to fetch you as soon as you woke.”

Juniper cringed away from him as he leaned past Peter, his arms outstretched for her.

“Come along, child,” he gently encouraged. “The healers are very confident with what they’ve created.”

Juniper’s head started to shake in disagreement, but as soon as Abba had a hand on each of her wrists, she stopped moving. The palm that had stayed on top of Peter’s hand limply slid off him, and Peter watched nervously as his new sister took on a lost, vacant expression as Abba guided her away from the bed. He settled one of her hands into the crook of his arm, then looked out at Peter and his siblings.

“You can make proper introductions later,” he said. “I apologize for taking her away from you all again, but it can’t be helped. This kind of healing is time-sensitive, you see.”

“That’s alright, Abba!” Amira said cheerfully. “Emmeline and I will start to pick out some dress patterns for her, in the meantime.”

Emmeline nodded beside her. “And the twins can help, if they want.”

Both Mylan and Further straightened in anticipation as she looked over to them for confirmation. Their heads bobbed in an excited, synchronized nod. 

“Wonderful,” Abba said, smiling warmly at the group. “I’m sure Juniper would appreciate that.” He looked down at the girl clutching his arm, but her eyes were on her feet, her breathing shallow.

“Abba,” Agnes said hesitantly. “Perhaps you should wait a little longer. Give her more time to recuperate after the last healing session.”

But Abba shook his head, an apologetic frown creasing his face. “We can’t wait on this, I’m afraid. The sooner we’re able to heal her eyes, the sooner the rest of her body can recover. Her gauntness stems from the holy water currently flowing through her. It’s eating up more and more of her energy each second it stays inside.”

Agnes reared back in alarm, and Darius’ eyes narrowed as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He looked Juniper up and down calculatingly, but she didn’t react to the scrutiny. Her blank eyes stayed on her feet. Something troubled fell over Darius’ face the longer he looked at her.

Abba glanced at Peter over his shoulder, something soft and proud glimmering in his umber eyes. “Thank you for looking out for her,” he murmured, and then he and Juniper were gone in a fiery mix of smoke and embers.

Chapter Text

Peter spent a few hours looking through the books in the grand library and eventually finding more information about juniper trees and bird feathers - Further had been right; Juniper’s hair did look fluffy like a dark bird’s feathers - but after that was done, he found himself wandering through the estate until he stood outside the herb rooms. 

He stared up at the closed door, hearing nothing but silence from the other side, thanks to the sound-proofing spells Abba, Amira, and Emmeline had performed. He tried the doorknob out of curiosity, but found it unsurprisingly locked. Peter huffed, then decided to settle himself outside the door, so that he would be the first to see Juniper and tell her about the new things he’d just learned about her name and her hair.

But his other siblings seemed to have the same idea, because with each hour that passed, another pair of children filled the hallway outside the door. 

First came the twins, who had fabrics bundled up in their arms, whispering excitedly about what materials the new sister might pick for her dresses. Then Amira and Emmeline followed, giggling over the folded dresses they were carrying– they’d decided it would be easiest for Juniper to pick patterns for her clothes if she could feel the shapes and stitches of ones already made. And when Agnes slipped into the hall, there was a break from the anticipated boredom as she kneeled down beside Amira and Emmeline and began to braid their hair. 

Both Peter and Mylan didn’t have hair long enough to braid, so they watched as Further entered the braiding circle of sisters, mesmerized by quick fingers knotting up hair into delicate styles.

“Do you think Juniper will let us try out some of these braids on her?” Amira asked, halfway through a crown of little knots around the back of Agnes’ head.

The eldest sister’s shoulders gave a noncommittal shrug. “Perhaps. We can ask after she’s finished resting, after this latest healing session.”

Amira grumbled at that, and then all of the siblings perked up when Darius’ heavy footfalls carried down the hall towards them.

“Agnes,” he started, but then he quickly shut his mouth as he looked around at the rest of the siblings.

He cleared his throat, his sharp eyes narrowing as he caught Agnes’ gaze. They didn’t speak, but it looked like they were having a conversation, all the same.

Eventually, Darius went on: “When you’re free, come find me.”

“Of course,” Agnes breezily replied, her hands never pausing in the complicated braid she was working into Emmeline’s tight curls into. Peter wondered if this had something to do with the secret upstairs visits the two were meant to be taking together. As he watched an unhappy look cross his eldest brother’s features, he thought he might be right.

Darius’ lips were a grim line as he nodded, and then his expression slackened as he seemed to take in the state of the hallway for the first time. His eyes slowly scanned over the braid circle blocking most of the space, the abandoned pile of dresses and fabric beside Mylan and Peter. 

He gave a long-suffering sigh, and then one hand came up to pinch the space between his eyes.

“I don’t think Abba will appreciate all of you waiting out here,” he muttered, squinting at his siblings in disapproval. 

“But we haven’t been able to properly introduce ourselves to Juniper yet,” Amira argued. 

“And we need to get her opinion before we can start sewing her dresses and skirts,” Emmeline added.

“I don’t think it will bother Abba to see us waiting out here,” Agnes unhelpfully surmised.

Darius’ shoulders slumped in defeat. “I don’t have the energy to argue with all of you,” he huffed, turning on his heel to go back the way he’d come. He waved at them dismissively. “If you want to get in trouble, be my guest. I’m staying out of it.”

Peter and the rest of his siblings watched him go, and then an unexpected shriek tore through the air, making everyone freeze. Darius stopped in his tracks, his head whipping around as his wide eyes locked onto the closed door of the herb rooms. The rest of the siblings’ heads swiveled that way, and everyone held their breath.

Another pained cry ripped through the hall, and Peter could definitely tell it was coming from the herb rooms now. It sounded faint, but that was probably due to the sound-proofing spells. Which was a fact that had something hard and worried dropping into the pit of his stomach, because if a scream like that had managed to make it through the barriers, then…

“Juniper,” Agnes breathed, forgetting Emmeline’s braid as she stood in one fluid motion. Darius was already striding towards the door, something troubled on his face.

A terrible, animalistic wail, and Peter watched Amira, Emmeline, and Further cling to each other in fear. Mylan scurried towards his twin, away from the door he and Peter had been sitting next to. But Peter stayed where he was, his eyes tracking his eldest siblings’ movements as both Agnes and Darius stepped up to the locked door. 

“Agnes,” Darius whispered hurriedly.

“On it,” Agnes said, raising up a hand and barking out a quick string of words Peter didn’t understand. A gust of air swept out from the door, and when Darius grabbed the doorknob, it turned in his grasp without issue.

Peter stood as Darius opened the door and slipped into the room, Agnes following close behind. He peered after them as his head poked around the threshold, and the hard feeling in his stomach climbed up to his lungs, stealing his breath.

His eyes quickly traveled over the handful of healers who were crowded around the table at the center of the room. He barely glimpsed Abba at one end, as his focus zeroed in on Abba’s strong, brown hands holding down Juniper’s shoulders, on the state of his newest sister as she writhed and screamed on the table.

While Darius stormed into the room, Peter’s view of Juniper’s bleeding eyes and nose became obscured as Agnes positioned herself in the doorway, blocking the entrance from Peter and his siblings, should the latter end up feeling inclined to get out of their cowering positions on the floor.

The sharp sound of an impact, and Peter had to stand on his tiptoes to see around Agnes’ waist and catch sight of one of the healers falling to the ground, Darius’ fist still up where their face used to be. Abba’s thunderous voice boomed for Darius to stop, but the teen seemed to be on a mission to knock away everyone from the table, and he wouldn’t be so easily swayed. 

Peter watched as his eldest brother became a blur of movement, stepping swiftly through the small crowd and bringing each and every healer down with strong, targeted hits. He didn’t give any of them time to think to defend themselves. Peter winced as he heard the crack of bones breaking, and he surveyed as, one by one, the healers crumpled to the floor in the span of a minute.

When Darius got to the table, Abba lifted a hand off Juniper’s shoulders to hold him back. 

“Darius,” he warned, something dark and foreboding in his tone. 

The eldest son’s lips curled over his sharp teeth in a snarl, but whatever retort he had didn’t get a chance to slice through the air, because Juniper chose that moment to spring into action and interrupt the tense conversation. 

She turned and bit messily into the arm pinning down her other shoulder, and Peter cried out in alarm to see blood immediately spurt up from the wound, some of it running down her chin as her jaw bore down. 

Abba hissed out a string of curses, his other hand moving away from Darius to perhaps try and pry Juniper off him, but Darius used the opening to push the older demon back with a strike to the center of his chest. Abba let out a breathless sound as he stumbled back, and Juniper’s teeth left his arm as she seemed too stunned by that development to hold on.

Darius quickly scooped Juniper into his arms, backing away from the murderous expression on Abba’s face. Peter worried Juniper might try to bite his brother next, but she looked too confused by what was happening to do anything of the sort for the time being.

“Stop right there,” Abba ordered darkly, but Darius only shook his head, retreating all the way to the door, stumbling over the unconscious, moaning bodies of the healers he’d injured.

“Agnes!” Abba admonished, as Peter’s eldest sister pulled Darius out of the room and behind her when he was close enough to do so.

“No more,” she said, her voice shaking on an emotion Peter wasn’t familiar with.

“If this is what the healing for her eyes entails…” Darius breathed, looking down at the crimson-black blood still trailing from Juniper’s eyes, her nose. She started to tremble in his arms, and he drew her closer. “It’s not worth it. It can’t be.”

Abba’s stormy expression softened in increments. “Darius,” he implored, “I understand how you feel. But there is no other way to heal her eyes. It is a grueling process, yes, but it will work. She’ll be able to see again in a few weeks.”

“A few weeks ?” Agnes cried, her voice shrill. “A few weeks of this , every single day?!”

Abba looked at her, heartbroken. He didn’t have to nod with an expression like that. Even Peter knew what it meant. How the healing of his newest child was tearing him apart. How he was willing to endure that pain if it meant Juniper would see again.

“What about what she wants?” Darius seethed, indicating the girl in his arms with a sharp jerk of his chin. “Did you even ask her if she wanted to do the healing, before you started forcing her through this?”

Abba looked taken aback then, his wide eyes landing on the newest sibling– Juniper was mostly hidden behind Agnes, who was still holding a protective stance in the doorway. What little he could see of her made his shoulders slump.

“You didn’t!” Darius reared on him, shouldering past Agnes as he stormed back into the room. “And I’ll bet you didn’t warn her how painful it would be, either!”

“There wasn’t time for that,” Abba protested, his voice strained. “The holy water in her veins, it–”

“You should have MADE TIME!” Darius shouted. “It takes but a second to ask your daughter what she wants! What she’s willing to do!”

“Darius–”

“THIS WILL NOT CONTINUE!” Darius roared. “YOU WILL STOP THIS TORTURE AT ONCE! YOU WILL–”

“SHE WILL DIE!” Abba bellowed, and Darius took a step back, stunned into silence. Agnes stopped breathing. Peter did too.

“If nothing is done about the holy water coursing through her body,” Abba tremulously continued, “it will kill her.”

“No,” Agnes croaked, shaking her head as silent tears slid down her cheeks. “No, Abba, there has to be another way. Please. There has to be something else, something less damaging than this.” Her fingers trembled as she swept her arm out to indicate the state of Juniper. The girl had hidden her ruined face in Darius’ shirt, her bony body curled up as small as possible in his arms, her shoulders shaking.

“There is,” one of the healers groaned from the floor, a hand coming up to cover his bleeding nose as he used the wall behind him to get to his feet. “We’ve been putting together some herbs for the girl to soak in. They’ll slowly draw out most of the holy water. But it won’t heal her eyes.”

He looked out at them all apologetically. “We were planning to move on to the baths after we returned her sight to her.”

“Will the baths hurt her?” Darius asked.

The healer shook his head. “No. This is an herbal remedy we’ve been using for centuries. None of the demons we’ve treated have reacted badly to it.”

Darius nodded once, then looked down at the girl in his arms. “Juniper,” he whispered, “sweet sister, what do you want to do?”

Juniper’s thin fingers clutched his shirt as she slowly shook her head. “I don’t– They said– I–” her lower lip trembled as her stuttering dissolved into incoherent syllables, and then Darius slammed his forehead against hers. She froze.

“I don’t care what they said,” he breathed angrily. “I only care what you have to say.”

“If you want to continue the healing sessions for your eyes, you can do that,” Agnes said gently, stepping up to the pair and laying a careful hand on Juniper’s shoulder. “But if you want that healing to stop, we’ll make sure it stops.”

“And if you want to try out the baths, you can,” Darius added, closing his eyes as something painful passed over his expression. His forehead left hers. “And if you want to do nothing at all, we’ll make sure your needs are met.”

“I should have asked you from the beginning,” Abba quietly spoke up, and Juniper flinched at his words. “Let me make it up to you by asking now: what do you want, Juniper?”

“I-I want you far away from me ,” she creaked, a full-body shudder rattling her bony limbs. “I want you to never touch me again.”

Abba’s eyes widened, but he nodded his assent. “Very well. Consider it done. After this conversation is over, I will leave you. I won’t be near you again unless you ask.”

Juniper’s expression morphed into shock. “That– It’s that simple? You’ll. Just go?”

“Yes, child. I’ll just go.”

“You’re not lying,” she breathed, staring out at the room in wonder. 

“Abba’s pretty good about respecting our wishes,” Darius commented. “When he remembers to ask what those wishes are.”

Abba looked guilty then. “I’ll… do better about that, from now on.”

“Don’t worry, Abba,” Agnes said sweetly, something about her tone making the hair on the back on Peter’s neck stand up. “We’ll help you remember.”

“Please do,” Abba said, unfazed by the dangerous timbre.

“Juniper,” Darius said, gaining the newest sibling’s attention. “What do you want to do about your healing? Anything you want– Agnes and I will make sure it happens.”

Juniper took a moment to consider her next words, chewing on her bottom lip worriedly. “I want - the bath. I want to. Try the bath.”

“Perfect,” Agnes crooned, the hand on Juniper’s shoulder trailing up to run a soothing line through her hair. “When would you like to try the bath? You could do it after you’ve had some rest, or we could go now.”

“I– Now?” Juniper asked hesitantly. “We could do it now?”

“If you want,” Agnes said warmly, another hand coming up to gently work out a knot that had formed in Juniper’s hair.

“And– You’ll be there too?”

“If you want.”

“Can we come?” Amira squeaked, scrambling to her feet and pulling Emmeline along with her. They pushed past Peter and into the room. 

“Only if Juniper is alright with it,” Agnes warned, but Further was on her feet and stumbling after the pair, her eyes lighting up in excitement. 

“Oh, we could braid her hair while she soaks!” Further gushed, her chubby palms seeking the strands falling past Juniper’s shoulders. Darius lifted the girl higher and out of reach with a disapproving look.

“Only if Juniper says it’s alright,” he reiterated. 

“Who - wants to come? Who all is… coming?” Juniper asked.

“Me!” Amira’s hand shot up in the air. “I’m Amira, you’re sister. And this is Emmeline.”

“Hello,” Emmeline said, bouncing on the balls of her feet chipperly.

“And I’m Further, your other sister,” Further added.

“Forgive me for not introducing myself,” Agnes softly apologized, and as she told Juniper her name, and then Darius gruffly established himself, and Mylan trailed into the room, Peter watched Abba step over to the healer who’d gotten to his feet. 

The two surveyed the state of the rest of the healers. There were a couple who had regained consciousness, the broken bones in their faces already healing thanks to their innate abilities. They were helped to their feet, and then all four of them quietly made their way to the shelves at the back of the room and started to gather various herbs and tonics under the direction of the healer who had spoken up before. Peter thought he must have been in charge.

“I’m taking the healers to the baths to prepare everything,” Abba spoke up, gaining the attention of the rest of the siblings. “I’ll be gone when you get there, Juniper, don’t worry.”

Juniper blinked at that, but Abba didn’t wait for a reply. He teleported out of the room with the three healers in the next moment. 

Wordlessly, Agnes took Juniper from Darius’ arms, and Juniper clung to her neck with a lost sound. 

“I won’t leave your side,” Agnes promised. 

Amira, Emmeline, and Further bounced around her excitedly as she made her way out of the room.

“Can we come along?” they begged. “Please, Juniper? Please?”

Peter caught the hesitant, confused smile on his new sister’s face as Agnes strode past him. 

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “You three may come along.”

The girls erupted into excited squeals, and Mylan huffed as he stepped out of the room and leaned down to gather the dresses, skirts, and fabric left abandoned on the floor. “Why do I always have to clean up after these girls?” he grumbled.

“I’ll help you,” Peter offered, stooping down to pick up some fabric that had slipped out of his brother’s arms.

“I might as well,” Darius joined in, crouching down with them. “Our sisters are going to be busy for the rest of the day, I’m sure.”

“The rest of the day ?” Mylan cried, his jaw dropping.

“Oh yes,” Darius sagely replied. “Between the soaking, the hair braiding, and the gossiping, we won’t see those girls until tomorrow, I expect.”

Peter joined his brother when he groaned in frustration. It seemed like none of them would get to bond with their new sister anytime soon.

After they’d finished putting away the dresses and fabric, Mylan went off to practice his advanced fire magic, which left Darius to watch over Peter. 

The pair settled in one of the informal lounges, Peter on the floor with some wooden toys he’d grabbed, Darius on a couch with a book on Guard drills. When he turned 2,000, he’d be allowed to officially enter the Guard ranks. He’d also be celebrating the age with a naming ceremony - where Abba would tell him his full name, the name of his lost parents - but that was still 77 years away, and so the teen had plenty of time to prepare for all of that.

A movement in the threshold, as Abba passed by, and Darius flew off the couch and sped for the doorway, calling out to his father. 

Peter looked up curiously to see Abba circle back, noting that he’d changed out of his robes - both sleeves were whole and unbloodied, and although his forearm was covered, Peter knew Juniper’s bite had healed by now.

Darius bowed his head in shame as Abba looked at him expectantly. “I wanted to apologize,” he said softly to his feet.

Abba raised a thick brow. “Apologize?”

Darius nodded, still not raising his head. “For before. I was disrespectful towards you. I disobeyed your orders. I-I yelled at you.”

Darius blinked when a brown hand rested on his shoulder. “I apologize as well,” Abba said. “I withheld information from you and your siblings. Perhaps if I was more transparent from the beginning, I could have had the benefit of your guidance, and this whole affair could have been avoided.”

Abba smiled ruefully, then. “I was not thinking straight. I felt as if I had no time to consider anything, save the first solution the healers presented.”

Darius rested a hand over Abba’s. “I understand.” Something troubled passed over his face. “Will the baths really work? Will they really draw out the holy water, and keep her alive?”

Abba nodded. “Although, the process will take much longer, in comparison to the direct approach we’d been performing.”

Darius winced. “I see.”

“I’m glad you said something,” Abba murmured, catching Darius’ eye with a proud smile. “I’m so glad you and your sister stepped in. It needed to be done.”

A crooked smile swept across Darius’ face. “Someone had to do it,” he said.

Abba’s smile widened, but then something sad swept away the expression in the next moment. “I’ll need you and your sister to take care of her, from this point onward. I’m going to honor Juniper’s wishes, but that means you two must step up and be there where I can’t. I’m trusting you both to alert me should her condition suddenly worsen, or if there’s an emergency.”

“Of course,” Darius accepted, nodding seriously.

Abba looked past his shoulder to catch Peter’s eye. “And I’ll need your help as well, little טללא. She trusts you the most, so it would be best for you to be at her side whenever possible.”

Peter sprang to his feet in excitement, more than happy to take on such a responsibility. “Don’t worry, Abba! I’ll make sure she’s safe!”

Abba huffed out a laugh, and then something thoughtful passed over his face. “Actually… with you needing a companion while we wait for you to come into your power, and with her condition, it might be beneficial for you to be each other’s watchers, so to speak.” He cocked his head as his gaze turned imploring. “Would you be up for that, Peter?”

But Peter was already nodding along to the request before even half of the words were finished. He bounced in place, his whole body buzzing with a fiery elation. Finally, finally he had an excuse to have Juniper all to himself. If he wasn’t her favorite brother yet, he surely would be by the year’s end, at the earliest.

Everyone froze as a melodic tune carried down the hall from the baths, and Abba and Darius turned toward the sound. Peter hurried over to the doorway so he could hear better, and he gasped when he recognized Agnes’ voice, strong and sweet as it sang one of the old songs Abba had taught them, from his human days.

The three stepped out into the hall, listening as Further, and then Amira, and then Emmeline joined into the song, their young voices harmonizing with Agnes, turning the melody into something that had an awed hush falling over Peter, his brother, and Abba.

Peter stood in the hall with the rest of his family, transfixed by a tune he’d grown up with, now being remade by the ethereal voices of his sisters. Darius and Abba seemed just as bewitched, because they remained frozen in silence as the first verse delicately transitioned into the chorus, and then the second verse began.

Further, Amira, and Emmeline were improving their harmonizing in real-time, and the second part of the song sounded like a thing that could hardly be called real. Peter felt breathless as he listened, his feet having a mind of their own as they carried him down the hall towards the large tiled space which housed the baths.

The closer he got, the clearer the words of the song became, until Peter felt like he could swim through the thick sound as his feet stopped just outside the closed door of the baths.

The second chorus was just starting, and it was so thick and sweet, Peter wondered if it would taste like his favorite sugary breads, if he could only bite into it.

And then a hoarse, hesitant voice joined in during the last lines of the chorus, unable to recite the words, but vocalizing the tune, and Peter felt something light and impossible expand inside his chest. With Juniper’s cadence added to the song, it made the tune absolutely, breathtakingly perfect.

Peter promised himself then and there he’d do everything in his power to become Juniper’s favorite brother. Because it had become abundantly clear that she was his favorite sister.

Chapter Text

It was late when the girls finally emerged from the baths– late enough that Peter had grudgingly gotten tucked into his bed, after being caught dozing outside the closed door of the baths. Darius had scooped him up without a word, and Abba was there when they stepped through the threshold of Peter’s room. 

Peter gave a half-hearted grumble as his brother tucked him into his blankets, but his whining over not seeing the new sister was silenced by a light kiss to his forehead from Abba. Peter’s eyes were already closing as the two demons slipped out of his room.

He was roused sometime later by a shift in his sheets, as Agnes placed an exhausted Juniper beside him. Peter squinted to see bright blue ribbons braided into her shiny, damp hair. He could hear Amira and Emmeline chattering excitedly behind Agnes - in a tone that could barely be considered a whisper - but his attention was drawn to his new sister as she tiredly curled around him.

“Apologies,” Agnes murmured, pulling up the covers to Juniper’s shoulders. “But she insisted on sleeping here.”

“That’s alright,” Peter replied, suddenly wide awake as he watched Agnes gently brush a stray hair out of Juniper’s face before she drew away completely. “Abba said it’s best if we watch over each other.”

Agnes’ expression turned thoughtful, and she paused, before straightening completely. “That’s probably not such a bad idea, considering the circumstances.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze before turning away.

“As for you two,” she went on, addressing Amira and Emmeline in a tone that was fondly chiding. “It’s time to leave your sister alone for the night. Go ahead and start on her dresses; you have the measurements for those now. Go on, then, out with you both.” And she herded the pair out of the room. Peter could hear their mischievous giggles before Agnes shut his door, and then the sound from the hall was cut off entirely.

The lanterns on his walls had been dimmed for his sleep, but he could still see Juniper’s face pinch up in worry as she pressed her nose to her pillow. 

“Peter?” she whispered.

Peter found her hand under the covers. “Right here.”

“I’m… sorry for taking your bed. Again. Is it– Is this alright?”

Peter nodded, and then remembered she couldn’t see the movement. “Of course. Abba gave me a special task anyway. I’m supposed to stay close to you, and you’re supposed to stay close to me.”

“Stay close…?”

“Mhm,” Peter confirmed. “I’m always supposed to have someone nearby, in case my powers awaken. It could happen at any moment, you know.”

“I see.”

“And you’ll need someone nearby, to help you navigate the estate.”

“And– You’re alright with all that? Being - near me, all the time?”

Peter tried to not let the excitement show in his voice. “No, not at all.” If he seemed too eager, she might find that annoying, and he would lose points towards being her favorite sibling. And he couldn’t afford to let that happen, since he was on a mission now.

“You’re not lying,” she hummed, squinting at his forehead.

“I’m not,” Peter said.

She nodded once, apparently satisfied. Then her eyes slipped closed. “Very well then. Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight Juniper,” he whispered, making a mental note to tell her about the juniper trees he’d seen in the grand library’s books, the dark feathers of ravens and crows. Her body heat was warming the sheets, and sleep felt more enticing than it ever had before with that lulling temperature. Peter found his own eyes drooping closed in the next moment, and he sighed, giving his sister’s fingers a squeeze before his body went lax.

Juniper slept fitfully for about half the night, waking in a frenzy and rousing Peter as she thrashed against the sheets. When she seemed to realize Peter was in the bed with her, she wrapped him up in her spindly limbs, whispering how they weren’t safe. 

Peter had to remind her where they were - at Abba’s estate, in Hell, and no, he wasn’t lying about that - and press a few toy animals into her hands before she settled back down. He went ahead and scooped up all his animals while she curled around her pillow, and he used them to soothe her the next few times she woke.

But eventually, his sister sank into a deep sleep. She had a frown on her face for the rest of the night, but she didn’t wake, and it allowed Peter to doze beside her in peace.

By the time morning came, Amira, Emmeline, and Further had finished a couple of dresses for Juniper, and they whisked her away to try them on before Peter had even finished sitting up groggily in his bed.

Agnes came to fetch him soon after, appointing herself as his designated watcher while Juniper was indisposed, so Peter stumbled after her through the halls until she eventually led him into one of the lesser-used sitting rooms, and Peter slumped down on a pillow on the floor while his older sister got comfortable in an armchair. She hummed a delightful tune as she pulled out a needle and thread, and Peter let the sound lull him while Agnes embroidered yet another piece of furniture she wasn’t supposed to embroider.

He must have fallen into a deeper slumber at some point, because he was woken with a start by Juniper shaking his shoulder, and he tiredly wiped at his eyes while his sister apologized for scaring him. 

He looked over to see Agnes curled up on the armchair, bursts of threaded flowers spreading out from the cushions around her, and he squinted at the scroll spread out in her lap, at the concentrated expression on her face as she scribbled down Satan knew what into the parchment.

But then his newest sister was pulling him to his feet, and he was distracted by the excitement in her pale eyes as she told him all the rooms at the estate their sisters had described, and how she couldn’t wait for Peter to show her around.

“They said - there was a garden?” she went on, her good mood tapering as she seemed to be questioning that information.

But Peter only nodded, swinging their hands where they were entwined as he led her out of the room. “Yes. Abba says it’s a small garden, but it’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen. And Abba tends to the plants each day, making sure his magic keeps everything alive and healthy. We have some flowers, but it’s mostly herbs for spells and potions.”

“Can we see it?”

“Of course,” Peter replied, his pace picking up as the anticipation on Juniper’s face bled into him, making his feet light. “There are few places we aren’t allowed to go.”

“Aren’t…allowed?”

“Mhm,” Peter nodded again. “Mostly Abba’s spaces, like his study, and his room.” He glanced up at Juniper over his shoulder as they continued down the hall. “But I don’t think you’ll have to worry about accidentally finding yourself there, since you want to stay far away from him. He’s in those rooms a lot, when he’s home and not spending time with the rest of us. And your hearing is good, so you’d be able to tell if you were close to him.”

Juniper’s chin lowered, her gaze falling somewhere above her feet, and her hand briefly squeezed Peter’s. “He’s really - going to stay away?” she asked softly.

“If that’s what you want, then yes. Abba always does what we want. Within reason, that is.”

“I see,” she mumbled, something distant in her tone. She was quiet for the rest of the trek to the garden, but her withdrawn mood lifted as soon as they stepped outside.

Peter tugged her over to his favorite plants first - flowers he’d forgotten the name of - and he described the blues and yellows of their petals while Juniper gingerly traced their shape with a single fingertip. They went through each plant in the space, and although there were only about seven pieces of greenery shooting up from the ashy earth, it took them hours to pass through it all, because Juniper paused at each one and mapped out every inch of leaf and stem and bud with her fingers.

Peter didn’t mind the snail’s pace, though. His sister had that dazzling smile he was coming to crave, and he sat beside her as she looked at each plant with her hands, answering her when she asked him to tell him about their colors, their size, the delicate veins of their petals and leaves.

Eventually they left the small garden, and Peter spent the rest of the day leading Juniper from room to room, watching as she trailed her hands along tables, the spines of books, pillows, even the wall embellishments. They were in an herb preparation room when Agnes found them, Juniper running her palms along the grinding tools, and Peter’s oldest sister announced that it was time for Juniper’s daily soak. 

“But I’ve only gotten to show her a few rooms,” Peter complained, pouting as Agnes wrapped an arm around Juniper’s shoulder to lead her to the door. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to show her more rooms tomorrow,” his eldest sister soothed, and then Darius was teleporting beside Peter to take him to his room and get him ready for bed.

Peter huffed and grumbled about the interruption, until Juniper was brought to his room later that evening by a parade of sisters. Amira and Emmeline had done her dark hair up in a crown of little braids, and it looked like they’d finished a new nightgown as well, because Further was adjusting the ties at the sleeves while Agnes led a very tired-looking Juniper to the bed.

Peter made space for her, and he grinned triumphantly at the rest of his sisters when they were herded out of the room by Agnes in the next moment. He could hear the tail-end of their complaints before his door was shut, and then the room was silent. He and Juniper settled under the sheets, and Peter was expecting another night of fitful rest from his sister, so he had all of his animals on standby at the foot of his bed.

Juniper’s sleep did turn out to be fitful, but Peter thought he was getting better at being ready right as she woke; he was starting to recognize a certain hitch in her breath, the way her face would pinch up just before her eyes snapped open in alarm. And so he pressed an animal into her palm each time the first gasp hit, and Juniper was able to get back to sleep much quicker with his help.

He felt exhausted by the time his sister seemed to be settled for the night, and he happily drifted off into a deep sleep, Juniper’s troubled frown the last thing he saw before his eyes drooped closed.

The next weeks passed quickly with their mundanity. Peter eventually finished his tour of the entire estate– or rather, the rooms they were allowed to be in. Juniper continued to be whisked away by his sisters in the evening for her herbal bath, and she came to bed looking exhausted, but with a healthy glow to her skin. As the days passed, Peter could see that the baths were working to some degree: his newest sister wasn’t as thin as she’d been when he’d met her, but she was still far too small for a demon her age. 

He heard his sisters chatting about how the healers were saying Juniper might grow another few inches with the way things were going, and that made him hopeful, but also concerned. If she got much bigger, she couldn’t fit into his bed anymore. And despite her waking constantly in the night, he liked the company. 

But he found other opportunities to commandeer his time with her, on days when all of the younger siblings were away with magic studies, and Agnes slipped out of the estate with Darius on secret upstairs visits. His eldest sister promised him a dozen buttery rolls for his silence, plus his monitoring of the new sibling as she soaked in her daily herb bath, and Peter was happy to take the offer.

He and Juniper stepped into the tiled space of the baths in their underclothes, bypassing the small tubs dug out long ago for the large, raised pool at the center of the room, already prepared with herbs and potions by the healers. Peter hadn’t seen them since that first encounter, but he knew they lingered on the grounds, preparing new herbs and readying Juniper’s bath each day. His sisters’ gossiping chatter told him as much.

As Juniper settled into the steaming water, and Peter sat on the edge of the tub and kicked his feet through the hot, murky stuff (it was a strange swirl of green and blue, and it had a sharp scent that Peter would rather forego), his sister asked him if he knew any songs.

She’d been singing with his sisters each and every bath, their voices so strong they carried throughout the estate. Peter could even hear them from the open doorway of his room when he was supposed to be settling down for the night. He knew what songs his sisters had taught Juniper already, and he smiled when he realized there were plenty he could teach her.

He led her through some soft, short lullabies as she soaked, their voices echoing strangely in the room, amplified by the water and tile. Juniper’s timbre was croaky and shy, and as they finished the next song, Peter was struck with a question.

“Why do you talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“When you stop and start sometimes,” Peter explained. “Even when you sing, it sounds like you’re hesitating the whole time.”

Her lips thinned into an unhappy line, but the water concealed it as she sunk deeper into the bath.

“How come you haven’t tried to bite any of us?” Peter went on. “I know our sisters bother you sometimes with how they swarm and drag you away for measurements and dressings.”

“I would never bite any of you!” Juniper exclaimed, surging up out of the water and looking Peter’s way in alarm.

“But you bit Abba,” he countered.

“That was - different,” she muttered, turning away from him.

“You did it again!” Peter said, pointing at her, even though she couldn’t see it. “The stopping and starting thing!”

“I’m tired,” she said suddenly, standing abruptly and sending ripples out across the small pool in her rush. “Where are the towels?”

“You’re lying,” Peter grumbled, but he swung his feet out of the tub and stepped towards a rack of towels on a nearby wall. He didn’t have to come into his power to spot a lie. All demons could do it from birth. And her lie felt electric and chilling, like a draft of cold air on his skin.

She didn’t say anything as he passed her a large, fluffy towel. Peter eyed her suspiciously while he helped her out of the tub. They both bundled themselves up in their towels, and the trek to his room was silent and heavy.

Juniper was familiar enough with the layout of his room to find her way to the folding screen in the corner on her own. Agnes had already set out her nightclothes, and Peter left her to dress while he hunted down a nightshirt for himself.

He felt like they’d had a fight as they crawled into bed, and he watched her curl up as small as possible while he placed a handful of animals between them. Her hand traced the edge of a wolf’s tail, and then she pressed her face into her pillow. Peter barely caught the pinched expression there before it was submerged into softness.

“I apologize,” he said finally, after it was clear she wasn’t going to speak. “It was rude of me to say those things.”

She turned half her face out from the pillow, her pale eye squinting at his chin. “Thank you,” she said warily, as if expecting a trap.

“I won’t- I won’t ask about those things anymore,” Peter promised, vowing to himself as much as her. He never wanted her to think he was lying, and so he had to be very serious about this if he didn’t want to break that honest streak.

The furrow in her brow smoothed out, and she turned the rest of her face out of the pillow. “Thank you,” she repeated softly, taking the wooden wolf into her hand and drawing it up to her lips. 

She tapped its snout against her mouth a few times, and Peter had seen her do this enough to know it was a self-soothing gesture. When he handed her various animals throughout the night as she woke up afraid, she would sometimes do this. It was like feeling the carved texture against her lips helped her remember what she was holding, what she was doing, and where she was better than Peter could do with words alone.

“Everything is so different,” she whispered. “I keep waiting- keep waiting for…something.”

“What something?” Peter whispered back, drawing up the covers around them.

“Something. Bad.”

Peter puffed out an amused laugh. “Nothing bad ever happens here, Juni.”

She shook her head, something troubled passing over her face. “So strange,” she muttered.

“What’s strange?”

“Here,” she tapped the wolf against her pillow. “It’s all - different. Everyone is so…” she shook her head again, “ nice to me. I don’t understand.”

“We’re nice to you because you’re our family,” Peter easily replied. “And we love you.”

“ Why? ” She creaked, and Peter tensed as he saw her pale eyes begin to fill with tears. “I’m not– I’m not–”

Peter’s hand shot out to cover her eyes, and then he surged forward to slam his forehead against hers. She gasped in surprise.

“Stop that,” he chided. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

She froze, and then a shaky, wet breath shuddered out of her. “ You stop,” she hissed back, as her shoulders began to shake.

“Oh no,” Peter whispered, drawing away immediately. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to! I didn’t–”

“Not you,” she choked, her hand tightening around the wolf as her palm started to tremble. “ Never you, Peter.”

Peter sat up, his hands hovering between them. He wanted to console her, but didn’t know how. And the shaking in her hand was spreading out to the rest of her body, and she really was going to start crying those awful, burning tears if he didn’t do something. Her herbal baths might have helped her look healthier, but her face still sizzled and burned when she cried.

“I want to be your favorite brother,” he blurted, deciding that a new topic might distract her.

And it worked, because her full-body shuddering paused as she blinked in shock. “...What?”

“I feel like all the other siblings have favorites,” Peter barrelled on, grabbing his bear and thrusting it into her other palm. “Here– this is a bear, it’s my favorite.”

Her hand gently curled around it like it was precious, and that made a tension Peter wasn’t aware he’d been holding seep out of him.

“Everyone has a favorite,” he continued. “Amira and Emmeline have each other, and the twins too, obviously. And I’m pretty sure Darius and Agnes are each other’s favorites too, since they keep the most secrets between them. But I’m nobody’s favorite! And I want to be!”

“Do you…” Juniper hesitantly started, “do you - have a favorite?”

Peter felt his cheeks heating, and he slammed his hands down so he could tangle his fingers into his covers. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“You’re lying,” she accused, but a crooked smile was dancing its way across her face, so Peter didn’t feel like he was in trouble.

“Is it… is it me?” she asked, when Peter said nothing. 

He tucked his chin to stare down at his hands, and she shot up in bed with a breathless laugh.

“It is me!” And Peter couldn’t help but look at the smile stretching her face out wide, at the way her button nose wrinkled up from the force of it. She laughed again, and it was Peter’s favorite sound. But then it was like someone poured a bucket of sadness over the top of her head, because the expression was washed away into something sullen and withdrawn. 

“Why?” she asked breathlessly. “Why - out of everyone - would you choose me as your favorite?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Peter’s mouth replied without him saying so. “You don’t treat me like I’m- like I’m something fragile. You ask me questions all the time, about all the things we do, all the rooms we’re in. When we talk, it’s like… like you actually want to talk to me. I know we’re supposed to be watching each other, but you don’t act like it’s a chore.”

“...You don’t either.”

“Because it’s not!” Peter proclaimed, leaning toward her. “You’re wonderful, Juni. Your hands dance when you’re seeing something for the first time; you put your fingerprints all over it. And- And you’re very careful with all of my toys, especially my favorites. And you laugh at my jokes. And you have the best laugh I’ve ever heard. And the best smile I’ve ever seen. And–”

Peter let out an oof from how tightly she squeezed him to her in the next moment.

She pressed her cheek against the top of his head, a shaky breath blowing out across his hair. “I love you, Peter,” she whispered wetly.

She’d told him she loved him a few times since he’d met her, but she’d never said it first. The words felt like they’d been breathed into him, warming him through and making him feel lighter than air. He slung his arms around her, laughing giddily. 

“I love you too, Juni,” he happily crooned, giggling into her neck.

His laughter must have been contagious, because she started to laugh with him. It really was his favorite sound.

Chapter Text

Juniper and the rest of Peter’s siblings grew closer as the weeks continued to pass.

Amira and Emmeline had excitedly approached the newest sister one day, all but demanding she teach them how to perfect a wall walk. While Juniper was demonstrating inside one of the more bare rooms - her feet carrying her up the wallpaper with ease - Mylan and Further wandered in, and then they proceeded to whine about not knowing how to wall walk or ceiling crawl, until Juniper hesitantly told them she’d teach them.

Peter spent the remainder of the day watching a line of his siblings walk along the walls, all of their hands linked as Juniper somehow managed to channel her magic between them in order to keep everyone perpendicular against the leafy patterns of the wallpaper.

From there, the days passed in a blur as Peter watched Juniper patiently teach his siblings how to find their balance on an upright surface, until eventually no one needed to link hands and borrow Juniper’s magic for a successful wall walk. Things got interesting when they reached that point, as Mylan proposed a game where one sibling would chase the others across the walls and ceiling, trying to capture each and every one.

“If someone gets tagged, they’re floor-bound for the rest of the game,” he told everyone, as they went through the rules. The rest of the siblings started to whine at that, but then Peter offered his own game on the floor with his wooden animals, and that seemed to appease the group.

Although running across the walls looked fun, and Peter had an opportunity to join his siblings if he let Juniper carry him on her back the whole time, he opted out of the activity more often than not. He didn’t like the dizzying sensation that came over him whenever Juniper began the wall walk and settled her center of gravity, and he still shuddered to think about the fall he took the last time he was on the ceiling with his sister.

He knew she would never drop him on purpose, but he also knew that accidents could happen. And with Darius and Agnes making themselves scarce (with their secret upstairs visits), Peter didn’t trust his other siblings to catch him in the event that he fell. So he stayed on the floor, happy to entertain whatever siblings lost the game of chase happening above him.

Wall walking turned out to be a very draining activity in terms of magic, and Juniper would retire to Peter’s bed earlier and earlier as the days went on. It was getting to the point where she was only awake half the day, and Peter was beginning to chafe at the diminishing time he got to spend with his sister. 

But then, the next day, Emmeline loudly complained how tired she was from all the magic use, and Amira had the bright idea of a joint-sibling nap in a nearby lounging room, and Peter found himself happily squished between his sisters and brother as they all piled together on top of the large floor cushions.

He listened as, one by one, his siblings’ breaths evened out around him, and he found himself drifting off with a smile, surrounded by warmth. 

The naps gave Juniper enough energy to stay awake until a more reasonable time of night, and Peter enjoyed the days that followed as his siblings chased each other across the walls and ceilings until one of them eventually called for a nap break, and then Peter would find himself wedged between his sisters and brother on the floor and utterly, perfectly content.

The chasing games died off as Amira, Emmeline, Mylan, and Further were called away for their next round of magic studies, and Peter heard Abba speaking to the healers about bringing a tutor in for Juniper whenever he roamed the halls while his sister was in the baths with Agnes, Darius keeping step as his designated watcher.

“Why would she need a tutor?” Peter asked his brother, as they wandered down another corridor and out of earshot from their father.

“Juniper is behind at least 500 years in her studies,” Darius reminded him, “and it would be easier to bring a teacher here, rather than have someone escort her through Hell and risk something setting off one of her fits.”

The times when their sister would get a lost look in her eye - or worse, jump up onto the ceiling and hiss down at them - were unbidden and random, but the episodes had grown less and less frequent as Juniper warmed up to the rest of Peter’s siblings. Still, Peter could see the merit in avoiding losing his sister in a crowd in the event that she became too overwhelmed by something, and he pursed his lips in thought.

“Do you think Abba would let me watch her magic lessons?” he asked. He still needed a watcher, what with his powers staying stubbornly dormant, and his sister still needed assistance navigating the estate.

Darius gave a half-shrug. “I don’t see why not. But let’s give it some time before we try and ask, yes? Abba may end up foregoing the idea of a tutor, after all.”

“Why would he do that?”

“The more demons he brings into this home, the more we risk our… unique situation becoming common knowledge to all demonkind. And Abba’s already told us why we can’t let anyone know we’re part of such a large family.”

“Because it would upset the balance of things,” Peter quoted their father in as deep of a voice as he could manage, his chest puffed out and his expression stern. Darius snorted out a laugh.

“In any case, Agnes and I could teach her, if a tutor seems too dangerous,” his brother went on thoughtfully.

“If it’s so dangerous to bring demons here, then why isn’t Abba worried about the healers?” Peter asked, pausing by the grand library before stepping inside. There was a book about herbs he kept forgetting to grab from the shelves, and with Juniper busy he had plenty of time to get it now.

“They were ordered by Satan to not breathe a word of our circumstances to any other creature,” Darius explained, following Peter into the room.

Peter stumbled at that, his head whipping back to stare at his brother in shock. Every demon knew that Satan’s orders had a physical effect, where whatever their dark god requested would be granted without hesitation; their own sinister makeup preventing them from going against their leader’s wishes. Satan had the ability to bring every creature to their knees with a word, but it was also common knowledge that their dark god didn’t issue orders often, because he was uncomfortable exuding that kind of power over his subjects.

If Satan had issued an order to the healers who still came and went from the estate, over this, then the importance of keeping Peter and his siblings’ existence a secret was much more dire than Peter had initially thought.

“But…” Peter hesitantly started. “If Abba was worried about a tutor sharing our secret, then wouldn’t he just get Satan to issue another order?”

Darius shook his head, his mouth thinning into a grim line. “From what I hear, Satan advised Abba against bringing in any more unnecessary guests to the estate. He doesn’t want to issue any additional orders on our behalf.”

“Do you think he doesn’t like us?” Peter asked breathlessly, something cold running down his spine.

Darius’ eyes widened. “No, Peter! Don’t ever think that. Our dark god loves all of his creatures equally, us included. That’s why he’s so against issuing orders. He doesn’t like making us do things against our will. He probably doesn’t want to cause any more discomfort to anyone else over this, that’s all.”

Darius crouched down in front of Peter, his hands finding his shoulders and squeezing them reassuringly. “Cast those thoughts out of your mind, little brother,” he continued, a wry smile curling his lips. “Satan loves you very much, I’m sure.”

Peter blew out a gust of a sigh, his shoulders relaxing under his brother’s hold. “Alright.”

He stepped out of Darius’s grip, turning toward the bookshelves behind him and padding over to the section housing books about plants. It took some time to find the specific herb subject he wanted, and by the time he slid the thick tome off the shelf, Agnes was dropping off Juniper at the doorway.

As he turned around, Peter caught his eldest sister giving the new sibling a kiss on the temple, before turning away with a flourish and teleporting off in a wispy haze of smoke. 

Juniper tiredly leaned against the doorframe, her thin fingers weakly clutching the embellished wood as she stared out into the room, her chin tilted in a way that meant she was listening to the demons inside and trying to parse their identities by sound alone. With how much time she’d been spending with Peter’s siblings, she’d gotten pretty good at it, so Peter wasn’t surprised when she called out his name first.

“Right here,” he answered, holding his book close as he walked over to her. He took the hand already reaching for him, and was secretly happy with the softness he could feel in her palm. Although she was still thin, she was steadily gaining pounds as the weeks went on. The baths really were helping.

Juniper’s pale eyes looked out at the bookshelves behind Darius, where the teen was still standing in the middle of the room and eyeing them with an expression Peter couldn’t place.

“And…Darius?” Juniper asked, the name as hesitant as Peter’s had been in the beginning, where each letter sounded like it haltingly crept past her teeth, one by one.

“Yes,” Darius replied, turning towards her fully and taking a step forward. “I’m here.”

“I - haven’t seen much of you since- since the day I arrived,” Juniper observed softly, her chin lowering as she chewed on her bottom lip.

“I’ve been busy,” Darius said dismissively, looking off to the side so he didn’t have to meet Peter’s knowing gaze.

Oh yes, Peter thought. Busy towing Agnes upstairs for your secret excursions.  

“While you’re here,” Juniper said, the stiffness in her tone dispelling Peter’s thoughts. He craned his neck to see her furrowed brow, a deep frown pulling down the corners of her mouth. “I wanted to– I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I wanted to. Apologize. To you.”

“Apologize?” Darius said incredulously, and Peter turned to see the bewilderment on his face.

“Yes,” Juniper replied gruffly. “Apologize. For before. For how we met. I was… mean. I hurt you.”

Darius gave an indifferent wave, then seemed to realize she couldn’t see it, and his hand rubbed at the back of his neck as he muttered. “You didn’t really hurt me.”

“I threw fire at you,” Juniper recounted. “I made you fall. Multiple times. I said- I said terrible things to you. I’m sorry.”

Darius blinked at her, shock smoothing out his features. “ I’m the one who should be apologizing. I said far worse to you. I also assumed plenty of terrible things as well.”

Juniper only shook her head. “I called you mean,” she argued, “and you’re not.”

Darius chuckled. “Oh no, I’m plenty mean. Just ask Peter. He tells me I’m mean when I make him take a bath, or when I force him to sit through my Guard drills, or even–”

“You’re not mean,” Juniper insisted, the hand holding Peter’s squeezing in distress.

“Alright, alright.” Darius’ hands flew in front of him in surrender. “How about this: I’ll accept your apology, if you accept mine.”

Juniper went quiet, visibly thinking over the arrangement. Then, she gave a single nod. “Very well then. Apology accepted.”

Darius nodded too, a soft smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. “Apology accepted,” he echoed.

She slumped against the threshold, her hand falling away from the embellished wood as exhaustion sapped away her features. Peter stepped closer to her in alarm, but Darius was already closing the distance between them, scooping her up into his arms before she could collapse entirely.

A worried noise crawled out of Peter’s throat when his sister’s limp hand left his own, as Darius hoisted her up more comfortably against his broad chest.

“She’s just tired,” Darius soothed, shaking his head in dismay as Juniper went completely slack in his arms.

“She’s tired a lot,” Peter pointed out, “but she’s never collapsed like that.”

“She’s been doing too much. I’ve heard about the wall walking games you all have been playing while I’m away. It takes more than a nap to recover from that kind of magic use. And her energy’s already being taxed by the holy water still swimming through her body.”

Peter hurried after his brother as he stepped out of the room and strode towards the stairs that would take them to the second floor. “But it’s been days since she last played with our siblings.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Darius shot back, pausing at the foot of the ornate staircase to catch Peter’s eye. “She still needed to give herself time to rest from all that activity, more time than what she was allowing herself with the naps and her regular sleep. And from what I hear, she’s also been cutting down on her herb soaking more and more in favor of spending time with our brother and sisters. That certainly didn’t help with her energy levels.”

Peter stared at his unconscious sister in astonishment as Darius started up the steps.

“Why would she do that?” he asked. “She knows she needs those baths to heal. She- She could still die without them, right?”

Darius’ stride briefly faltered, but he kept his gaze forward as he stepped up onto the second floor landing, Peter close behind. “She seems to be favoring time with her new family over healing.”

Peter’s fists clenched at his sides as he trailed after his brother. Eventually they made it to his room, and he watched, feeling more unhappy than he could remember feeling in a long time, as Darius carefully deposited his unconscious sister onto his bed. She’d been gaining weight, but she still looked far too small in his brother’s arms, and under the covers Darius was currently tucking around her.

Abba had appointed Peter as her watcher. He was supposed to take care of her. Instead, he had let her wear herself out - and put her own life at risk - all so he and his siblings could play games with her. 

He shook his head at himself. Well, no more. Starting tomorrow, he was personally going to see to it that her herbal bath soaks lasted the appropriate amount of time. If he had to, he’d barricade the door so she wouldn’t try to leave early. Or perhaps he’d threaten to not let her hold his wooden bear the next time she woke up afraid. The ridges of that small animal seemed to calm her the quickest.

But he also didn’t want her to suffer any more than she already had, so maybe taking away the thing that brought her the most comfort wasn’t the best course of action. Peter huffed out a frustrated breath. Getting his sister to care more about her health was going to be difficult.

Darius seemed to read his mind, because he murmured down at him, “I’ll talk to Agnes. She’ll know how to keep Juniper in the baths,” as he walked by and ruffled Peter’s hair affectionately, before strolling out of the room without another glance back.

Peter watched him go, feeling a little better. Out of all his siblings, Agnes was the one most talented with bending others towards her will. No matter how stubborn Juniper might have been, she’d listen to their oldest sister, he was sure of it.

*

With most of his siblings out of the house due to magic studies, Agnes was the only one to accompany Juniper to the baths the next day. Peter stood vigil right outside the door, a large hourglass in his lap which marked the amount of time Juniper was meant to soak in her herbal concoction. Peter was supposed to call to his sisters when all of the sand had reached the bottom half of the glass, but there was a lot of sand inside, and the hourglass was as tall as his torso, so he knew it would be some time before his very important task came to fruition.

He passed the minutes crouched against the wall, listening to his eldest sister’s voice trickle in and out with lines from various songs, the tunes echoing strangely from within the tiled space. Juniper wasn’t joining in on any of the songs, and eventually Agnes broke off completely. She started up a murmured conversation that was too low and echoed for Peter to decipher, but he stiffened when he heard Juniper’s answering voice crack in a way that meant she was crying.

His head swiveled to the closed door, and he worried about what his sisters were talking about behind it. 

Then he jumped when a large hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned to see Darius settling down beside him.

“I’ve been sent to relieve you of your duties,” his brother said, already taking the hourglass out of Peter’s lap. “Abba wants to speak with you.”

Peter shot his brother a questioning look, but Darius had schooled his expression, and it didn’t seem that he would be giving anything away anytime soon.

“He’s expecting you in the garden,” Darius went on, nudging Peter to his feet with a hand on his back. He pushed Peter forward as soon as he was standing. “Go on, then. Don’t keep him waiting.”

Peter squinted at his brother over his shoulder, grumbling about having his very important task taken away from him, but he followed Darius’ orders all the same. He let his feet drag as he navigated his way through various hallways and corridors, until he found himself stepping out into the little garden area Abba still tended to on a daily basis. 

Even with how busy he’d become with his duties, Peter knew the older demon came here regularly to encourage life into the greenery. He and Juniper still came by often - she had yet to grow tired of feeling the leaves and petals, even after all this time - and none of the plants looked to be suffering.

He found Abba crouched in a far corner, his large body huddled over what Peter thought was an open plot of dirt. But as Peter crept across the ashy soil, he saw a new plant springing up at Abba’s feet. His father was whispering soft words down to it, his palms flat on the earth at the base of its stem, and Peter watched the plant dance its way into something larger, the arms of its stalk reaching and multiplying and thickening until they became branches, and the plant grew its way into a small tree that was only a little taller than Peter. 

Peter stared at it in awe as he stepped up to his father, his eyes trailing over the swirling bark, the little tufts of green that were popping out from the branches. And there, in between the green sprigs of life, he saw what looked to be blueberries forming. But… Peter tilted his head as he leaned up on his tiptoes to get a better look at them. 

They looked like berries, but upon closer inspection, he could see that the shape wasn’t right, and the color was too muted to be a proper blueberry. And then he sucked down a breath when he realized what he was looking at.

“It’s a juniper tree!” he exclaimed, rocking back on his heels as he looked over at his father.

Abba gave a single nod, a proud smile stretching out the lines of his face. “That’s right, little טללא.”

Peter bounced a few times from the excitement drumming through his veins. “Oh, Juniper’s going to love this! When are you going to show her?”

Abba straightened to his feet, briefly pausing to brush his hands against his robes to dispel the ash and dirt on them. “I won’t be showing her this,” he said quietly, meeting Peter’s eye. “You will.”

“Why?” Peter asked, his happy energy leaving in a rush.

“You know why,” Abba said, his large brown hand coming down to pet Peter’s head. “You were there when your sister requested I keep my distance from her. And that request hasn’t been rescinded. So you’ll need to be the one to show her this new addition to the garden.”

Although Peter loved showing his sister new things, something about Abba’s request didn’t sit right with him. Instead of the warm anticipation he usually felt about seeing Juniper’s reaction to a new texture or smell, he felt something cold and nameless wash over him, and he cast his eyes down to his feet.

“I don’t want to,” he mumbled.

“No?” Abba asked, his hand smoothing down some of the stray hairs sticking out from the top of Peter’s head. “From what I hear, she enjoys seeing new things that you show her, as opposed to someone else. She didn’t smile half as large from the ribbons and dolls Amira and Emmeline introduced her to, compared to when you led her around the drawing room with the embellished baseboards.”

Peter couldn’t fight the smile tugging at his lips at the memory. They’d spent hours in that room, and he’d watched his sister’s smile morph from something incredulous into a free, gleeful thing as she felt the ridges of the ornate carvings of the wood spanning across the space. 

That was another room they frequented on their treks through the estate. When Juniper was having a bad day - where she had a lost expression on her face and her thin fingers shook - Peter would take her there, and as she laid on her stomach and pressed her hands against the lines and curves of the baseboards, the tension in her shoulders would seep out, little by little.

“If you don’t want to show her this new tree,” Abba was saying, “I suppose I could ask Mylan to do it, or perhaps Emmeline, or even–”

Peter grabbed the hand on his head, tugging on Abba’s palm as his head jerked up to look at his father. “I can do it! None of them have been reading about juniper trees like I have. They wouldn’t know how to describe it properly.”

And that was true. Ever since Peter first found a book that displayed a rough sketch of a juniper tree, he’d been hunting down more and more tomes on the subject. With each new descriptive word he learned, he rattled off his findings to his sister, letting her fingertips brush across the page as he read out the annotations of the drawings there. 

Sometimes, when his sister woke up afraid and didn’t seem to know where she was, Peter would recount the words they’d gone over while her thumb swiped back and forth over whatever wooden animal was in her hands, and she’d drift off to Peter whispering about needlelike leaves on budding plants, and how that green spanned out into awls and whorls as the tree grew.

It was possible that even Abba wouldn’t be able to properly introduce Juniper to this new tree. Peter didn’t know how much his father knew about the plant. Maybe it was best that Peter be the one to show his sister the latest addition to the garden after all.

“I can do it,” Peter repeated, squeezing his father’s hand while Abba matched Peter’s serious expression with one of his own. “I’ll make sure to be very descriptive, so she can see it clearly.”

Abba inclined his head, a proud gleam in his eye. “Thank you, Peter. I know she’ll be able to see it just fine, with you there to show her.”

Peter smiled wide at that, warmed from head to toe at how sure his father sounded. Even though his sister’s pale eyes were still sightless, he knew she could see just as well as he could. She could distinguish between his carved animals by looking at them with her hands, and she could tell which sibling was in the room with her by watching them with her ears. 

And with Peter there to tell her about the colors and patterns and grooves of the things around them, Juniper could see just fine. So he knew as soon as her fingerprints brushed against the trunk of the small tree in front of him, she was going to see the tree she was named after, the tree Abba had brought to life just for her, and she was going to love it .

Chapter Text

Juniper got excited when Peter told her there was a new addition to the garden, and they went straight to that area the very next day. As Peter led her across the ashy ground and guided her hand to rest against the thin trunk of the tree, he watched his sister place her other palm against the swirling bark, and her lips pursed thoughtfully as Peter began to describe the tree for her.

“There are berries sprouting up between the spindly leaves,” he noted. “Follow the branch out to your left and you’ll see them.”

Juniper’s left hand danced along the winding limb branching out from the trunk, and she hummed a happy sound when her fingertips brushed over the first sharp collection of leaves, the plump berries gathered in between them.

“The berries are blue,” Peter went on, “but they’re not blueberries. I’m not sure if they’re edible. I’ll need to ask Abba about it.”

His sister paused, one of the berries held in between her thumb and forefinger, her other hand clasping around the thin branch below it. “What…kind of tree is this?” she whispered.

“I want you to guess first,” Peter said, bouncing over to her in anticipation. 

Juniper’s fingers left the berry then, her hand coming to meet the one still gripping the branch, and then her palms trailed back down to the trunk. She followed its entire shape, mapping out the curving branches, the needlelike leaves, the berries scattered throughout. Eventually she landed back at the trunk, and her fingers pressed into the lines of the bark. 

“It’s a juniper tree,” she breathed, and Peter didn’t understand why she looked so unhappy.

“It is,” he confirmed, tilting his head at the frown pulling down the corners of her mouth. “I thought you’d be glad to see it. Abba planted it just for you.”

“Why.”

Peter’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Why would he…” her hands fell away from the tree, and she stepped back, her palm reaching out for Peter. He took her hand immediately, feeling his stomach tighten at the stormy expression on her face. It made the lines of the scars around her eyes more pronounced, the pale ridges deepening and contorting her face into something dreadful.

“I want to see him,” Juniper growled, guiding Peter in front of her as she steered them back toward the entrance to the estate. “Take me to him. I want to speak with him.”

“I-I’m not sure if he’s home today,” Peter stammered, making sure his sister didn’t trip on the few stairs leading to the open doorway. “If he is here, he’ll be in his study.”

“Then take me there.”

Her tone left no room for argument, and so Peter obliged. He led her through various halls, their footsteps echoing out against the marbled floors of the larger rooms they cut through, and eventually they landed outside the locked door of Abba’s study. 

Peter glanced at the foreboding look that still hadn’t left Juniper’s face, and then he swallowed nervously as he raised a tentative hand to knock on the door. 

No one was meant to disturb Abba when he was in his study. No one was permitted to enter. Abba had never punished Peter or his siblings for anything, but Peter wondered what the consequences would be for doing this, all the same.

He heard the click of a lock, and then Abba was opening the door and looking down at them inquisitively. 

Juniper squeezed Peter’s hand, and then she raised her free arm to point at their father accusingly. 

“You,” she choked, her cloudy expression morphing into something pained. “You planted that tree. Tell me why.”

Abba grimaced. “I thought you’d like it. I’d heard you enjoyed the garden, and I wanted to add something for you. I can remove it. Tomorrow, I’ll–”

“ No, ” Juniper spat. “I don’t want you to remove that tree. I just - want to know - why –” she dropped the hand that had been pointing at Abba, and the fingers wrapped around Peter’s own began to shake. She was breathing heavily, as if they’d run all the way here, but they hadn’t. Peter had made sure to keep their pace slow. He didn’t want to tire out his sister.

“I planted the tree for you,” Abba said helplessly. 

Juniper shook her head. “No. No. There’s something you want for it. There’s. You want something from me.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“You’re trying to steal my trust,” she barreled on, her hand flying up to grip at her feathery hair. It was down today, and she grabbed up every free strand she could fit between her fingers before tugging in a way that had Peter wincing. “You’re trying to make me feel safe. You’re - trying to - trick me.”

“I want you to feel safe here, yes,” Abba carefully replied. “But there is no trick. I only planted that tree because I thought you would enjoy it.”

“You’re lying,” Juniper hissed, and Peter stiffened in surprise, because he hadn’t felt any trace of a lie in their father’s words. “You’re just like them. You’re just like all the others. Just– Stop pretending! Just tell me what you want! Cease these tricks at once!”

“Juniper,” Abba said softly, slowly, “who do you think I’m like?”

“You know who,” she said breathlessly. “You know.”

But Abba only shook his head, his umber eyes looking down at Juniper with an expression that had Peter’s throat tightening. “No, Juniper. I don’t know.”

“Stop! Lying!” Juniper shrieked, her hand flying away from Peter’s as she stumbled backwards. As soon as her back hit the wall, she was scrambling her way up, her hands clawing against the ornate wallpaper. 

“You’re just like them,” she went on, crawling higher and higher up the wall. “There was the first archbishop, and then his son, and then his son, on and on…” she hit the corner where ceiling met wall, and she huddled into that space until she was just a small, shaking shadow.

“The last one was just like you,” her trembling words made their way down to them, and Peter had no idea what to do, what to say, how he could calm her enough to come back to the floor. “A deep voice. Large hands. Tall. Encompassing. And he tricked me, just like you’re trying to trick me. I thought he was different. I thought he was nice. But I was wrong, and he- and he–”

Her sobs fell down to Peter’s feet, one after the other, and Peter hurried over to the wall, his hands uselessly looking for purchase as he tried to climb up after her. But he didn’t have any magic - he couldn’t wall walk or ceiling crawl - and he was stuck staring up at his sister and watching her head disappear behind her knees as her shoulders shook.

Abba stepped up behind Peter, his hand a comforting weight as it settled on top of Peter’s head. 

“ Why did you plant that tree?” Juniper whispered, her voice breaking apart as it traveled down to them.

“Because I want you to feel at home here,” Abba answered. “And I know your parents named you after that tree. And I know, based on the areas they visited with you, that they most likely showed you this tree at some point. And they probably had a very special story about why they chose your name, or why they liked that tree, and I wanted you to have something to remember them by. I want you to feel at home again. I want you to feel safe again. So I planted that tree for you.”

“Nothing makes sense here,” she despaired. “Nothing makes any sense.”

“Is it because everything is different now? Is it because everyone is nice to you?”

“I keep waiting for the trick.”

“Then you’ll be waiting the rest of your life.”

Juniper’s head snapped up, her wide, pale eyes staring out at the space behind Abba and Peter.

“You shouldn’t be taxing your abilities,” Abba gently chided. “I’ll go back into my study. Or, if you prefer, I’ll go to another area altogether. But I would like for you to come back down, after I leave. You’ve given Peter quite a scare.”

“I’m sorry Peter,” she warbled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. 

“It’s alright,” Peter said, feeling something in him loosen as the tension in the hall gradually dissipated. 

“I’ll leave you here,” Abba offered, already stepping away from Peter. “Just tell me how far you need me to be.”

“You can - take a few more steps back?”

Abba did, and then Juniper slowly made her way back down the wall, and Peter latched onto her arm as soon as she was at his side. She looked exhausted, her gaze empty as her eyes settled on her feet.

“Please don’t take away the tree,” she whispered.

“I won’t,” Abba promised.

“I can’t– I still can’t be near you. I might - hurt you - again. You make me so afraid.”

A pained sound came from Abba’s throat. “It must have been terrifying for you— all those years stuck upstairs, with a new generation of torturers over and over. It’s alright that you don’t trust me. I don’t expect you to.”

“I want to…try and - talk to you. Again.”

“Of course,” Abba said easily. “Whenever you want. I can even have a calling charm made, so you don’t have to seek me out next time.”

Juniper nodded, her eyes still on the floor. “And I want Peter to be there too.”

Peter squeezed her arm briefly. “Wherever you go, I go. We watch each other, remember?”

Something warm and bright blew through him from the smile that tugged at her lips.

“Whatever you want,” Abba said softly. “All you have to do is say, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Abba always gives us what we want,” Peter agreed. 

Juniper nodded again, her free hand coming up to scrub tiredly at her face. “Alright.”

“Peter, why don’t you take her to one of the lounging rooms to rest?” Abba suggested. “I can have one of your siblings bring your toys there for you.”

Peter grinned at his father, then turned Juniper towards the right hall. “Thank you Abba.”

Abba returned the smile, then stepped back into his study. 

It was Agnes who appeared in the lounge, just as Juniper’s breaths were evening out from her place atop a pile of pillows on the floor. Peter’s eldest sister crept into the room, catching his eye with a smile as she settled in front of him and carefully placed a handful of carved animals at his feet. She’d brought the bear and the goat, and the sight of those two toys had Peter’s smile widening. 

He immediately started lining up his animals in front of him, expecting Agnes to leave and go embroider some more furniture, or perhaps plan another secret upstairs visit with Darius. But instead, she made herself comfortable on one of the larger floor cushions, pulled a scroll of paper and an enchanted quill out of her skirts, and then proceeded to thoughtfully scrawl onto the parchment. 

Eventually Peter’s curiosity had him leaving his toys, and he shuffled over to his eldest sister, peeking over her shoulder to look at the markings on her page. Thanks to the magic in the quill, she didn’t need an inkwell. The metal tip bled of its own free will.

“What are you writing?” Peter inquired, keeping his voice soft so as not to disturb Juniper.

“I’m working on a spell,” Agnes quietly replied, also considerate of their slumbering sibling.

“Is it the same spell you’ve been sneaking upstairs to do research for?”

His sister hummed a soft confirmation.

Peter fell silent as he became entranced by the symbols and swirling lines gradually populating the parchment. He didn’t know what any of it meant, or how the markings would eventually create a spell. But he gathered that they were more likely to be ponderings than drafts, as Agnes crossed out whole groups of symbols here and there as she worked. The sharp scratch of the quill against the parchment had Peter relaxing into the cushion beside her. 

She intermittently murmured half-thoughts to herself as she continued to draw out her spell, and the sound of her voice, the metal tip of the quill gliding across the parchment, and Juniper’s deep breaths behind them lulled Peter into a doze.

He woke to muffled giggling, and Peter felt briefly disoriented when he opened his eyes and found himself in his bed, Juniper across from him and sound asleep. Peter rolled over to see the source of the gleeful sounds behind him, and found Amira and Emmeline there, peeking at him over the edge of his bed.

“Juniper’s resting,” he grouched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Amira’s head rose high enough for him to see her impish smile. “Darius sent us to wake her.”

Emmeline’s head popped up to join her conspirator. “He said he didn’t want her sleep schedule to get turned upside down.”

Peter huffed, then burrowed under the covers with a pout.

“Darius doesn’t want your sleep schedule to get turned upside down either,” Amira said, and that was the only warning Peter got before his blankets were abruptly yanked away, and he whined when the lanterns in his room brightened. 

Behind him, Juniper startled awake, her hands grabbing Peter as she hissed out at the room. Then she leapt up onto the ceiling, and Peter shut his eyes at the swooping, dizzying sensation that rushed through him as his sister adjusted their center of gravity.

“We’re in my room,” Peter reminded her, his arms wrapping around her neck as he clung to her, glancing worriedly at the distance between their location and his bed. “Amira and Emmeline are here too. They’re the ones who rudely woke us up,” he pointedly raised his voice at the end, sending a glare up at his sisters, who didn’t look nearly as guilty as they should have.

“Darius told us to do it,” Amira said, shrugging nonchalantly. 

Emmeline nodded, her shoulders rising sheepishly as she caught the lost look on Juniper’s face. “He didn’t tell us how exactly to wake you, though.”

“You’re both terrible,” Peter griped, before burrowing his face into his sister’s neck with a huff.

Her arms tightened around him automatically, and Peter listened as her sharp, shallow breaths began to deepen, and the tension in her body seeped out in increments.

“We’re sorry for scaring you, Juni,” Amira said softly, Emmeline echoing the apology just as earnestly.

Juniper sighed out a slow breath, and the remaining stiffness in her limbs vanished all at once. She squeezed Peter to her, and then they were falling up, and then falling down as the magic of the ceiling crawl dissipated and gravity reached for them. They landed on Peter’s bed with a couple bounces, and their sisters didn’t even wait for them to settle before they were clambering up onto the mattress and talking over each other to tell Juniper about the magic they’d been learning.

Peter gave a half-hearted grumble as he pressed close to his sister, but his sour mood lightened as Juniper began to run idle fingers through his hair.

He noticed Amira and Emmeline getting comfortable on either side of Juniper, and their chatter didn’t pause or slow down as they each took strands of their sister’s dark hair and began to braid it. Peter barely understood half of what they were saying - they were learning healing magic, but he knew nothing about the energy sensing and wound tending they spoke of - so he let their loud, excited voices wash over him. 

Juniper was keeping up with the conversation just fine on her own, in any case. With the rasp of her voice adding to the drone around him, Peter found himself content to simply sit and absorb the warmth of his sister’s heat, the warmth of their sisters on either side.

That easy, comforting warmth clung pleasantly to the estate as the months passed. Juniper soaked in her herbal baths for the appropriate amount of time, and her spindly limbs filled out a little more each week. She even grew an inch - finally surpassing Mylan as his own growth spurt settled - and then she gained another, which left her uncomfortably trying to fit into Peter’s bed during the days that followed. 

Eventually she relented to retiring to the larger bed in the room that had been originally set up for her a few doors down the hall, but she only slept there on the condition that Peter move into the room with her. Peter was more than happy to oblige - he’d become accustomed to her weight and body heat, and the idea of sleeping without that comfort didn’t sit well with him - and so he populated the empty shelves of her room with his books and toys. 

The rest of the shelves and drawers quickly filled up with new dresses and skirts as their sisters sewed and crafted more and more clothes for Juniper to either wear or grow into. More clothes than she needed, really. But she didn’t seem to mind, simply sitting with a soft smile as Amira, Emmeline, and Further surrounded her and had her feel the latest fabrics they’d found and asked her which ribbon she’d like braided into her hair. 

The months passed, Juniper smiled more than she frowned, and she even stopped frowning in her sleep. The scars around her eyes remained pale, jagged, and prominent, and her sight didn’t return to her, but the amount of holy water plaguing her body became less all the same. 

On a bad day, when she called for Peter in a hesitant way - where each letter crept past her teeth with uncertainty - and Peter took her hand and worried while she cried, he was shocked to see the tears behaving as normal tears. Her skin didn’t sizzle or smoke from them. They were just tears, and that fact alone was enough to abruptly pull Juniper from whatever thoughts she’d gotten lost in.

The strange, halting way in which she spoke smoothed out, but not completely. Some days it was as if she hadn’t made any progress at all, and on those days Peter and his siblings would have to coax her down from the ceiling while she huddled in a corner and shook. But those days were barely a glimpse of time, in comparison to the weeks and months filled with her smiles and laughter. 

A contented peace fell upon the estate as time continued to pass. Mylan, Further, Emmeline, and Amira were away more often than not– caught up with magic studies or simply running around with other demons their age, causing mischief. Peter was still stuck on the grounds, his power staying stubbornly absent, Juniper his main companion as Darius and Agnes continued their secret upstairs visits.

Every now and then, Peter would catch Agnes scrawling onto a fresh scroll of paper, writing more strange symbols as she worked on whatever spell she’d become obsessed with. She always hedged when Peter asked about it, expertly finding ways to divert Peter’s attention. He’d only realize he hadn’t gotten any straight answers from her after she’d left the room. 

But he was having fun with Juniper all to himself, and so thoughts of whatever strange magic his eldest sister was concocting fell away from his mind. 

Darius had started to bring home booklets and scrolls which outlined the rituals for his naming ceremony, once he reached the prime age of 2,000. That date was still over 70 years away, but all young adults had the ceremonies added to their curriculum when they reached their 1900’s; papers and spellwork to study in their own time when they were at home, and so Darius stopped disappearing upstairs with Agnes as often as he tucked himself away in his room and poured over the incantations he’d be expected to recite in less than a century.

The naming ceremony was a very special affair for any household, and that was especially true at Abba’s estate. Being the eldest sibling, Darius would be the first child to be witnessed as he formally entered adulthood with a celebration that had been practiced since the beginning of demonkind. 

Peter and his siblings would get to watch him perform intricate spells which called forth flames of many colors and shapes, his arms and hands flowing through delicate movements that signified growth and longevity, his feet carrying him in a display of strength and grace. He would close the ritual by reciting old words from a dying-out language, strong spells that would grant him luck in whatever endeavors he decided to take on in his adult life.

And then, at the end of the ceremony, Abba would reveal to Darius his full name– the name of the family he came from, before he arrived at Abba’s doorstep. This was the most precious part of the ceremony, and one all young demons looked forward to. 

A name was a very powerful thing, especially in the hands of humans. If a mortal knew a demon’s full name and lineage, they could use this information to summon that demon on the spot. And while this was initially a convenience for demons who regularly worked with humans, it had started to become a thing that endangered one’s life. With priests popping up and religion bleeding out across the world, people had begun to use a demon’s name for the wrong reasons, summoning the creatures into traps which ended in painful torture, or worse, full-blown exorcisms. 

In the beginning, the naming ceremonies had been an optional embellishment, with the age of its occurrence varying from early to late teens. But when those upstairs tragedies began, they became a mandatory practice for each and every household. Only adult demons were allowed to know their full name, and were trusted with the responsibility of protecting that name, and only sharing it with trusted parties. Teenage demons on the cusp of adulthood looked forward to the day they were given the knowledge of their family title, but they also understood the weight of that knowledge intimately. Their parents instilled its importance on the day of the naming ceremony.

While Darius began to make the preparations for the day of his naming, Agnes volunteered to tutor Juniper on all things magic. Abba had still been hesitant to bring a new demon to the estate to teach Juniper the magic and spells she’d missed while she was being held captive upstairs, and Agnes seemed happy enough to step up and take on the role of Juniper’s tutor. 

Peter wondered if she made this choice on account of all the free time she now had - as her personal upstairs chaperone was indisposed - but he didn’t dare voice these questions out loud. Abba was home more often than not at that point, and Peter had promised not to tell anyone about his eldest siblings’ ventures to the mortal world. And he couldn’t risk his father overhearing him talking about it, so he kept quiet, happy enough to sit in the room with his sisters and watch Agnes help Juniper trace symbols for small spells into the dirt floor of their enchantment room.

Juniper’s progress on magic was slow-going– her blindness inhibiting her understanding of the more complicated spells. There were some things she’d never be able to do because of it, such as teleportation, or object manipulation. It simply wasn’t safe for her to so much as try. 

Anyone could see that her physical limits grated on her in this regard, and Agnes suggested they take a break from magic studies the next week, allowing Juniper time to cool down as she and Peter wandered around the estate. 

Peter caught Darius and Agnes creeping down one of the halls they passed - no doubt on their way to Abba’s personal portal for another secret upstairs visit - and his eyes lingered on their disappearing forms for a moment before he turned his attention back to Juniper, who was fiddling with the calling charm Abba had given her.

It was a dainty thing: a small red stone dangling from a thin chain of silver. It was a basic charm, one that would let Abba hear her calling for him, but wouldn’t spark an instant teleport. The simple magic allowed multiple uses from the charm, but Juniper had yet to use it even once, and Abba had given it to her a week after their last terrifying conversation. 

Months had passed since that event, and while Juniper’s fingers played with the gem of the charm throughout each day, she never once called on their father for another conversation.

Juniper’s steps were sure as she led Peter through the estate, their regular treks through the winding halls allowing her to navigate her way across the property with ease. Peter was happy to trail after her, their hands loosely linked together, and he recognized where she was taking them after they turned the next hall. 

They stepped out onto the garden, and Juniper immediately went over to her tree. It was much larger than it had been when Abba first planted it; the months of the older demon tending to it had encouraged its growth, and it now towered over everything in the space. Its winding branches reached out in all directions, the young, needlelike leaves now fully sprouted into limber, vibrant awls, the whorls of green only broken up by the pale blue berries grouped together here and there.

Juniper settled herself at the base of the tree, and Peter sat down beside her when she tugged on his hand. As her tree grew throughout the months, her smile at seeing it would get larger and larger, her hands spreading out in delight as she tracked the expansion of the trunk with her fingers. But now, as she leaned back against staggering lines of bark, she looked anything but happy.

Peter knew the reason for her glum mood, so he said, “You don’t have to learn every spell to be a good magic user, you know.”

His sister only scoffed. “But I can barely grasp the concept of the simple ones! How am I ever going to catch up with other demons my age? I’m already behind 500 years, and this certainly doesn’t help.” She waved a hand to indicate the scars on her face, her pale, angry eyes.

“Well, I’m behind my studies by 200 years at this point,” Peter griped back. “Do you think that makes me less than?”

“Of course not,” Juniper shook her head, her arm pressing up against his as she briefly leaned on him. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t think…”

“It’s alright,” Peter mumbled. “Sometimes even I forget about my power. I forget I haven’t stepped into it yet. I’ve been like this for so long, it feels normal for me now. Sometimes I wonder if that means I’ll be like this forever.”

“You won’t,” Juniper whispered fervently. “You’re a demon. And all demons step into their power, eventually.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Peter said spitefully, drawing up his knees so he could wrap his arms around them. “It doesn’t have to bother me. Because if being blind won’t stop you from becoming the greatest magic user in Hell, then not having any magic at all won’t stop me from being the best demon.”

“I’ve only picked my magic studies back up for a week, ” Juniper chuckled. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, saying I’ll be the best magic user.” She leaned over to rest her head on top of his. “But you are right about one thing: you are the best demon.”

Something warm and bright blew through Peter’s chest at the praise. It was so close to what he really wanted her to say; so close to her admitting that he was her favorite brother. It made the last tendrils of bitterness seep out of him at once.

“Let’s do something fun,” Juniper suggested. “Let’s have- Let’s have Mammon show us how exactly he makes all of these plants grow.”

Peter ducked out from beneath her so he could see her face. She had a small smile, but it was stiff, and there was a worried line running through the scarring on her forehead. “Are you sure, Juni?”

She nodded, her fingers fiddling with the gem of her charm. “You’ll be here. So- So it will be fine.”

“But if you’re not ready to see him again…”

Her head turned away from him. “I’ll never be ready,” she muttered.

“You don’t have to be. You never have to be. Abba always does what we want.”

She shut her eyes tightly. “What I want,” she breathed, the gem between her fingers taking on a faint glow as she activated the magic of the charm, “is to be whole again.”

Chapter Text

Peter didn’t know what she meant by that, but then a faint breeze blew through the garden, rustling the leaves of the plants and dislodging a few berries from the tree above them, and then Abba was there, stepping out of the smoke of his teleport. He took one measured look at both of them, then sat himself down, keeping the distance between him and Juniper longer than arm’s length.

“Hi Abba,” Peter greeted automatically. 

“Hello Peter,” Abba answered warmly. His eyes landed on Peter’s sister, his tone turning careful as he added, “Hello, Juniper.”

“Hello,” she uttered, her chin turning down, her shoulders rising up to her pointed ears. “Will you– The plants– Will you show us how- how you care for the plants?”

Abba paused, then a warm smile stretched out the lines of his face. “I’d love to.” 

He rose to his knees, then shuffled over to the tree behind them. “Why don’t you both settle yourselves on the other side of the tree?” he suggested, glancing over at Peter and his sister as he placed his palms against the ashy earth at the base of the tree.

Peter did as instructed, but Juniper hesitated for a few breaths, before eventually crawling over to join Peter on the other side of the tree.

“Put your hands against the bark,” Abba directed, and Peter and Juniper pressed their palms beside each other, over the ridged lines of the tree. “Close your eyes, Peter,” Abba added, and Peter shut his eyes, excitement drumming through him. He didn’t get to participate in any kind of magic very often, and he couldn’t wait to see what was about to happen.

“Alright,” Abba breathed, mostly to himself. “I’m going to start funneling some growing magic into the roots of the tree. Peter, it may be hard to detect, but you should sense a change when the magic takes. Juniper, you should be able to feel what’s happening a little better. Are you both ready?”

Peter’s head bobbed on an enthusiastic nod. He chirped: “Yes, Abba!” while Juniper quietly gave her own assent.

Their father drew in a deep breath, and then silence spread across the garden. Peter noticed he was bouncing in place, and forced himself to be still. He didn’t want to risk missing the magic.

An entire minute passed where nothing seemed to happen, and then Peter gasped as he felt the bark beneath his hands begin to buzz with a faint energy. It was almost as if there was a hum coming from deep inside the tree, the sound so strong it caused the entire trunk to vibrate with it. But if there was a noise causing this, Peter couldn’t hear it. All was quiet in the garden, save for Abba’s slow breaths. Peter noticed that Juniper was holding her breath along with him.

“Do you feel it?” Abba whispered.

“I do!” Peter answered, marveling at the steady vibrations beneath his fingers.

“And you, Juniper?” Abba inquired.

Peter turned to his sister to see her brow creased in concentration. “It’s…strange,” she said softly. “I can feel– Well, it’s hard to describe.” She gave a breathless laugh. “There’s a - warmth here. Something thrumming and alive, like a delighted little flame.”

“You’re feeling the tree’s life force,” Abba explained. “The song of its soul.”

“Its soul?” Peter asked in confusion.

“All living things have some approximation of a soul,” Abba said. “Even plants. And if you can find that soul, you can nurture it with your magic. This is how I make the garden grow. This is how I keep the plants healthy– by nurturing their souls.”

A look of wonder smoothed out the creases on Juniper’s face. “I’ve never heard of such magic.”

“It’s nearly impossible to master,” Abba murmured. “It takes an attention to detail most demons simply aren’t capable of. Their magic isn’t strong enough to sense out delicate things like this.”

“But you’re no ordinary demon,” Juniper muttered. 

“No. My past humanity gives me an advantage.”

“Is it taxing? To do this each day, to- to keep all of these plants healthy?”

“It was in the beginning,” Abba admitted. “But magic is like a muscle. If you stretch and train it, it will get stronger. I’m sure you’ve experienced this yourself, what with how skilled you are at wall walking and ceiling crawling.”

Juniper’s hands slid away from the tree, her expression troubled as she leaned forward to rest her forehead against its bark. Peter pressed up against her worriedly, his own hands falling away from the tree to wrap around her middle. 

She was getting that lost expression again; the one that preceded one of her fits. He didn’t want to risk her scrambling up the walls here. They were outside, and if she made it to the roof, she could become disoriented and hurt herself.

“I wasn’t very good at those things, in the beginning,” she whispered, her pale eyes closing. As she’d been healing, the glow of her scars and eyes had gotten so faint it was almost unnoticeable. But with her dark hair falling over that marred skin, Peter could detect a faint light shining through those feathery curtains. It made her look like an entirely new creature altogether.

“I just wanted to get away from them,” she went on, her voice turning breathless. “And I wanted to keep the other children safe. And so- so I taught myself how to cling to walls for longer, and ceilings too. And eventually I was able to bring some children up there with me, out of reach of those- those monsters. But never all of them. I could never - keep all of them - safe.”

Her hands came up to cling to Peter, just as tightly as he was clinging to her. “I couldn’t see. I couldn’t– My world went dark early on. I could only - hear what they were doing. I could only - hear them - die - one by one. And then. It was only me.”

Her forehead rubbed against the bark of the tree as she slowly shook her head, her lower lip trembling. “But I wasn’t even sure who me was. They treated me like– They called me all sorts of things. Beast. Creature. Animal. And I acted like those things, too. I bit and scratched until they made it so I couldn’t do those things. My mouth was covered. My hands bound. I don’t know - how long it was– how many years - where I couldn’t. Speak. At all.”

She drew in a staggering breath that rattled Peter along with her. “I couldn’t say ‘no.’ I couldn’t - say ‘no’ - and they–”

A tremble ran through her whole body, and Peter shuddered with it. He was already holding her as tight as he could, but he gripped her dress until his knuckles hurt. He had no idea what to say. He had no idea what to do. He wished his Abba would come over and help, but when he looked to his father, the man was still seated at the other end of the tree, his entire body as stiff as a statue.

“The last one was the worst,” Juniper whispered. “Because he pretended to be kind. And then, it turned out he wasn’t kind at all. And I could speak then - because he took away my restraints - but then it didn’t matter. I said ‘no’ and it didn’t matter.”

“They don’t have the ancient laws that we have,” Abba said, his voice so quiet Peter barely caught it. “They don’t have the same repercussions.”

Juniper curled over Peter, her face dropping down to bury into his hair. He felt more than heard her next words, her lips moving almost soundlessly against the top of his head.

What if it happens again?

There was a shuffling sound as Abba moved towards them, something fierce in his expression, but he didn’t go far. He stopped more than an arm’s reach away, his brown hands curled into fists in his lap.

“It won’t, ” he growled. “It will never happen again. I will never let you go through something like that again.”

“You’re not lying,” she said wetly, her voice muffled by Peter’s hair. “But– Why can’t I believe you?”

“Your trust has been broken,” Abba answered, something resigned in his rumbling tone. 

Juniper sniffled. “Not only my trust,” she despaired. “ All of me is broken. I am unrecognizable to my own self, now.”

“You’re not broken ,” Peter hissed, a sudden anger heating his words. “You’ve just– It’s like the tree, isn’t it? You just need to hear your soul song. You’re too far away to hear it right now. You keep going away, Juni. You need to come back and listen .”

He wondered where she went, when her expression became lost and a limpness overtook her, as if her soul had ventured outside her body. Hearing her recount her time upstairs, Peter was starting to get an idea of where that place was, of where and when she was traveling to whenever her eyes became vacant. He didn’t want her to go there again, not if he could help it.

“I can’t,” Juniper sobbed. “It’s too loud. ”

Peter surged upwards, slamming their foreheads together so hard he gave a pained grunt. But it seemed to do the trick, because his sister was staring down at him with wide eyes when he looked at her, lips parted in shock. 

“What do you hear now?” he demanded. 

“I-I hear you,” she breathed. And then she blinked, her head tilting over to where Abba was still seated. “I hear you, too.”

“Take a breath, Juniper,” Abba gently said. 

She did, though the movement was shaky.

“There you are,” their father murmured. “You’re here too.”

Juniper froze, shock smoothing out her features. Slowly, she unwound one arm from around Peter, her hand tentatively reaching out towards Abba. 

Abba’s umber eyes widened in surprise, but he reached out his own hand, leaning forward until his fingertips could brush against her open palm. 

She jerked back, but then her hand ventured forward again as her mouth straightened into a determined line, her fingers making contact with Abba’s own. She didn’t move forward after that; she kept her arm outstretched, the tips of her fingers resting against their father’s. 

“Peter,” she whispered, “what does he look like?”

Peter turned to look at Abba properly. He’d been seeing this demon almost every day of his life, but it was hard to find the words to describe him to someone who had never laid eyes on him. He began with the basics.

“He has big, round ears,” Peter said. “Very large, in proportion to his head.” Juniper and Abba snorted, and then they froze, carefully considering each other. 

Peter went on: “His eyebrows are thick. They’re dark brown, darker than the hair on his head. He has lines and wrinkles on his face. His eyes are umber, like a cinnamon stick, although not as red. His skin is brown, like allspice. And his hands and fingers have wrinkles in them.”

Juniper’s fingers slid around Abba’s hand until she could carefully place them against the lined ridges of his fingertips. She breathed out a laugh. 

“You don’t look like them at all.”

“Like who?” Peter asked.

“The priests,” she muttered, her fingers continuing to trail along Abba’s hand. Their father scooted a few inches closer, opening his palm up for her to feel the dips and ridges there. “I only saw the first one, but- but the other children described the rest, when they spoke to me. When we were alone. And- And even though the last child died before the next generation of priests started, I don’t think the resemblance changed all that much.”

Peter wanted to ask her what the priests looked like, but he worried that would send her back to the place she’d been trapped in before. And she was calm now, was touching Abba without hissing or trying to bite him, and Peter didn’t want to disrupt that.

Eventually, she drew her hand away from their father, her arm winding back around Peter. “Thank you for the tree,” she said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Abba said warmly, his hand falling down to his lap. 

“Can you- Can we speak again?”

“Of course. Whenever you want. Just use your charm, and I’ll come to you.”

“Thank you,” she said again, and Peter wasn’t sure what exactly she was thanking him for. But Abba seemed to know, because his expression softened into something raw and pained.

“Of course.”

Juniper shakily got to her feet, Peter rising with her and staying close, his arms still clung tight around her middle. Abba stood too, and they all regarded each other for a quiet moment that could have been considered peaceful. 

But then a distant scream blew through the open door leading back into the estate, and their heads all snapped in that direction as Darius’ voice cried out for Abba over and over, desperation cracking the words as the sounds scrambled their way into the garden.

Abba sprung into action, rushing through the door and towards his eldest son. Peter followed after him, his hand finding Juniper’s as he led her down various hallways and corridors. He kept stumbling, and he lost track of Abba in no time at all, but Juniper’s footing was sure. She gathered him up into her arms and continued to dash through the estate, Darius’ cries getting closer and closer with each bounding step.

They rounded another corner, and Abba was there, holding onto Darius’ hands as their brother fell to his knees. 

“ Papa, ” Darius was weeping, expression fractured as he squinted up at their father through his tears. The sight had Peter’s stomach dropping, and then his brother’s next words turned his blood cold. 

“Agnes is gone.”

“Tell me what happened,” Abba demanded, crouching down to meet his eldest son’s eye.

Darius’ throat clicked as he swallowed, his broad shoulders shaking on a muffled sob. “We went upstairs - I’m sorry, I know it’s forbidden - But she wanted to go up there, to- to do research–”

“ Darius, ” Abba quickly cut in, his hands flying away from Darius’ hands to grip his shoulders. “I don’t care about that. I only need you to tell me what happened, right before you came here calling for me.”

His son’s breath hitched, but he nodded. “We were on our way back to the portal. We got intercepted by some priests. We ran, but- but they had spells, spells I’ve never encountered before. They shot some sort of light at us, and Agnes took the blow. She- She pushed me through the portal, but she didn’t come after me. And- And when I tried to go back, the portal wouldn’t work. I don’t know if she destroyed it, or if they did, or–”

“What town,” Abba urged, shaking Darius’ shoulders. “What town was the portal set up in?”

Darius rattled off an answer, his voice shaking so hard Peter could barely understand what he was saying. But Abba seemed to know, because he released Peter’s brother and stood in a rush, his palms coming together in front of him and calling forth a small flame.

“Go fetch the healers,” he ordered Darius, spreading his palms out, effectively slicing the flame in two. He continued to move his arms around him in an arc, and the flames multiplied, following the trail of his hands. As they crackled and danced in the air, they formed symbols, and the energy in the hall began to hum. 

Juniper shuffled backwards as a foreign breeze blew through from behind, ruffling both her and Peter’s clothes before traveling to Abba. It wound its way around him in a whistling coil, whipping his robes this way and that.

Darius shakily got to his feet, stepping away from the winds and growing flames surrounding their father.

“I’m bringing her home,” Abba vowed, and then the flames surrounding him burst in an explosion of heat and air, engulfing the demon entirely. There was a screech of wind as all the fire and embers shrank in a swirling rush, and then Abba was gone. 

“He must have teleported directly upstairs,” Juniper breathed, something awestruck in her voice. “Even with his elite status, a teleport like that takes a lot of energy.”

Darius stumbled past them, his uneven steps gaining her attention.

“Darius,” she started, adjusting Peter on her hip before reaching out a hand towards their brother.

But her fingers only met open air, as Darius teleported in a haze of smoke without so much as acknowledging them.

Juniper let her hand fall, and then she carefully lowered Peter to the ground. He gripped her hand as soon as his feet hit the floor - worried she would leave - but she didn’t seem interested in going anywhere at the moment. Her fingers squeezed his, and they both stared wide-eyed around the empty hall.

Peter couldn’t help but wonder what state Agnes might have been in. With how rushed Darius had been, the priests couldn’t have had her for more than a handful of minutes. Surely not too much damage could happen in that time frame? And with Abba on their trail, he’d get to her before any lasting harm could be done. 

But Peter’s mind kept turning toward his first parents, and the circumstances in which they’d died. He kept thinking of the violence they endured, their bodies so marred they couldn’t even scream at the end. And Peter found himself looking up at his sister, at her pale scars and unseeing eyes. 

It took time for damage like that to happen. Agnes wasn’t in any mortal peril, not with Abba on his way to rescue her. 

Then again, the harm that had been done to his parents, and to Juniper, and to all the other children who had been held captive with her… all of it had been done in the name of progress. The humans had used demons as test subjects to advance their own terrible magic. How far had their skills grown in the time since Peter’s parents died? Since Juniper was captured?

How much time did Agnes have?

His other hand came up and clung to Juniper’s skirts of its own accord, and they both remained frozen in the hall until Amira and Emmeline’s excited chatter made their way to them, as the rest of their siblings returned from their latest magic lessons. 

Darius was nowhere to be seen - presumably prepping the herb room with the healers - and so Peter and Juniper were the only ones available to inform their siblings of the events that had transpired while they were away. 

A hush fell over the family after they had finished recounting the brief interaction they had witnessed between Abba and Darius. There was no way of knowing when their father would return - and Mylan and Further had spells they could have been practicing in the meantime, and Amira and Emmeline had various sewing projects as well - but no one seemed to be in a rush to leave the huddle of siblings gathered in the hall. 

Eventually, Juniper indicated the spot where Abba had teleported from, saying how it would be easiest for him to return if he followed the magical signature from his departure. And so all of the siblings settled themselves along the walls and on the floor, not speaking to each other, but all leaning on or gripping everyone in some way.

Darius found them in a trembling tangle of hands and arms, and he joined the mess of them without a word, one hand burying itself into Peter’s hair, the other reaching out and embracing as many siblings as he could fit under one arm. 

A day passed like that, and then another. The floor was unforgivably stiff and hard, but no one dared leave to get pillows or blankets, for fear they would miss Abba’s return. Peter and Juniper slept in bursts, unable to enter a deep slumber due to the uncomfortable floor, or perhaps nerves– Peter couldn’t be certain. 

His eyes were burning at the beginning of the third day, and Juniper was slumped heavily against him. Peter wasn’t sure how much longer they could go without sleeping, and he blearily realized Juniper had missed her daily soaks twice now, and he worried what they were going to do if Abba didn’t get back home soon, because Juniper still needed those soaks to be well–

But then a harsh wind blew through the hall, and everyone skittered away from the burst of fire that sprang forth as Abba teleported back at the exact same spot he’d left in, and Peter’s thoughts were wiped clean as he sprang to his feet with the rest of his siblings.

Everyone was talking over each other, asking questions and making worried comments, and Peter’s hand found Juniper’s as he shuffled around to Abba’s front, to see Agnes gathered in his arms, her face hidden as it was pressed against his chest. 

Abba ignored everyone’s chatter as he strode forward, and Peter noticed how his eldest sister was twitching in his arms, her hands gripping and releasing the fabric of his robes intermittently, her legs kicking out every now and then, as if she were in pain. But Peter could see no visible wound.

“Did you get the healers?” Abba asked Darius, picking up his pace.

“Yes,” Darius answered, striding alongside him. “They’re ready for you in the herb room.”

At the sound of Darius’ voice, Agnes jerked her head out toward her brother, and all of Peter’s siblings fell silent when they saw her face. 

Her lips were badly burned, the tissue blistered and pale. The wound spread out across her cheeks and chin– white, angry lines that were eerily similar in shade to the scars around Juniper’s eyes. 

Holy water. 

Peter watched with mounting horror as terrible, breathless squeaks escaped from Agnes’ ruined mouth, and he felt a nameless terror sweep through him as he recalled his Abba’s words–

…by the time their bodies finally collapsed into a pile of ash and flame, Peter’s parents were unrecognizable. Their throats had lost the ability to scream. There simply wasn’t enough left to allow for any sound to form–

And there his sister was, unable to speak, unable to make any sound, save for those awful, airy noises. But she was trying to say something, her arm shooting out to grip onto Darius’ sleeve, her eyes squinted in anguish and fury as her mouth moved soundlessly.

Promise me, Peter caught at the end, and he saw his brother give a jerk of the head, his jaw clenching as tears spilled from his eyes.

And then Abba’s hand was guiding Agnes’ face back towards his chest, blocking her wounds from Peter and his siblings, and the hand on Darius’ sleeve disappeared into misty smoke as their father teleported them both out of the hall in the next moment.

Everyone stood silent and frozen, and Peter noticed a minute trembling in the hand holding his own, and he looked up at Juniper in concern. Out of everyone, she would be affected by this the most. 

“She won’t make it,” Juniper whispered, and the rest of Peter’s siblings swung their heads to look at her.

“How can you say that?” Amira creaked. 

“How can you say such an awful thing?” Emmeline whimpered.

“I know what it sounds like when it’s too late,” Juniper breathed. “I know the- the noises they make.”

“There weren’t any healers for the children who- who you were with upstairs,” Mylan argued, his voice a thin thread. “We have healers here. She has a good chance of making it.”

But Juniper only shook her head, her expression pinching in upset. “You don’t know. You don’t know what they did to those children. What they’ve done to her .”

“Wh-What did they do to Agnes?” Further asked haltingly, her arms coiled around one of Mylan’s.

Juniper shook her head again, the movement quick and jagged. Her mouth thinned into a grim line, and the grip she had on Peter’s hand tightened until it hurt.

“It was holy water, wasn’t it,” Darius said, the flatness of his tone removing the question altogether. “They forced holy water down her throat.”

A sob jumped out of Juniper’s mouth, and her free hand flew up to hide her face as she crumpled to her knees.

Amira made a scared sound, and she and Emmeline rushed forward to cling to their crying sister. Mylan and Further were pressed against each other, their ashy skin paling in fright. Darius didn’t move at all, the tear tracks on his face drying as he stared blankly at the far wall behind everyone. 

As Peter’s siblings began to wail and cry, Darius shook himself out of his stupor, and he turned away from them all and strode down the hall, teleporting in a jagged rush of smoke after taking only a few steps.

Peter watched the fog of his brother’s departure gradually dissipate, feeling as if he were floating aimlessly about the room, disappearing bit by bit, just like the smoke. He didn’t feel afraid, or even sad. He didn’t feel the need to cry and sob like the rest of his siblings. He didn’t feel anything at all.

Chapter Text

Peter drifted through the next three days. The door to the herb room was locked, and had a curse placed upon it as an extra protective measure. And the only sibling who might have been able to banish the enchantment was behind the door - in critical condition - so the rest of the family was stuck waiting outside. 

As Juniper’s energy continued to wane, and the glowing of her scars became minutely brighter, Peter managed to coax his sister away from the group and to the baths, where they sat in the steaming waters side by side in silence. 

Darius hadn’t reappeared since leaving them all in the hall where Abba had arrived with Agnes, and Peter worried about where he was, what he might be doing. But Juniper was sluggish and uncoordinated, her expression so vacant he couldn’t trust her to wander the halls by herself. And he didn’t want to risk disrupting her empty calm by investigating their eldest brother’s whereabouts, for fear she would hop up onto the ceiling and drain her magic before they could get her back down.

So he stayed with Juniper, and he kept them both far away from the herb rooms, far away from anywhere Darius might have been. He laid with her on the floor of the drawing room as she absently traced the shapes of her favorite baseboards with her fingers. At night, he wordlessly settled down across from her in her bed, and they both pretended to sleep.

It was a strange, stilted routine, one weighted by the heaviness overtaking the estate as each day passed and the door to the herb rooms remained locked. Peter didn’t dare check to see, but he knew no change had occurred, because he heard nothing from his siblings who were more than likely still gathered in the hall outside it. He figured their cries would alert him and Juniper of Agnes’ recovery, and he looked forward to the excited shrieks of Amira and Emmeline more than he ever had before.

But what he heard at the end of the third day was not a sound of celebration, but a heart-wrenching wail from his loud sisters, and Peter felt disconnected from his body as he dragged Juniper out of bed and toward the herb rooms. 

He couldn’t comprehend the scene they came upon. 

He looked at the twins, who were in a crumpled heap at the threshold, holding fast to each other and crying. And he peered inside the room to see the table Juniper had once been held down against, its occupant eerily still, one arm limp and dangling over the edge. He saw Amira and Emmeline on either side of a head of thick wavy hair, those dark strands spilling out from the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. 

His last impression of Agnes was that she was still gorgeous, despite the paleness of her gray skin, despite the blistered scars trailing out of her mouth. 

Distantly, he noted Darius was still nowhere to be seen, but Peter was floating farther and farther away from his own thoughts, his own body, and it was hard to understand anything he was seeing, anything that was happening in front of him. 

The shapes of his siblings blurred around him, and he barely registered the sting on his knees as he collapsed against the concrete floor. 

He continued to drift, dimly aware of Abba’s voice, the cracking tones of his siblings. He couldn’t parse what anyone was saying, and didn’t want to try. Suddenly, he was so, so tired. So he let darkness swallow him whole when it reached for him.

When he woke into the next day, he stopped trying to understand. 

He let a numbness overtake him as he grasped the funeral clothes Darius offered him. He didn’t feel the need to ask where his brother had been, what he had been doing, and so the questions didn’t form. He joined his siblings in one of the spare rooms, where a black, silk sheet was already spread out on the floor. His brother and sisters were etching their farewells into the fabric with golden ink, the brushstrokes shaky yet earnest. 

Darius led him over to sit beside Juniper, and Peter couldn’t feel his arm when his hand wrote out the words his sister couldn’t write herself. 

Thank you for your songs.

Thank you for your kindness.

Thank you for your love.

There was still plenty of room for Peter to inscribe his own well-wishes, but his mind was blank. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say to his eldest sister. He had no idea what he wanted to tell her. And so the spot on the sheet reserved for him remained bare. 

Abba appeared to write his own farewells into the fabric, and then he carefully gathered up the sheet into his arms. Peter felt Juniper’s hand tug him to his feet as they entered the line of siblings following Abba to the herb rooms, where Agnes was waiting for them on the table. 

Her hair had been combed and braided– small, delicate flowers from the garden were weaved into the thick strands. She’d been changed into a clean, plain dress, her arms crossed peacefully over the pale fabric. Someone had nestled a colorful scarf around her neck, pulling up the plush knitting all the way to her nose, hiding the wounds that had killed her. 

Like this, she could have been sleeping.

But Peter wasn’t fooled, and he watched his father drape the silk, black sheet with all its loving goodbyes over his eldest sister. Abba took great care as he gently tucked and folded the fabric around her body. Darius stepped forward to lift Agnes so Abba could wrap the sheet completely around her, and they wordlessly moved in sync as the older demon murmured the old chants of a funeral.

Peter watched the golden writings shine and glow as Abba continued the incantation - the etchings lighting up in response to his father’s words - and he and his siblings remained silent as his father and brother finished wrapping Agnes up in her farewells. 

Amira and Emmeline stepped forward with long, braided ribbons, and Abba and Darius both helped them tie delicate knots around their eldest sister, securing the sheet around her and sealing her loving cocoon. 

Then Darius bent over Agnes, took her up into his arms, and everyone linked hands as Abba gripped Darius’ shoulder, looked out at his children with the most heartbreaking expression Peter had ever seen, and teleported all of them to where the oldest furnaces burned in Hell– ancient things built on cursed ground.

This was the place where all demons were born. This was the place where they were laid to rest.

Abba must have known which furnace was the one that had sprung forth Agnes, because he guided Darius past many stone and clay structures before eventually settling in front of one with a wide-mouthed hearth. 

Peter was tugged along by Juniper as his siblings spread out behind Abba and Darius, watching as their eldest brother tenderly offered the body in his arms to the ever-burning flames. The fire seemed more alive than ever before, sparks bursting out as if the hearth itself had gasped in shock at its visitor. And then the flames grew and reached for Agnes like an old friend, pulling her from Darius’ hands and engulfing her completely in a colorful, crackling embrace.

The family watched as the shadow of the oldest sister grew smaller and smaller as the fire around it brightened, until eventually the shape of her vanished entirely, and all that remained was the fire she was born from. 

They lingered after that, though for how long Peter couldn’t say. Time had no meaning to him. Nothing did.

But eventually Abba directed everyone to join hands, and then they were teleported back to the estate in a whirlwind of embers.

Their father immediately wrapped an arm around Darius’ shoulders and led him into the grand library, and Peter’s feet carried him after his siblings as everyone settled themselves in the threshold, either peering inside or slumping against the walls which framed the doorway.

“How did this happen,” Abba whispered, his voice so lifeless there wasn’t any energy for a question to curl his words.

“It’s my fault,” Darius creaked.

“That’s not what I asked,” Abba said, an undercurrent of something foreboding brightening the statement; a rumble which promised a terrible storm.

“I wanted to get ahead on my Guard training,” Darius said weakly. “I thought if I could move soundlessly around humans, study their patterns, anticipate their plans like the Guard is doing now…” he laughed, but it was joyless. 

“Somehow, Agnes found out about my trips upstairs,” he continued, his gruff tone raspy. “I was going through your personal portal and masking my presence. That’s why you didn’t detect my use of it. She must have tailed me at some point, saw me leave. She asked me to take her along on my trips. She wanted to do research for a homemade spell. At the Immortal Library.”

“What spell.” Abba’s words were flat, but there was something simmering just beneath them, something dangerous that commanded an answer.

“An impossible one,” Darius whispered. “One that could kill a large number of humans.”

There was something sour in the air. Something acrid and ringing. A lie. 

“Not impossible,” Abba murmured, cutting to the core of it. 

Darius shook his head. “All this time, I thought it was. But she- she handed me her last notes before pushing me back through the portal. And I knew where she’d been keeping the rest of her scribblings in her room. And looking at it all together…” he shook his head again. “It’s not impossible. The spell will work.”

“How can that be?” Abba breathed. “We are physically incapable of killing humans. Even with magic, even with a spell, it shouldn’t work.”

Darius fell silent.

“Darius,” Abba coaxed. “ How is this spell possible?”

His son looked away from him, towards the threshold where Peter and his siblings lingered. His eyes found Peter’s, and Peter took an involuntary step back at the burning thing currently swimming in his brother’s steely gaze.

“It’s Peter,” their father said breathlessly. 

“He doesn’t have any magic,” Darius whispered, still pinning Peter with that awful look. “His demonic abilities are dormant. He’s as good as any human, like this. If he recites the incantation, it should be enough for the spell to take. All I’d have to do is siphon my magic into it.”

“You’re tricking a force that should not be tricked,” Abba warned.

Darius dragged his eyes back to his father. “I promised her I would finish her work.”

“Darius,” Abba said, his tone turning hard. “You cannot do this spell. I understand how you feel, but you cannot do this spell.”

Darius’ jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Abba sighed, and then his hand reached out toward the doorway. His fingers splayed, then closed into a tight fist, and the door to the grand library shut with the movement. Mylan and Further, who had been halfway in the threshold, sprung back to avoid getting struck by the wood. 

A hush fell upon the siblings in the hall as the click of a lock echoed with a grim finality. 

There was a breath where no one moved, and then Peter’s siblings rushed forward, everyone fitting themselves in an awkward heap as they all pressed their pointed ears against the wood of the door. 

Peter was still too numb to care about eavesdropping, but Juniper tugged him to the door with her, so he could hear the muffled rumbling of his father with the rest of his siblings, interspersed by the harsh voice of their eldest brother. Their words were indistinguishable, and Peter knew that, even with their enhanced hearing, his siblings wouldn’t be able to make out the conversation happening inside. 

Their father must have placed an enchantment on the door - one he used to halt any efforts at eavesdropping whenever he had an important meeting with one of Hell’s officials on the estate grounds - and Peter knew he was using it now by the look on everyone’s faces as they all tried and failed to hear what the two demons inside were talking about.

The door remained firmly locked for hours, but Peter and his siblings didn’t move an inch in all that time. 

When they finally heard the click of the lock, everyone scrambled away and tried to adopt casual positions in the hall, but as Abba opened the door and regarded everyone with a knowing look, Peter’s siblings took on various guilty expressions.

“Your brother and I have reached an agreement,” Abba announced, and Peter wondered how willing Darius was to said agreement, because the teen looked absolutely furious, still seated in the center of the room.

“I will be the one to carry out Agnes’ spell,” Abba went on, and then Peter’s siblings erupted into worried shouts.

“But Abba–” Further cried.

“You said it would be tricking a force that shouldn’t be tricked,” Mylan spoke over his twin.

“You told Darius he shouldn’t do it,” Emmeline chimed in.

“So it must be dangerous,” Amira finished. 

“It is dangerous,” Abba confirmed. “Which is why I will be the one to perform it.” His rumbling tone grew louder when Peter’s siblings began to voice their disagreements over this decision. 

“Put this out of your minds, children,” he ordered. “It will be some time before I perform the spell. Although Darius has already prepared the enchantment rooms for it–” he glanced over his shoulder at his silently fuming son– “I would like to spend some time with each of you - alone - in the coming weeks. And then we will all have a special celebration at the end. After that, I will conduct the spell.”

“What do you mean by, ‘special celebration’?” Emmeline hesitantly asked. 

Abba gave her a secretive smile. “I will tell you all more about it when the day gets closer. For now, I want each of you to go and draw up a list of things you’d like to do with me. Perhaps there are places in Hell you’d like to visit, or pretty enchantments you’d like to learn. You will each have a week with me all to yourselves, so please take your time with those lists.”

No one moved from their places in the hall, and Abba’s warm expression fell. 

“My children,” he said, “please don’t worry. Everything–”

“Why do you want to spend time with each of us, alone?” Amira interrupted, her voice shrill.

“You’re making this sound like a goodbye,” Mylan accused, squinting up at their father.

Further captured her twin’s arm in a vice, her expression fearful. “You can’t go, Abba,” she croaked, shaking her head again and again as tears welled up in her eyes.

“We just lost Agnes,” Emmeline despaired, her voice breaking over their eldest sister’s name.

“I never said I was leaving,” Abba gently pointed out, crouching down and capturing Emmeline’s face in his hands. He gently swiped at the tears that had begun to trail down her cheeks. 

“We have all suffered a monumental loss,” he carried on, looking out at each of Peter’s siblings with a pained expression. “I would like for everyone to have some time to just be, to enjoy life and know that you can have good things after grief. I want to give you those things.”

He reached out an arm towards Amira, and she fell into his embrace with a hitched sob. He looked imploringly at the twins, and they both stepped forward and clung to him in the next moment. 

When his eyes reached Peter, Peter subtly shook his head at the invitation, stepping back to lean against Juniper. While he would have liked nothing more than to run into his father’s embrace, he felt the way his sister had stiffened behind him the longer Abba spoke, and he didn’t think she was interested in what he was offering. And he didn’t want to leave her alone, so he reached behind until he found her hand. Her fingers squeezed his own in silent thanks.

“I’m not asking you to cast your grief aside,” Abba said. “It’s important for all of you to make space for this loss, to try and learn the shape of it, and to hold it in your own time. But you mustn’t let that shape overwhelm you. You mustn’t let it overrun all the places where beautiful things can still reside.”

His arms wrapped around all the children clinging to him, and he gave each of them a kiss on the head. 

“We will get through this,” he promised his family. “I will show you the way.”

Peter watched as the siblings clutching Abba all dissolved into tears, and he felt his throat tighten in response. He wondered if he would cry then - if the tears for Agnes would finally spill - but the sharpness behind his teeth disappeared as quick as it had come, and he felt numb and distant once more.

Eventually, one by one, Peter’s siblings extracted themselves from their father’s embrace. They wandered off to their rooms to start on the lists Abba had asked them for, leaving Peter, Juniper, and Abba alone in the hall. 

Peter tilted his head to peer around his father and into the grand library, but found it empty. He hadn’t noticed Darius leave, and he figured his brother must have teleported away at some point.

“Peter,” Abba said, catching Peter’s attention and driving away any worried thoughts for his eldest brother before they could form. “Why don’t you help Juniper with her list? If she would like to make one, that is,” he added, looking behind Peter at his sister.

The grip on Peter’s hand briefly tightened. “I think– I only want a day with you.”

Abba nodded like it was no trouble at all. “Of course.”

“And- And I want Peter there. The whole time.”

Peter squeezed her fingers. “Of course,” he quietly echoed their father.

She gave a jerky nod, blowing out a gust of a sigh. “Very well then.” And then she turned and pulled Peter along with her towards the staircase that would lead them to the second floor, where all of their siblings were already in their own rooms, working on their own lists.

Peter looked over his shoulder as they walked down the hall, catching a stricken look on his father’s face as he remained kneeling in the hall, his hands clenching into fists in his lap. He didn’t know if Abba was despairing over Agnes, or something else. 

In the next blink Abba was gone, the smoke from his teleport swirling through the hall, and Peter turned his gaze forward, letting his numbness wash away any wonderings or worries that tried to bubble up.

Chapter Text

Silence descended the estate as Peter and Juniper settled themselves on the floor of Juniper’s room. Peter already had a decent idea of what sort of activities he wanted to do with Abba, so there was no need to work on his own list. The parchment he procured to draft ideas for what Juniper was to do when her time came with Abba seemed far larger than it had any right to be, all that blank white staring back at him as if in challenge. 

Juniper had yet to offer up any suggestions of her own, and Peter looked up from the forbidding paper in front of him to ask his sister if she had any thoughts on what exactly she’d like to do with her allotted time with their father. Only his voice got lost in his throat the second his eyes landed on his sister, because her face was streaked with silent tears, her pale eyes locked on some far off point he had no hope of seeing himself.

Peter abandoned his paper and quill, scooting the short distance to his sister and lightly touching her hand. She startled, her chin jerking in his direction. 

Peter leaned his weight against her, their arms touching while Juniper sniffled and wiped half her face with her free palm. 

“It is going to be so quiet now, without her,” she whispered. 

Peter’s lips thinned, and he found himself wishing he could share her misery. He conjured up all memories he had of Agnes– all her smiles, her clever hands and her embroidery, her songs… yet he still felt nothing over her absence. He wondered if there was something terribly wrong with him; some sort of mistake at his core that was causing this lack of grief. Maybe it had something to do with whatever inner wrongness was causing his power to delay. He didn’t know, and he was too afraid to ask.

“Abba’s request for our lists is perhaps a wise distraction,” Peter murmured, glancing up at his sister. Her tears had stopped for the time being.

“Perhaps,” Juniper absently replied, resting her head on top of his. She drew in a huge, shaky breath, then let it out in a trembling sigh. “Do you have any thoughts on what you’d like to do?”

Peter smiled, but felt no joy from the motion. “Wood carving.”

Juniper let out a humorless laugh. “I should have guessed.”

Something warm ignited in Peter’s chest, and he felt his smile growing with it. “And you, Juni? What would you like to do with our father?”

His sister tensed beside him, and Peter inwardly berated himself. He knew better than to refer to Abba that way, when it came to Juniper. He knew she saw the demon as the farthest thing from a parental figure. And with the confusion and loss of Agnes, Juniper would probably shy away from entertaining such a notion for a long time.

“The garden,” Juniper said softly, catching Peter’s attention. “I’ll probably want to learn more about the garden.”

“That sounds like a lovely day,” Peter replied, squeezing her hand.

“We go to the garden every day, though,” his sister pointed out. “I’m surprised you’d still find it lovely.”

Peter shrugged a shoulder. “It will always be lovely. Especially when it’s seen with you.”

Juniper went quiet, but she gave his hand a squeeze, so Peter supposed the silence didn’t hold any threat of tears or other melancholy things. So he allowed it.

*

The rest of Peter’s siblings had their lists ready in no time, and Abba went out with each one in the order he received their requests. Mylan, who had come to him with his list first - a sword-making workshop at one of the smith’s who supplied the Guard - asked a question that Peter hadn’t even considered:

“How will you be taking all of us out separately, if no one is to know of our circumstances? Won’t demons find it strange to see you with different young demons, taking part in activities most common among parents and their own children?”

Abba was prepared for the inquiry, and he quickly slipped into his study to procure the solution to such a predicament: a special, charmed mask. It was pale and porcelain, with no discerning features, but the enchantments imbued into the piece would change not only his face, but his entire stature each time he put it on. This would allow Abba to take out each and every one of Peter’s siblings without questioning eyes, and would also conceal his true power from Hell’s most sensitive demons. 

As Abba adorned the mask and changed into a tall, thin demon with wild white hair, Peter and the rest of his siblings watched him take Mylan’s hand and lead him off the grounds. They teleported as soon as they reached the perimeter, and Peter wondered what other enchanted things his father had in his arsenal, what other prized items he and the rest of Satan’s elite were privy to. Peter himself had never heard of such a mask until then, and it sent his mind down various spirals while his other siblings took up Abba’s time in the following weeks.

Amira and Emmeline put up a fuss about doing their activity together, until finally Abba acquiesced under the condition that they cover their hair with a silk scarf. 

With the two being so close in age, they could almost pass as twins, save for the fact that Amira’s peppery hair was nothing like Emmeline’s pitch black curls, which displayed its fiery difference when the girl stood too close to any torch, shimmering gold and orange in the light. But once the girls emerged with not just matching scarves - which were tied and pinned by metal pieces speckled with delicate arrangements of small gemstones - but also a matching set of dresses they had recently finished, Peter thought they actually looked like sisters. Real sisters. 

And so off the trio went to a weaving class just outside of the Central, and Peter counted down the days until his own turn would come. He and Juniper had submitted their lists last, and they filled the passing weeks wandering the estate, soaking in Juniper’s daily herbal concoction, and lounging in the grand library by the fireplace. 

They exchanged few words, but Juniper stopped crying, and Peter had nothing of importance to say anyway. So the crackle of the fire filled most of the space between them.

Further was next to go off with their father, her only request to visit the markets and see each and every strip of fabric the stalls offered. She’d never ventured into the denser nooks and crannies of the bustling streets - not even on her trips with the rest of her sisters - as they all worried of getting separated in the confusion. But with Abba at her side, she worried of nothing, and so they disappeared for the next week while Peter caught glimpses of Darius pacing the halls.

In all the time that had passed since Abba first announced his decision in carrying out Agnes’ spell, the oldest child had made himself scarce. Sometimes Peter thought he heard his older brother having hushed conversations with whatever siblings were left at the estate, but whenever he passed the doorway where he heard the voices, he would only see a lone younger sibling - Amira, Emmeline, Further, Mylan - never Darius. So he couldn’t be sure. 

He wanted to ask about it, but all of his siblings always looked morose and unapproachable whenever he peered into the room, so Peter decided to leave them be. Let them soak in the elusive grief he still had yet to brush up against.

*

When his time with Abba finally came, Peter went with the older demon alone to a dusty room at the estate which housed many empty shelves, and blocks of various woods stacked into a corner. It was here that his father would help him carve his own animal, and Peter thought he should feel some measure of excitement over that fact, and yet he felt nothing.

“Are you sure you don’t want Juniper to join us?” Abba asked.

Peter nodded, taking the small block of wood that was offered to him. The grain was rough against his fingertips. “I wanted to speak with you about something.”

Abba wordlessly handed him a flat square of something that was coarse on one side, then showed him how to rub it against the wood to smooth out its rough sides and edges. 

They sat side by side on a bench by the wall in silence, the sh-sh-sh sound of what Abba called sanding the only noise in the room. 

Peter sneezed when Abba blew wood dust off both their blocks. 

“Apologies. Here,” Abba murmured, pulling a handkerchief from his robes and wiping Peter’s face, telling him to blow his nose. 

“There’s something wrong with me,” Peter said, after Abba drew away.

Abba raised a brow at him. “There is nothing wrong with you, little טללא.”

Peter turned the smooth block in his hands, his thumb tracing its dull edges. “You’re wrong, Abba. There is plenty wrong with me.”

Abba’s warm, brown hand covered his. Peter refused to meet his eye.

“You do not need to worry about your power, Peter,” his father soothed. 

Peter turned away from him. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Peter’s lips pressed together, his hands tightening around the block. Abba’s other hand came to engulf his, and Peter could feel the warmth of his palm all the way down to his bones. There was a brief sharpness in his throat, there and gone again, and Peter swallowed against the hollow feeling left in its wake.

“What is it?” Abba repeated, this time much softer than before.

“I can’t feel anymore,” Peter whispered. 

“What do you mean?” Abba’s tone was careful.

Hesitantly, Peter turned to look at him. “I feel nothing. Nothing at all.”

Briefly, Abba’s hands squeezed his. “Not even this?”

Peter quickly shook his head. “No, it’s– I can feel, but not–” he broke off with a frustrated breath.

Abba considered him, then withdrew one of his hands to place it on the center of Peter’s chest. “This?” he asked quietly. “This is what you cannot feel?”

“ Yes, ” Peter said with relief, glad to not have to go through the torture of explaining it. 

Abba nodded, patted Peter’s chest twice, then gently extracted the block out of the harsh grip Peter had on it. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it so tightly. He could feel a dull ache in his fingers, and he stared in confusion at the way they shook, before they were swallowed up by Abba’s brown palms once again.

“Grief is strange,” Abba said, and Peter looked up at him. His umber eyes looked back with a steadiness that had another tremor passing through Peter’s fingers. “Sometimes grief is quiet, so quiet you cannot hear it. But then it will suddenly be loud in its presence, unannounced and uninvited, at the strangest of times. I think perhaps your grief is waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For you to be ready to hear it.”

Peter’s brow furrowed in bewilderment. “I don’t understand.”

“It was hard to explain how you felt,” Abba murmured, squeezing his hands. “It is hard to explain how it works. I myself have trouble understanding it, at times.”

“Oh.” Peter looked down at their hands, disappointed. He had hoped his father would be able to fix what was wrong with him, or at the very least show him how to fix it himself. 

“You are fine, Peter,” Abba soothed, patting his hands before retreating to grab their wood blocks. “You are exactly as you should be. Now come and carve a masterpiece with me, hm?”

Peter pouted, but still took the block his father handed him. He certainly didn’t feel fine, but he did glimpse sparks of joy as Abba showed him how to use his various carving tools to shape his block of wood into the form he wanted.

The bear he ended up with was lumpy and lopsided, but Peter still thought it was his new favorite animal, all the same. And the cow Abba carved alongside his efforts was also his new favorite. A pleasant tie. 

The rest of his week passed in a contented silence, only broken by Abba’s gentle instructions as they took on a larger project together: a wooden block puzzle made up of various shapes that, together, formed a single cube. Peter took the newly polished thing with him on Juniper’s day, playing quietly alongside his sister while she pressed her hands to her tree and channeled a slow energy into it to help it grow. 

Peter watched as Abba regarded Juniper with a glimmering pride in his umber eyes, sitting off to the side and only offering the occasional guidance for the girl’s efforts. He gave her an abundance of praises each step of the way, and from how Juniper fidgeted from each soft word delivered, Peter knew she was having a difficult time not preening under the attention. Her feelings toward their father might have been prickly, but any proper demon adored praise and compliments, even Peter knew that.

His small hands slotted another piece of his puzzle into place, and then he blinked as a thought struck him.

“Abba?” he asked abruptly. “What did Darius do for his week? I didn’t see either of you leave the estate when it was his time. Actually, I didn’t see either of you at all.”

“They were here,” Juniper muttered distractedly, her forehead creased as she concentrated on the tree. Her hair had been pinned back and braided that morning by the rest of their sisters, before the three scurried off to do Satan knew what. It was a simple style, but it kept her bangs out of her eyes, allowing Peter to see her expressions clearly. Her sharp focus was on full display then, as it seemed the only thing that existed in the space for her was her tree.

Abba hummed in agreement. “We didn’t leave the grounds. In truth, Darius never approached me with a list of his own. It was I who ended up coming to him.”

He gave a mirthless chuckle. 

“I had to seek him out multiple times over the first few days of his week, as he stubbornly teleported out of whatever room I found him in, the second I stepped through the threshold. I ended up settling down in a room adjacent to his with a book I used to read him when he first arrived here, and that kept him interested enough to not immediately leave.

“After that, he eventually poked his head into the room and asked if I knew any Guard drills. I did, and we spent the rest of the time going through those.”

“I could hear you reading to him,” Juniper mumbled, drawing away from the tree with a sigh. She suddenly looked exhausted, and Peter abandoned his puzzle to shuffle over to her and offer a shoulder for her to lean against.

“You didn’t mention this to me,” Peter commented, some of his petulance over the fact dripping into his words.

“I was preoccupied. I’ve been preoccupied. Haven’t you?” Juniper turned her head towards his, her pale eyes squinting past his face.

Peter stiffened. 

“Everyone has been handling the past few weeks differently,” Abba spoke up. “I would think you would understand the complexities of grief better than most, Juniper.” He carefully added.

Juniper’s face contorted into a snarl, and she quickly rose to her feet, though her legs shook. Peter stood with her, grasping her hand and pushing up against her because she refused to put any of her weight on him.

“ Don’t. Mention that,” she growled. “ Don’t talk to me about- about–”

She let out a choked sound, and then abruptly fell to her knees. Peter tried to catch her, but he was small, and she was finally approaching a healthy weight. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out across her face, and Peter thought she would probably need to soak in the baths for longer that day. The plant growing magic must have taken a lot out of her. Abba hadn’t wanted her to do it on her own at first, but she was just as capable as she was stubborn, so he’d allowed it.

Peter could see the regret over that decision in the lines of Abba’s creased face, and the older demon stepped forward to help Juniper to her feet, only to be stopped by a sharp palm slung out in his direction. 

“ Don’t touch me,” Juniper hissed.

“I’ll get Darius, then,” Abba offered. “You shouldn’t be trying to walk in this state.”

He teleported away before Juniper could reply.

Peter sat down beside his sister, looking around at all the plants in the garden while he heard Juniper’s ragged breaths. 

“You didn’t need to use so much magic on that tree,” he chided.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

Peter’s head whipped toward her. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me it’s so hard for you? I could have helped. I could have…” she miserably shook her head. “You could have talked to me. I would have listened .”

Peter wanted to pretend he had no idea what she was talking about, but Juniper could taste a lie just as well as any other demon. He pressed his lips together, looking anywhere but her, even though she didn’t need him to meet her eye to get her point across. 

“No,” she went on. “No, this is my fault too. I should have noticed. I should have known from the start, when you went quiet, while everyone else cried.”

A sudden sharpness in Peter’s throat, and Peter found himself afraid of the feeling. It was huge and terrible, and it felt dangerous. It felt deadly. He tried to swallow it down, but instead it grew, spreading up into his mouth, making his teeth ache. 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Juniper whispered, finding his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry it’s so hard. I’m sorry she died.”

Peter’s eyes burned. His hands tingled in his sister’s grip. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say, which was good, because whatever awful thing was in his throat was obstructing his voice at the moment. He didn’t think he could make any kind of sound if he tried.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Juniper asked softly, and then nodded, even though Peter didn’t say anything in response. “It was too much for me, too. When the others… When I was upstairs, and all those other children were upstairs, and then- and then there weren’t so many anymore, it was too much for me.”

She smiled, and it was a terrible, gruesome expression. “And then it was just me. It was just me, and the pain, and nothing else. I didn’t want anything else. No sadness. No fear. No grief. And so there was nothing else.”

“Because it was too much,” Peter croaked, surprised he was able to speak at all. He didn’t recognize his own voice. 

Juniper nodded. “Because it was too much.”

“I see,” Peter said, squeezing her hand back, trying to get the feeling to return to his fingers. His throat didn’t feel so clogged anymore. The tightness was gone, so was the burning in his eyes. He felt the numbness he’d grown accustomed to seeping back in, winding its way through him like the roots beneath their feet, filling out all his limbs until every inch of him was occupied by that strange emptiness. 

Movement at the doorway, and Peter turned to see Darius striding into the space. He didn’t look as angry as he had the last time Peter had seen him - furious and shaking in the grand library all alone, and then later, glaring at nothing as Peter caught glimpses of him in the halls - but echoes of that rage lingered in the tense line of his jaw, in the glint of his steely eyes. He bent down and scooped up their sister without a word, and Juniper’s hands left Peter’s.

“It’s alright, you know,” Juniper murmured, as Darius stepped up the stairs leading back into the estate. Peter trotted after them. “It’s alright to not feel anything.” 

She gave a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t last, at any rate.”

Peter stumbled, and then he was alone in the hall, the smoky mist from his brother’s teleport his only companion. Peter stared at the stuff as it slowly dissipated, wondering whether Darius had taken Juniper to the baths, or to her room. He found himself not wanting to seek either of them out, and ended up wandering into the grand library and resting against the large fireplace, staring hollowly at the dancing, crackling flames and thinking of nothing at all.

Chapter Text

Abba’s estate had a large space that could almost be called a ballroom, except it was never used as one. The room was designated for special celebrations, rites of passage that all children entered throughout their life. All families held ceremonies to commemorate a child’s 500th, 1,000th, and 2,000th birthdays in some form or another. Abba just happened to have the space to hold such an event with lavish embellishments.

And so Peter stood alone in the center of the room, not a single light in sight. Except he wasn’t alone, not really.

A single drum beat, and Peter automatically placed his right foot in front of his left, ready to start.

We are going to hold a special celebration, Abba had said, not long after Juniper’s day with him was over. For all of you.

Another beat, and Peter adjusted his stance, one hip behind the other, his gaze forward. The room was pitch black, but wouldn’t be for long.

We will be holding a ceremony to commemorate Peter coming into his power, Abba had gone on, to everyone’s confusion, because Peter’s power had yet to awaken. And then we will end the ritual with a naming ceremony for each and every one of you.

Peter’s body moved on autopilot as the drum took on a steady beat. The small golden bells his ceremonial garb was lined with chimed in turn. He’d memorized the dance-like steps long ago, when he’d first been expected to come into his power. His feet knew where to place themselves. Although he walked blindly, he didn’t need to see what he was doing. Each movement that accompanied the next drum beat was embedded into his limbs, and Peter let himself get lost in the fluidity of it while he recalled the last week.

Many things were going to change soon, Abba had said. Hell’s entire magical makeup would be different. Abba didn’t tell them many details, but he did say that whatever was coming, it would erase the need to guard a last name so closely. And so Abba had decided to grant everyone with the knowledge of their full name - the title used to call upon them with a summoning - following the celebration of Peter’s power. 

But I haven’t come into my power, Peter had regretfully pointed out. Abba had only given him a strained smile. 

This new era requires heavy magic, power only Satan and his elite have, his father had explained. And it will take time to complete. I would never forgive myself if I missed your most important day because of it. So we will celebrate it now, instead.

Peter didn’t have any qualms with that, and neither did his siblings. And so they prepared for the ceremony.

Some adjustments had to be made to Peter’s practiced steps, as one of the key components to this complicated dance required him to actually have his power. And so, as Peter’s fingers splayed delicately out on his next step, those particular adjustments came to light as he watched a neat stream of fire shoot out from his hands, or at least appear to.

Amira and Emmeline had been silently keeping pace on either side of him, and they used their own innate fire to carry out this part of the ritual. Peter glimpsed their smiling faces from the glow of the flames, there and gone again as the fire died in open air. 

The drum beat picked up, Peter swiftly slid his feet across the smooth floor as he twirled - the little bells on his clothes singing with the movement - and then he bent his left leg as he stepped out wide, his palms open and moving about him in a complicated arc. His sisters’ hands mimicked the trajectory, and a line of fire followed the path of his hands seamlessly. 

Like this, Peter could almost pretend the fire was coming from him.

He glimpsed shadows on the far end of the room: Abba waiting for him, Darius beside him, sitting on the floor and dutifully playing the drum of the ceremony. Juniper at their father’s other side, standing stock still and alert, listening to each and every one of Peter’s steps. 

The chanting began.

There weren’t any distinguishable words, more sharp whispery sounds, meant to represent the harsh spark before a new fire. The flames Amira and Emmeline made for Peter burst in and out around him, in perfect time with his steps, the drum, the chants. Peter picked up his pace - his bells a constant chime now - as Darius increased the drum beat, and Peter hoped he got this next part right. 

It wasn’t only a demon’s innate fire that was required for such a ceremony, but their newly acquired supernatural strength as well. In all of the time he’d spent practicing this sacred dance, he’d never been able to successfully perform the series of flips and somersaults at the end. Not on his own, at least.

But he wasn’t alone now, and he glimpsed Mylan and Further stepping into his surrounding circle of siblings with the next flash of firelight. He felt their hands stabilize and steady him as he started the first cartwheel, and their hands were sure and constant while he went through the next quick flips. 

And then the twins vanished as Peter found his balance on his own two feet, which immediately started the twisting, slithering dance that marked the finale of the ritual. The drum picked up its final pace, so fast it was almost a droning, singular note. The chanting grew harsher and louder, the whispers of flame making way for the roar of a hearty fire.

He knew there were unlit candles spread throughout the large room, and his hands splayed out, aiming for those while Amira and Emmeline shot out tiny flames in those directions. By the time Peter landed gracefully on his knees in front of Abba, every candle that had been set out was alight with an excited flicker, and all of Peter’s siblings were lined up on either side of Abba, watching their father and Peter with a charged apprehension. 

Abba crouched down in front of Peter, his umber eyes glimmering with pride. His palms came up as if to cup Peter’s face, but stopped just short of touching him. Peter could feel the rush of heat against his cheeks as his father called fire to his large, brown hands, and then Peter felt the tickle of the charcoal-infused paint on his face ignite and disappear in a quick line of sparks. While he couldn’t see it himself, he imagined all the intricate symbols his family had helped adorn his face with that morning glow and then vanish in a path of red-gold. By the awestruck look of his siblings, he knew it was an enchanting sight.

He had other symbols drawn onto his bare forearms and shins as well, but those would be left alone until after the ceremony and festivities were over. He was hyper aware of that paint on his skin now, the echoes of heat on his face still retreating and making the rest of him colder by comparison. 

Abba gave him a warm smile, which Peter automatically returned. Then Abba’s gaze swung behind him, to where Peter’s siblings were lingering on either side, and he made a motion for them to come forward. 

They did, all stepping toward and then past Peter as they formed a neat line behind him. Peter watched them take their places, Further standing just behind him and Darius taking up the rear. They had filed in from oldest to youngest. 

Large, warm hands took his own, and Peter turned back around to see his father regarding him with a hushed seriousness. 

“Your name…” Abba reverently began, and a sudden charge jolted down Peter’s spine, all the way to his toes. They gripped the cool floor beneath him absently, his back straightened. 

“...is Peter Daemonfire. You are orphan of unnamed guardians, unblooded son of Mammon, youngest brother to siblings Further, Mylan, Emmeline, Amira, Juniper, Darius, and…”

Here Abba paused, his expression briefly pinching up with pain. But then he took a breath, and continued: “And Agnes, now passed. This is the name to be used to call upon you. This full title will light up your soul and send you to your caller.”

One of Abba’s hands left his own, and it came to cup Peter’s cheek. “As you grow and decide your path, this call will include your occupation, as well as any future changes in your family, your heritage. But for today, on this joyous occasion where we celebrate your power, this is your name as it is now. Peter Daemonfire.”

Peter was speechless, and he stared unblinkingly up at his father, who held his gaze. A hush had fallen across the rest of his siblings, and the large room was filled with their heavy silence. Peter felt honored then, to have this special name he could hold close to himself for the rest of his life. He understood the power of it like any demon, even if it would no longer be dangerous information, what with the magical changes underway. Still, he felt the weight of it in his chest, right next to his soul, and it slotted into place in his very being, marking him for the rest of his life. Branding him with the words one would need to speak, should they ever want to summon him.

Abba’s thumb brushed under Peter’s eye, but Peter wasn’t crying. It was a gesture just for the sake of it. And then Abba’s hand moved down to his shoulder, and his father gently nudged him to stand behind him, to wait where his siblings had waited while Peter had carried out the ritual of his 500th birthday. So Peter stepped up behind his father, spun on his heel, and faced the rest of his siblings as Abba took each of their hands, one by one, and told them the name one would use for their calling. 

Much of it was the same as what Abba had told Peter, apart from their last names.

Mylan and Further Ignatio. Emmeline Hearthflame. Amira Emberdust. Juniper Smolderly.

When only Darius was left, Abba paused. He didn’t take his eldest’s hands, and instead clasped his own tightly. His umber eyes cast down to the floor, and Darius tensed. But Abba merely whispered: “Agnes Spark. Orphan of unnamed guardians, unblooded son of Mammon. Sister to siblings Peter, Further, Mylan, Emmeline, Amira, Juniper, and Darius.”

Darius’ hands had clenched into shaking fists at his sides, and they stayed there when Abba looked up and met his eye. The man ended up having to coax Darius’ hands out of their tight grip, and Darius grudgingly allowed him to take his tense fingers into his pink palms.

Peter watched his oldest brother closely while Abba announced his name as Darius Coalburn. The teen was staring resolutely past Abba, past all of them, his jaw tense and his steely eyes glimmering strangely in the candlelight. And then Abba patted his hand once, released his fingers, and motioned for him to join Peter and the rest of his siblings. 

Darius’ steps were stiff as he united with his brothers and sisters, and he didn’t react when Amira and Emmeline reached out excitedly to pull him forward. He simply went with the motion, his expression withdrawn while the rest of Peter’s siblings gathered close and all started talking excitedly over each other about their names, about being summoned, about how well Peter had carried out his special ceremony. How well all of them had. 

Peter’s hand snuck in between all of his siblings to find Darius’ own, and his brother blinked down at him while Peter bullied his small fingers into the mean fist Darius had adopted yet again. Peter merely gave him an impatient look until finally his brother relented and grasped Peter’s hand, and only then did Peter smile up at him. 

“I like your name,” he said simply, wondering if Darius could even hear him over the loud chatter of their siblings. 

But Darius seemed to catch the words just fine, because he laughed, quick and sharp, as if the sound shocked him. He gave Peter a crooked smile and replied: “I like yours too.”

“Children,” Abba spoke up, his rumbling tone gaining everyone’s attention. He looked out at them all with a proud gleam in his umber eyes. “Tonight we’ll celebrate all of you, all of your accomplishments. Tomorrow I will leave you for a short time to do the bidding of our dark god. We’ll be rewriting a large part of the magical systems we use in this realm, and these sorts of things don’t happen overnight. I expect to be gone at least a week, but it may be two.

“When I return, I will perform Agnes’ spell, and then everyone can move on from this terrible tragedy.” His soft eyes turned stern as his gaze passed over each of them. “I’ve locked up the rooms Darius prepared for the spell with my own magic; none of you will be able to get inside, although I imagine you may still try. I expect all of you to be on your best behavior while I’m away, and I look forward to seeing each of you again and closing this painful chapter of our lives myself.”

Darius took a step back, and when Peter looked at him, he saw a stormy expression on his brother’s face. 

“I know you wanted to fulfill her wishes yourself,” Abba said soberly, his eyes on Darius, obviously picking up his mood. “But this is for the best. All of you will be safe, this way.”

Darius sucked down a breath, ready to argue, but Abba cut across him as he addressed the rest of Peter’s siblings. 

“I’ve gathered all the instruments I could find on the estate. They’re in the sitting room. Come, let’s celebrate this grand evening together.”

He held out his brown hands, and everyone rushed forward to grab hold. Everyone, except for Peter, who had decided to keep his hand locked around Darius’, and Darius hadn’t come forward, so neither did Peter. A shadow on his other side, and Peter turned to see Juniper stepping up next to him. She hadn’t joined the rest of their siblings either, but that was no surprise.

“Darius,” Abba beckoned, a child hanging off of every inch of space on his hands and arms. “Please, will you join us?”

Peter looked up at his brother, and Darius was staring at the floor, so he caught his eye. He looked so sad.

“What kind of instruments are there?” Juniper haltingly asked, and Darius’ eyes slid her way. He considered her a moment, then blew out a gust of a sigh. 

“I can show you myself, if you’d like,” he offered, although his tone made it clear it was a grudging offer. 

Still, a smile played at his sister’s lips, and Peter automatically took her hand when she blindly reached for him. 

“I can show you too!” he extended, much more enthusiastically. 

“I’d like that,” she said, and the three of them began to follow the rest of their family, who were already halfway out of the room.

They spent the rest of the day in the most comfortable sitting room on the property, some siblings lounging on overstuffed cushions and picking idly at stringed instruments, others dancing to the beat of a drum and flute in the center of the room, where blankets, chairs, and pillows had been cleared to make space. Amira and Emmeline sang on and off, Further sometimes joining in. 

Peter watched them all, getting dragged into a group dance every now and then, carefully teaching Juniper the steps with the rest of his siblings when she lingered just outside their circle with obvious curiosity. They even managed to get Darius to join them for a few songs, and each one chipped away at his glum mood, until by the end he was smiling and laughing with the rest of them. 

The celebration was still going by the time Peter’s eyes were drooping, and he was finally coaxed to bed when Juniper looked like she could barely keep her feet under her. So they retired to her room, and settled down across from each other to sleep, the sounds of laughter and music faint but warm from her open door.

“This was a good day,” Juniper whispered, her voice already sleep-soft.

Peter nodded slowly, his head as heavy as the rest of him. 

“Peter?” Juniper asked, some of the softness leaving her words.

Sleep had its hooks in Peter, and he only managed a faint noise of assent.

“Darius spoke to me about… about something. Something I think you should know.”

Peter’s next nod was sluggish. He made a soft questioning sound. 

Juniper’s response sounded far away, as if Peter was under water and no words could reach him clearly. Her voice was halting, almost scared, and Peter wanted to reach out and comfort her. But on his next sigh he was asleep.

Chapter Text

Abba was there when Peter woke, the bed empty and Juniper already with the others, crowded in the foyer to see Abba off. Peter had groggily made his way down the steps to meet everyone, led by a large hand that enveloped his own. He rubbed his eyes as Abba took his other hand and pulled him in for an embrace that was full of the rest of his siblings. 

“I’ll try to be back within the week,” he told them all, accepting a kiss on both cheeks from Amira and Emmeline while he ruffled Peter’s sleep-mussed hair. He turned to Darius, his expression unreadable. 

A wordless conversation passed between the two, and then Darius nodded stiffly, though what he was accepting or acknowledging Peter wasn’t sure. 

Peter was suddenly struck by a bleary memory from the night before: Juniper telling him something important. Or wanting to tell him something important. He looked to find her in the crowd of siblings who were all talking over each other as they got in their final goodbyes, and finally found her some distance from the group, lingering a few feet away, her hands twisting together, her mouth an unhappy curve.

“I’ll watch over them,” Darius was saying, while he and Abba both began to extract the siblings who were currently clinging to their father’s arms and shins.

“I’d expect nothing more,” Abba replied, and Peter stepped away from them to stand next to Juniper.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, the rest of their siblings all laughing and wishing Abba good luck before he stepped out the door. 

Juniper said nothing, and Peter blinked at the abrupt silence that passed through the foyer as soon as Abba had teleported off the grounds. He looked out at the rest of his siblings, who were all sharing knowing glances with each other. All eyes eventually fell upon Darius. 

“You know what to do,” he said to them, and they all nodded, except for Peter, who wasn’t sure what Darius meant. 

The foyer burst into a flurry of movement before Peter could ask what was happening, sisters gliding past him, Further taking Juniper’s hand and pulling her away. Peter moved to follow, but was stopped by an arm slung around his shoulder. He looked to see Mylan there, not meeting his eye at all as he steered them to the baths. 

“Let’s get this paint off of you,” his brother said. 

Peter looked down at the gray swirling lines still marking his forearms and shins, then pouted up at Mylan. “Why can’t I keep them for longer?”

Mylan glanced down at him, keeping his pace. Peter thought about planting his feet, but knew he’d just be pushed through the halls if he did that. Whenever Mylan had a task, he took it on with an unyielding determination. If his task was to get Peter clean of his ceremonial paint, he was going to do it as swiftly and critically as possible, not missing a single inch of skin.

“You should be clean for when Abba gets back.”

“But he just left. Why do this now? What’s going on?”

Mylan didn’t answer him, all but pushing him around the next corner. Peter’s head swung behind them, back to the foyer, but it was empty. Darius must have teleported away.

Further was preparing an herbal soak for Juniper when they made it to the baths, and Mylan barely spared them a glance as he herded Peter to one of the smaller, dug-in tubs. He pushed on Peter’s shoulders until he sat at the lip, and then grabbed a piece of chalk nearby to mark the inside of the tub with the sigils that would call forth fresh, hot water from the ground. The whole bath area was built on ground that had been treated with long-term magic and spells specifically for water conjuring, so the energy needed to produce it was hardly anything. If Peter had his power, even he could do it. 

Peter looked over to where Further was helping Juniper step into the tub. As soon as her older sister was settled, she swept her gaze toward Mylan. Peter’s head swung back and forth between the twins as they had an indistinguishable conversation with their eyes, and then Further left without a word. 

“What’s going on?” Peter asked again, but Mylan ignored him, his focus on the last of the sigils needed to summon hot water. He clapped his palms together, whispered a quick incantation, then slapped his hands against the wall of the tub in front of him. 

A whooshing sound - a rush of steaming water - and Mylan stepped out of the tub as it began to fill in a matter of seconds. 

Mylan finally turned his attention to Peter, but instead of answering his questions, his hands were quick as they fussed with Peter’s clothes. Peter was falling into a bad mood, not liking being kept apart from whatever his siblings were doing, so he stubbornly made the process of undressing longer than necessary. But Mylan didn’t chide him for it– he never did, not in all the times he’d been tasked with bathing Peter. 

While he carried an air of no-nonsense with tasks like this, he never seemed frustrated or in a rush to get things done. Things simply… got done in a timely manner, as Mylan had a way of organizing each of his actions in a time-saving way. Peter couldn’t explain it - he scarcely understood how his brother managed it - but before he knew it he was in the tub and his arms and legs had been scrubbed free of paint, and Mylan was efficiently working soaps into his hair. 

“My hair isn’t dirty,” Peter grumbled, glancing over to where Juniper sat quietly in her soak, ignoring both of them for some reason. Or maybe she was lost in thought. Her expression was troubled. 

“You’ll be clean from head to toe when Abba returns, in any case,” Mylan muttered absently, his focus on his work. 

“Are you expecting Abba to return sooner than he said?” Peter asked suddenly. Perhaps his siblings were all planning some sort of celebration for their father’s return. But then why wouldn’t they tell Peter about it? Why wouldn’t they let him help?

“No,” Mylan said, and then he didn’t say anything else, his fingers deft and sure as they worked through each strand of Peter’s hair. 

Peter griped some half-formed syllables that conveyed his displeasure at being left out, and then his eyes found Juniper again. He froze when he saw she was looking their way, her expression more alert as she watched them as well as she could watch anyone, her chin tilted slightly as she looked at them with her ears, her nose. 

Peter wondered what she was seeing, when her forehead creased and she sought out whoever was in the room with her. He wondered what she saw, when she looked at him in the dark.

“Mylan…” she started uncertainly, but Mylan cut her off with a sharp No.

“No,” he repeated, the word landing a little softer the second time. “Finish your soak, and leave us be. I’m trying to concentrate. Peter has tangles.”

It wasn’t a lie, Peter’s hair fought Mylan as he brought out a comb and tried to tame it. But it was an odd excuse, because Mylan had never had a problem talking while brushing out Peter’s tangles before. 

Still, Juniper obeyed his order, and she turned around with a jerk, her head sinking lower as she lowered herself deeper into her own tub. Peter only saw the back of her damp head, and he had no idea what expression she had on her face.

Mylan made quick work of his hair, somehow, just as he always did, and soon he was helping Peter out of the tub, toweling him off, and ushering him forward through the tiled space. They stopped to help Juniper out of her bath, wrapped her up in a towel much larger than Peter’s own, and then they all made their way to Juniper’s room. 

Mylan hunted down some clothes for Peter, while Juniper disappeared behind the screen where her own set of folded skirts waited; most likely left by Further, if her assistance with Juniper’s soak earlier was any indication.

As soon as Peter and Juniper were dressed, Mylan grabbed as many of Peter’s toys as he could, then thrust them into Peter’s hands. 

“Play with Juniper,” he commanded shortly, and then he turned and left the room before Peter could respond. 

Peter looked to Juniper, who seemed to be at as much of a loss as he was. 

“ What is going on?” Peter asked her. 

Her lips thinned unhappily, her shoulders drew up to her pointed ears, and for a moment Peter thought she would tell him what was happening. But then she blew out a sigh, stepped toward Peter, and asked if she could hold his wooden bear. 

Peter felt something sharp and jagged drop through him, and he swallowed a few times, blinking again and again from the abrupt heat that came to his eyes. And then the feeling passed, leaving him as blank and new as his arms and legs, and he looked around the room for his bear. It was under the bed. 

He fished the thing out, stood, and wordlessly handed it to his sister. She sat down on the floor without a word, Peter followed suit, and he never thought playing with his toys would bring him anything except joy, but here he was. 

His mood remained damp until Juniper suggested they walk around the estate, and by the time they found themselves in Abba’s garden, he was feeling better. With his sister able to navigate the curving halls and short-cut of rooms, they ended up chasing each other in a game without any real rules or goal, and Peter was flushed and happy and panting when they finally settled themselves under Juniper’s tree. 

His sister’s grin was just as large and sharp as his own, and he shrieked in delight when her hands flashed out - quick and clever - to tickle his sides. Peter squirmed against her until she finally relented, and her hands became arms around him, pulling him against her until he was sitting comfortably in her lap. Juniper leaned back with him against the tree, her laughter dying down into light chuckles. 

“I love you, Peter,” she said simply.

Peter hummed, turning his cheek so he could press up against her collarbone and hear her heartbeat. It was fast and lively, the excitement from before putting an uptick in its cadence. “I love you too, Juni.”

One of her hands trailed up and petted his hair, and Peter let out a pleased sigh. 

They stayed like that, silent and comfortable, for so long that Peter found his eyes drooping. Juniper’s fingers had started exploring his scalp, and her touch was lulling him into something deeper than relaxation. His thoughts were floating away from him, and the last clear sentence in his head was that he could easily fall asleep like this, pressed close to his sister, her warm arms around him, her fingers in his hair. 

And then Juniper startled, jerking so hard Peter tumbled out of her lap. He caught himself with his hands, and he looked to his sister in bewilderment. There was a flash of movement in the open doorway leading out into the gardens, and he swung his head that way. 

Darius was there, the misty smoke from his teleport still clinging to him. 

“We’re ready,” his brother said, and Peter saw Juniper stiffen out of the corner of his eye.

“Ready for what?” Peter asked, half-expecting to be ignored yet again, and left with questions unanswered. 

But his brother surprised him as he strode forward and crouched down in front of him and his sister.

“Abba won’t be carrying out Agnes’ spell,” Darius stated. “We will.”

Peter tilted his head to the side as he considered his brother. “But Abba barred off the room where you prepared the spell. No one can get inside; Abba said so.”

“We won’t be using that room,” Darius patiently explained, a determined gleam in his eye. “Your siblings and I have prepared a new room with everything we need for the spell.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “But Abba said he was going to do the spell when he returned. If he finds out what you’ve done–”

“If Abba does this spell, it will kill him.”

All of Peter’s words left him at once. His hands gripped at the earth beneath him, his fingernails digging into the soil. It was warm, but he felt so cold, the chill rushing over him in a flash. He looked over to Juniper, who didn’t seem shocked in the least. Had she known all along? Had Darius?

He cleared his throat, finding his voice. “But Abba said he wouldn’t be leaving us, when everyone worried about why he wanted to spend time with each of us alone. He said the spell was dangerous, but that he would be fine.”

“He never said he would be fine,” Darius pointed out.

“His words on the matter were vague,” Juniper added.

“But– If the spell will k-kill him if he carries it out, doesn’t that mean it will– won’t you get harmed if you perform it?”

Darius cracked a smile. “There will be seven of us funneling our magic into the spell. All of us - all of your brothers and sisters - are going to do this together. Abba is powerful, yes, but he’s still one demon. With all seven of us, do you really think any harm will come upon us?”

Peter said nothing, taking time to consider his brother’s words. They had merit. Even though many of his siblings were still learning magic and advancing their power, with all of them combined, their abilities would outweigh Abba’s own. At least, he thought they would. He wasn’t entirely sure.

“We need you, though,” Darius said, cutting through Peter’s thoughts. He looked up at his brother, who was already holding out a hand to him, his expression serious. “You’ll need to recite the incantation for it. With your current state, you’re the only one who the spell will listen to. Your words are just as good as any human’s, and only a human would be able to carry out something as fatal as this. We need you to help us put a curse on all humanity.”

“It’s your decision,” Juniper spoke up, and Peter turned to her. Her expression was pinched, her hands gripping her skirts so tightly her gray knuckles were bone white. “You should be free to decide if you’ll do this with us.”

“You are free to decide, of course,” Darius agreed easily. “But don’t forget, this matter affects far more than you. Abba will die if he performs this spell. That isn’t an overstatement, or a lie.”

His words rang true. Peter couldn’t detect even a trace of a lie in them. And with everything laid out in front of him so clearly, he didn’t have to think twice about his decision. He took Darius’ hand, then extended his free palm to his sister.

She chewed on her bottom lip, clearly unhappy about Peter’s choice. But she still took his hand, her grip shaking but strong, and Darius teleported them all out of the garden in the next moment.

They reappeared in an informal sitting room - the same one Peter’s siblings chased each other overhead in when Juniper taught them how to ceiling crawl - and Peter looked around at the cleared space– all cushions, chairs, and rugs pushed back against the far walls. His eyes traveled to the center of the room, where the rest of his siblings were spread out, etching sigils into the floor with chalk and paint. Peter blinked at the symbols they were making, and then a hand covered his eyes. 

“It’s best if you don’t see the exact symbols for this,” Darius said, his hand careful but firm over Peter’s eyes. He heard the swoosh of fabric, and then his brother’s hand was quickly replaced with something long and silky– one of his sister’s scarves, perhaps. Darius tied the thing around Peter’s head, making sure none of Peter’s dark strands got caught in the material. 

“Why can’t I see?” Peter whined.

“The knowledge of this sort of spell is dangerous. Anyone who knows the symbols for it, the ingredients, the incantation even, will be punished severely. This isn’t a spell demons are meant to know.”

Peter’s spine stiffened. “But if I’m saying the incantation…”

“You won’t remember it, I assure you,” Darius soothed. “It’s very long and complicated. You’ll be repeating the words after me - I’ll go slow - and we’ll only need to speak its entirety once.”

Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek, his head crooking towards his brother’s voice. “What about you, though? You and everyone else will see the symbols, will know the ingredients and everything else for this. So that means you’ll be punished severely.”

A hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve already spoken to our siblings about this. I’ve been very clear about what’s at stake– what awaits us at the end of this. They’ve all agreed to do this, despite knowing the consequences.”

Although the words were murmured in a soothing tone, Peter felt anything but soothed. His forehead furrowed, and he opened his mouth to tell Darius maybe they could find some other way to do Agnes’ spell without anyone dying or getting reprimanded, or perhaps they didn’t need to do the spell at all, but Amira’s voice rang out at that moment to announce that the preparations were complete. 

Darius’ hand moved from his shoulder to his back, and his brother guided him forward. Peter heard various footsteps approaching as his siblings drew closer, and suddenly he was engulfed in embraces and hair ruffles and cheek-kisses.

“Thank you so much for helping us with this,” Amira crooned. 

“You’re going to do great, I just know it,” Emmeline encouraged. 

“Don’t worry Peter,” Further said, capturing his arm and pressing close. “You won’t get in any sort of trouble at all.”

“This will make sure of it,” Mylan said, as his blindfold was tapped. “All you have to worry about is following Darius’ lead.”

More hugs, more hair ruffles, and then a kiss on each cheek simultaneously from Amira and Emmeline, if their giggles in his ears were anything to go by. And then everyone stepped back, wishing him good luck and saying how much they loved and appreciated him as they all moved around him, presumably taking their places for the spell. 

Peter turned his head every which way, even though he couldn’t see. “Juni?” he called. She’d been silent and far since Darius had brought them to the room.

“Right here,” she whispered, her hand brushing across his back and settling on his shoulder. She pulled him close, then guided him to sit on his knees. “I’ll be right here, next to you.”

Peter nodded. “Alright.” And then she drew away from him, and he heard her shuffle only a couple feet away, her presence still solid even though he couldn’t see her.

A hand in his hair, ruffling it and making Peter grumble. “Thank you, Peter,” Darius said, his serious tone making Peter’s complaints die down. “We all owe you so much. We’ll never forget what you’re about to do here for us, for Agnes. None of us will forget.”

A wave of agreements passed around the room, his siblings voices reaching him one after another, and Peter felt proud and pleased to be a part of something. To be trusted and responsible for an important venture such as this.

“Are you ready, Peter?” Darius asked. 

Peter could feel everyone’s eyes on him, and he puffed up his chest, squared his shoulders, and tried to appear as big and great as they were making him feel. He nodded once. 

“Then we’ll begin.”

Darius was patient and clear as he walked Peter through each and every word of the spell. The language was foreign and heavy on Peter’s tongue, the syllables of each word long and difficult. But he wasn’t planning on letting any of his siblings down, so he took great care to pronounce each and every line as clear and concise as possible. He worried he’d stumbled over a few characters, but Darius didn’t ask him to repeat anything; they didn’t start over. 

The spell was arduous and complicated, and Peter had no idea when the incantation would be complete. When Darius finally came to a stop, and Peter followed shortly after, it was almost a surprise. Peter was half-expecting his brother to start another string of strange syllables when a strong gust of wind burst out from the center of their circle, blasting Peter in the face and sending his hair and clothes whipping every which way. 

“Well done,” Darius said warmly, and Peter inwardly preened. 

The wind picked up, blowing so strongly there was a slight whistle in the air from it. Peter barely caught a surprised gasp from one of his sisters, although which one he wasn’t sure, not until Further spoke up:

“Oh,” she said breathlessly, “I didn’t realize it would be like this.”

Peter tilted his head in confusion, leaning towards her voice. “Like what?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Mylan mused, a huff of laughter falling out of him. “It doesn’t…”

He trailed off, and an odd silence fell across the room, the only sound the constant wind and its harsh whistling song.

“What doesn’t hurt?” Peter risked asking, worried he wasn’t meant to talk, worried it would somehow disrupt the spell and make it fail.

No one answered him for a long minute, and Peter drew in a breath to repeat his question, but Darius spoke up before he could do so. 

“Did Abba ever tell you how hysterical you could get as an infant?”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Abba has always implied I was a calm, content babe.”

Darius barked out a laugh. “Perhaps that’s true for your later years, but that wasn’t the case when I met you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you used to scream, ” Darius chuckled. “Sometimes at the most random moments, sometimes whenever Abba left for his duties. You would use every ounce of air in your lungs, and just scream. ”

Peter’s shoulders crawled up to his pointed ears. He felt the need to apologize, but found himself at a sudden loss for words.

“I hated it. My, how I hated it. You were so loud, Peter. Your voice would carry through the entire estate. I wanted to be as far away from you as possible, but Abba made me swear I’d stay near you whenever he had to go away. And I loathed it so.”

Peter bit his lip, his chin lowering. Although he couldn’t see, his eyes still cast downwards behind the blindfold. 

“One day, I couldn’t take it anymore. I set you down across from me, and I let out the biggest, loudest cry I could muster. I somehow managed to scream even louder than you. And you immediately fell silent, looking at me with such bewilderment, and I found I couldn’t stop. I just kept screaming. Even punched the floor for good measure. You looked at me as if I’d gone insane, and I felt insane, but I couldn’t stop for a long time. 

“And all I could think about in those long moments of hysteria, was my parents of all things. How unfair it was for them to be taken away from me. How angry I was to be living with someone I hardly knew. How angry I was at you, who could cry out with reckless abandon and not be punished or silenced for it. 

“But no one came to silence me, or punish me, so I just kept screaming until my voice eventually couldn’t give any sound. And you were still there at the end of it, as silent as you’d ever been, watching me not with bewilderment anymore, but an open sort of acceptance. An understanding I didn’t think you were capable of at that age. I stared right back at you, and I understood as well. 

“I’m going to tell you now what I told you then, because I doubt you remember my words: I’m sorry, Peter. I’m sorry for not being a good brother to you. But from now on, I will be. I will protect you from harm, I will love you from this day onwards. I will watch over you in every capacity I am able to. I will be your brother.”

Peter had slowly turned his head toward Darius’ voice the longer he spoke, and he felt a breathless and strange sensation in his chest, as if a vice had wrapped around his ribs. 

“Promise you won’t forget me,” Darius said, his voice suddenly choked.

“How could I?” Peter asked, a chill running down his spine. 

Darius didn’t answer, and Juniper let out a shocked sound beside him. 

“Why am I the last?” she whispered. “I thought… Everyone else…”

“What’s happening?” Peter asked. “What’s going on?” His hands came up to his blindfold, but Juniper cried out to stop him.

“ Don’t! ” She said desperately, and Peter froze. “Please don’t. Please– Just wait a moment, Peter. The spell is almost complete.”

Reluctantly, Peter lowered his hands. “I want to know what’s happening. I want to know why everyone is so quiet.”

Juniper let out a sad sigh. “Oh Peter, you’re going to hate us for this. I don’t want you to, but you have every right to.”

“Hate you for what?” Peter asked, that vice-like sensation around his chest tightening in the most unpleasant way. 

His sister laughed on a breath. “You know, you were my favorite brother.”

It was as if his heart had stopped beating. Everything froze for him in that moment. He couldn’t hear the wind anymore; he could barely feel his clothes being rustled by it. 

Those were words he’d been longing to hear– a wish he’d had in his heart to be somebody’s favorite, to be hers especially. He could feel the sentence being ingrained in his mind, each syllable laid down with such precise care, he knew he’d never forget the way they were delivered, the way she’d sounded when she said them. 

Her tone made him feel anything but joy. 

“Juni,” Peter wheezed, suddenly short of breath, “I’m scared.”

His sister said nothing, offered none of the reassurances he so desperately needed. All was silent in the room, and the wind began to die down until even the whistling vanished. The room became still between one strangled breath and the next, and Peter sat in that foreboding quiet for some time, afraid to move, afraid to take off his blindfold. 

Eventually, when he could stand it no more, his hands flew up and ripped the cloth from his eyes, and he blinked out at the empty room, his gaze roaming over every inch of space. He saw no sign of his siblings, only singed areas in the floor where the herbs for the spell inevitably burned out. There was quite a lot of ash spread around - no doubt from all those winds - and Peter looked every which way for his siblings, and saw no one.

Chapter Text

Hesitantly, Peter stood, his bare feet scraping against the rough texture of the floor as he made his way out of the room, poked his head into the hall, and looked left and right. 

No one. 

He swung his head back into the room, his eyes glancing over the cushions and seats that had been pushed to one wall, the disturbed ashes smeared in the center, the ceiling, but saw no sign of movement. 

Were they all hiding? Had they all left as soon as the spell was complete? Was he meant to find them now?

The questions had a reluctant lightness sweeping out the dread that had been building. Maybe it was a game after all; a way to shake off the tension and grief that had preceded the spell itself. 

“Are you all hiding?” Peter called, stepping out into the hallway. 

No answer; not even the distant giggle of Amira or Emmeline. 

But he knew his siblings took hiding seriously whenever they played with him, and he’d never heard a peep out of anyone before, whenever he was seeking. He didn’t expect one now. 

“I’ll find you!” Peter announced, a smile finding its way onto his face. He went from walking to running in the space of a breath, starting with the rooms he knew his siblings favored. 

The first floor was a fruitless endeavor, Peter slowing down early on to really look inside each room. He made sure to check the ceilings as well, in case Juniper and another sibling decided to cram themselves into a dimly-lit corner among the embellishments. Peter knew his senses and sight weren't as good as the rest of his siblings, but even he could tell those dark corners were empty.

After checking the garden, he decided to go upstairs and see if he had any luck with his siblings’ bedrooms. The grounds were deadly silent, and he inwardly applauded everyone for their seriousness of the game. By this point, he usually heard a stifled giggle from Amira or Emmeline. The pair would have hidden together, and it would have been a struggle to not make each other laugh from their company. They must have truly wanted to win this game. 

He was thorough as he searched through each bedroom, his mood souring with every threshold he crossed. He’d usually found someone by now . Had they all grouped together and chosen a spot he’d never checked before? Or perhaps they had found a place he couldn’t get to?

Peter was frowning by the time he reached Juniper’s room, and his eyes glanced over the unmade bed before he stopped in his tracks, doing a double-take. 

The calling stone Abba had made for his sister was resting on his pillow. It looked like it had been placed there with care, the delicate chain gathered and curving around the colorful stone. Peter swallowed as he stared at it, his unease from before returning with a vengeance. 

It seemed that his sister had intentionally left the thing there for him to find, but why would she do that? She hadn’t had any problems calling Abba with it herself. And their last encounter together was more than civil. She really seemed like she was warming up to their father. 

So why would she leave that stone on Peter’s pillow, as if it were an early present of some sort?

Peter sucked down a breath, snatched the stone off the pillow, then bolted from the room. His feet stumbled as he raced down the steps, and he fell hard on the last few, his knees knocking painfully against the marbled floors. But he didn’t stop, didn’t let the stinging throb radiating up through his thighs slow him down as he got to his feet and ran as quick as he could back to the makeshift spellroom. 

The hand that wasn’t clutching Juniper’s stone grasped the threshold and stopped him from crashing into the room. His arm jerked uncomfortably as he stopped his own frantic momentum, and he looked again at every inch of the space, his eyes fast as they moved over every corner and wall, checking everything once, twice, three times. 

The room looked the same as when he’d left it, and Peter tried to catch his breath as he stepped inside. He couldn’t seem to get enough air as his feet led him back to the center of the room. 

His eyes stared down at the blindfold he’d abandoned on the floor, before moving onto the singed areas nearby, the disturbed ash trails. Around the circle his siblings had made, there were a few untouched piles of the stuff. Peter’s eyes landed on the ashes that sat where Juniper once had, the pile appearing practically pristine. There were a lot of ashes there. More than a few herbs would warrant. 

Peter still couldn’t catch his breath, his chest heaving and heaving as his head swung towards the direction where he was sure Darius had been sitting, based on where Peter had heard his voice. There was another ash pile there, though much less intact, and Peter’s eyes followed the grainy trails that must have been scattered by the winds. They winded and intersected with other trails, other ashes that had been swept up and away throughout the course of the spell. Much of the floor was covered in a fine layer of the stuff, and Peter felt a sudden nausea sweep through him as he felt the texture of it on his own feet. 

He slipped and fell as he tried to flee the room, and he felt grimy and wrong from every speck of ash that his arms and legs landed on. He scrambled to his feet, hastily shaking the stuff off him as he ran from the room, his head whipping every which way for any sign of his siblings.

“I give up!” he cried, his voice much quieter than he would have liked. He was still finding it difficult to breathe. He sucked down as much air as he could manage, then shouted: “I give up! I can’t find you! You can come out!”

He was clutching Juniper’s stone so tightly, his palm stung from its sharp ridges digging into his skin. He focused on that sensation while he strained his ears for the voices of his siblings. 

No one answered him. 

“This isn’t f-funny!” he called. “If you don’t come out now, I’ll tell Abba!”

Utter, terrible silence. 

“I mean it! I’ll tell him you all went and did the spell behind his back!”

No sign of movement. No footsteps. No laughter or apologies. Just a silence he found himself unable to stand. 

“You’re all terrible!” Peter cried, his legs heavy as he turned blindly into the next room. It was where they stored their instruments, and Peter grabbed the closest one - a flute - and held it above his head threateningly. 

“If you don’t stop this, right now, I’m going to make a mess, and then Abba will really be cross with you!”

He waited, hoping, wishing for some kind of answer, but none came. 

Peter let out an ear-splitting scream, using all his strength to throw the woodwind into the ground. It cracked on impact, but that wasn’t good enough. His knees throbbed as they hit the floor, his hand shaking as he grabbed the instrument and slammed it again and again into the ground until it eventually broke. 

His breaths were heavy and sharp behind his clenched teeth as he looked around wildly for the next closest instrument. He spotted a drum, and cut up his fingers and nails as he tore the fabric top from the base. 

He knew his hand was bleeding now from the stone he still held, but he ignored the warm, wet pain of that as he grabbed a ukulele that was within reach and slammed it against the closest wall. The discordant sound it made traveled up his arm and made his teeth rattle, but he didn’t stop. Again and again, he threw the thing at the wall, against the floor, with all his might. The muscles in his arms and legs were starting to burn, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t know if he could. 

He was screaming, saying things even he couldn’t comprehend. Darius would call this a childish fit, and Peter couldn’t wait to see the look on his brother’s face when he came across all the destruction Peter was causing. 

When his hands were too sore to break or tear anything else, Peter pressed his face against a patch of the floor that wasn’t covered in debris, and screamed some more. One hand clenched Juniper’s stone as tightly as possible - as if he could fuse the thing into his skin, make it a part of himself forever - as his free palm slapped against the ground a few times. 

Eventually his palm became a fist, punching the floor again and again, getting cut and scraped by nearby shards of what was left of their instrument collection. 

“No!” Peter howled, refusing to believe the possibility of something so huge and nameless, he couldn't even form the words of it in his head. “No! No! NO!”

Surely, surely someone would have stopped him by now. If anyone was still around to stop him. If any of his siblings were left. If there was anyone Agnes’ spell hadn’t touched, hadn’t…

“ Abba, ” Peter sobbed, pressing his bloodied palm to his cheek, feeling the stone warmed through by his own body heat and wounds. “Abba, I need you.”

Powerless as he was, the stone still activated. Through his blurry, tear-filled eyes, he could see it light up with the magic Abba had imbued into it. His father had heard him. His father would come. 

Running through the entire estate searching for his siblings, breaking every instrument he could reach, and screaming and crying until he was left with just wet coughs now– all of his terrible activities caught up to him at once. Exhaustion crashed into him, hard and unforgiving, and Peter let out one last mournful whine before darkness plucked him out of his strange, discordant world and swallowed him whole.

*

A large, warm hand on his shoulder, shaking him. Abba’s frantic voice calling his name. 

Sleep had Peter in its clutches, and Peter wasn’t feeling inclined to enter the waking world again anytime soon. So he ignored his father’s words, ignored the two fingers pressing against his neck, ignored the break in Abba’s voice as he breathed out a relieved sentence in a language Peter didn’t understand.

Familiar arms around him, pulling him toward and even more familiar heartbeat, and Peter sank fully into the welcoming darkness. 

Consciousness reached for him intermittently, Peter opening his eyes and squinting out at the baths he found himself in. 

When he blinked into the room again, he was settled in Abba’s lap, healers applying salves and bandages to his sore fingers. 

His eyelids were still far too heavy, and they drooped shut for what felt like only a moment, but when Peter jolted back into the room, he was in his bed, Abba sitting beside him. 

Peter looked out at a room he hadn’t used in so long, at the dust that had gathered on some of the shelves, on the toys and trinkets he’d left when he’d moved into Juniper’s room.

“Peter,” Abba said softly, and Peter hesitantly turned to him. The older demon looked exhausted; his eyes red-rimmed and his brown skin paler than normal. “Peter, can you tell me what happened?”

All at once, the events that had led to Peter dropping off from consciousness caught up to him, and a sharp, wounded noise lodged itself in his throat. Abba placed a comforting hand on his back, and Peter drew his knees up to his chest, feeling awful. 

“It’s all my fault,” he managed to get past the painful thing in his throat. “I recited the spell, and now everyone–” He hid his face behind his knees, unable to continue. 

The hand at his back became an arm wrapping around his shoulders, as Abba pulled him close. 

Peter’s head snapped up as a shocking revelation fell upon him. “You would have left us,” he accused, looking to his father in betrayal. “You would have tricked me, just as Darius did, and then the spell would have taken you.”

Something heartbroken passed over Abba’s face, deepening all the lines around his eyes, his mouth. He slowly shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t have.”

“Yes you would!” Peter cried, pushing out of the embrace and shuffling away from the older demon. He didn’t stop until he was on the edge of the bed. “You lied to us all! The time you spent with everyone– You really were saying goodbye. You really were going to leave!”

Abba held his hands out in front of him, not moving from his spot, his expression pained as he stared at Peter. “I wasn’t saying goodbye.”

“Stop lying!” Peter yelled. “Stop lying to me!”

Briefly, Abba closed his eyes. He drew in a slow breath through his nose, and then he opened his eyes and stared levelly at Peter. “I wasn’t going to leave you. I was going to perform the spell with you after I returned from my duties, yes, but I wasn’t going to complete it. I already had everything set up to where the ritual would fail, without causing any harm. I studied Agnes’ spell closely, and found a spot in its formula where an easy error could occur, one that would go unnoticed by anyone who knew the magic of it, like Darius.

“I would have purposely sabotaged the spell, told everyone Agnes’ work was incomplete, and then everyone would have the closure they’d need to move on. If Darius wanted to research the spell more, he’d be free to do so. But I would make sure he’d never see it come to fruition. I would have dedicated the rest of my life to keeping everyone safe. That’s the truth of it.”

Peter’s lungs constricted as he stared back at his father, not finding even one trace of a lie in the demon’s words. A terrible sensation fell over him, making his next breath a sob. His face fell toward the bed as he curled into himself, gripping up the sheets around him and crying loudly. 

Abba had had a plan all along, one where no one would have been hurt by Agnes’ spell. There had been a world where Peter, his siblings, and their father were all at the estate together, living a happy life and healing from the scar of Agnes’ death. 

But that world no longer existed, and the absence of it was tearing Peter apart. 

“I don’t want this,” he choked. “I don’t want any of this.”

He cast out for the numb places inside him, the unfeeling blanket that had held him so closely following his eldest sister’s death. No matter where he looked, he couldn’t find it, and the unbearable misery of it all was too much. He was sure it would destroy him. 

Careful hands on his shoulders, and Peter didn’t push his father away when he pulled Peter into his lap and held him while Peter cried and cried. 

The pain of it was endless, and Peter spent the next few hours jumping between states of hysteria - where he screamed and cursed his siblings for what they’d done - and silent grief spent explaining all that had occurred since Abba’s departure in a hoarse voice even Peter himself could barely hear. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed since he succumbed to his exhaustion amongst the ruined musical instruments. He didn’t even know if it was early in the day, or late at night. He didn’t want to ask. All he wanted to do was curl into his father and cry, so that’s what he did. 

The days passed in a melancholic blur, Abba staying close to Peter through all of it. He was vaguely aware of his bandages being changed and then removed completely, vaguely aware of a bath or two occurring. The only thing he could really feel were the tears on his cheeks, unstopping in their merciless paths hour by hour, day by day. 

Abba’s voice came to him sometimes from great distances, other times Peter could feel the rumble of it against his cheek, where he was pressed close to his father’s chest. There were faint impressions of many things happening at the estate, and in the realm. Chaos had fallen upon both demon and humankind, but these events felt so far from Peter, all he was able to focus on was the texture of his father’s robes as he carried Peter to various places he couldn’t keep track of. 

He knew Abba had been able to individually gather up the ashes of his siblings and place them into ornate urns. He knew the ashes were all that was left of his siblings– Agnes’ spell had taken everything else. He knew Abba had made a trek with Peter in tow to the great hearths where each sibling had been born, and, one by one, they’d opened each urn and let the ever-burning fires gather up every single speck of ash in its own hot wind. The heat that had burst out from each release was strong enough to gain Peter’s awareness, to remind him that he was there to witness the final departure of his siblings. 

As the last urn was opened and emptied, Peter turned into his father’s robes, and focused only on his tears again. 

Abba took him everywhere, even to the important meetings with Satan’s other elite members. Peter was vaguely aware of the harsh words of dissent at Peter’s presence, and he wasn’t sure what Abba said to appease everyone, only that he was placed at his father’s feet with a toy the older demon had grabbed at some point. Peter stared blankly at the carved ridges of a raven, the anxious hum of a conversation happening at a long, stone table above him washing over him without any meaning. 

Peter was present for all of Abba’s meetings after that - too many for him to count - but none of the topics discussed could penetrate his miserable bubble. Peter spent much of the time either curled on the floor around his toy - sometimes a bear, sometimes a goat, sometimes a snake - pressed close to Abba’s shins, or dozing by his feet. All the while, tears paraded out of his eyes, stained his cheeks, and crusted his face. At the end of each day, Abba would gingerly wipe off the stubborn, itchy stuff with a hot rag. And at the start of each day, the tears would begin their march all over again. 

On a day that was much like the rest, after a meeting that was just as tense and far-off from Peter’s awareness, Abba lifted him off the floor and away from his discarded wolf to show him a map that had been spread out across the long table. Peter blinked down at it, then looked around the room, feeling a little out of sorts. All of Satan’s elite had left, and it was just him and Abba alone. He didn’t know when that had happened. 

“Look, Peter,” Abba murmured, drawing Peter’s attention to the hand-drawn map, his finger tapping at a spot that had been darkened with a large swath of ink. “This is where Agnes’ spell first appeared in the human world. And here–” his finger traveled along a line that had been drawn out from that dark spot, connecting it to another part of land a ways off– “is the next place the spell took root.”

Peter watched his father’s finger trace line after line, pausing at the larger areas of ink to show all the parts of the human world that had been affected by the spell. There were a lot of dark areas on the parchment, a lot of lines. 

Abba went back to the first area he’d pointed out after going through everything. He hesitated, then said: “This is where Mylan and Further’s parents were killed.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and his father retraced the path he’d just shown Peter, pausing a little longer at each darkened area. 

“Emmeline’s parents were taken here,” he said, tapping the next spot. 

“Amira’s parents,” he uttered, brushing the darkened parchment with his thumb, before moving on to the largest dark spot on the map. His palm spread out over it, almost covering the inky area completely.

“This is where Juniper was held captive, for all those centuries,” he said softly. 

Peter’s eyes traced each and every line of the map, looking at every dark area, every piece of land that each of his siblings had marked. 

“They’re calling it the Black Death,” his father was saying in a hushed tone. “It’s a terrible illness, and has already eliminated thousands. It catches quicker than anything we’ve ever seen, and kills just as brutal. We’ve had reports from all over their realm of bodies piled in the streets. Mass burnings. There have been murmurings that humanity won’t survive this.”

“Agnes’ spell worked,” Peter whispered, his voice hoarse from both the crying and general disuse. He didn’t know when the last time he spoke was.

Abba nodded. “And, somehow, our family was able to guide it to specific places, after they’d already passed on from this world.”

Peter blinked at that, dumbfounded. As far as any demon knew, death was the ending mark in their life. There was nothing beyond this world for them. Their bodies housed a repurposed soul that had already moved on from the human realm. There was no other resting spot for a cracked, dim thing such as that. No afterlife for a demon. 

So how had his siblings managed to guide the spell to specific areas of the human world, when there shouldn’t have been anything left to do the guiding in the first place?

“Wait,” Peter said, a more pressing realization crashing into him as he looked out at the map again. “Where were Darius’ parents k-killed?”

Abba’s lips thinned into an unhappy line, and he tapped an untouched part of the map twice. “There haven’t been any reports of this new illness springing up here, but that doesn’t mean it won’t reach this area eventually. This disease is rather fresh; Agnes’ spell could very well still be working its way across the world.”

Peter stared out at the map, letting all of this new information wash over him. 

As he and Abba shared a thoughtful silence, there was a sudden darkening of energy in the room. The lanterns mounted to each wall flickered, the candles at the table completely blew out. Abba was already getting down on one knee, that strange dark energy pressing down as someone stepped into the room. 

Peter couldn’t look at them, the gravity of their presence forcing him out of his father’s arms and all the way to the floor. Instinctively, his knees curled under him, he folded over his thighs, and his forehead pressed down into the earth. His hands automatically found their way just in front of his bowed head, his palms up in a show of offering. 

Although he’d never experienced this kind of reaction before, Peter knew what was happening. There was only one being in Hell who could affect his body in this way, make it feel like it was being crushed by an invisible force. 

Their dark god was in the room.

Peter couldn’t see much from his position, but he could tell his father wasn’t as deeply affected as he was; the demon was still just on one knee, chin down in respect, eyes flicking over to Peter worriedly before fixating on a space beside his foot. 

“Ah, yes, Agnes’ spell,” a sweet, melodic voice said, and the sheer energy that radiated out from those words had Peter’s eyes closing heavily, his body slackening in exhaustion. His fingers trembled, and he hoped his dark god didn’t notice. 

“That daughter of yours was very clever, wasn’t she?” Satan continued, as if he’d been with them all along, and was joining in on their personal musings as someone who had every right to such details. His voice was soft, cool, and drugging. Peter dimly realized he was falling asleep from each word his dark god spoke, and he clumsily bit his tongue in an effort to stay awake. 

“All of your children were, I suppose,” Satan went on, an undercurrent of glee in his airy tone. “They’d have to be, to pull off a spell like this. Heaven’s in a real fit about it, you know.”

He laughed as if he’d just heard a pleasant joke, and the sound warmed Peter from head to toe. 

“Ah, but we can’t have your last clever little one knowing all this, now can we?” Peter tensed when he felt a sharp, intuitive gaze land on him. He felt as if his dark god was looking at his very soul, and it stole the breath from his lungs. Then the moment was over, and a pair of boots scuffed against the floor as Satan turned toward the door.

“Asmodeus, please collect this little creature and wait outside with him.”

Heavy footsteps entered the room, and Peter wanted to see the other elite member of Satan’s personal entourage - he’d been in the demon’s presence plenty lately, but hadn’t been present enough to actually look at him - but the heavy energy of his ultimate creator was still pressing down on him, and he felt like a dead weight when a pair of thick arms scooped him up off the floor and carried him out of the room. 

He had more control over his limbs after they crossed the threshold into the hall, and Peter had just enough time to look back into the room and catch a devastated look on his father’s face, before the man carrying him shut the door with his boot, and Peter found himself alone and terrified with a stranger.

Chapter Text

Peter scrambled out of Asmodeus’ arms as soon as the demon started to lower him to the ground, and he pressed his face up against the door that housed his father. The wood must have been bewitched, because all he could hear was the murmur of Abba’s tone, as well as the intermittent, pleasant drawl of their dark god. He couldn’t make out any words, no matter how hard he pushed his pointed ear against the wood. 

A throat clearing behind him, and Peter hesitantly looked over his shoulder to see Asmodeus seated against the opposite wall, chin in his palm as he studied Peter. 

“What are they talking about in there?” Peter demanded, stepping away from the door and crossing over to where Asmodeus sat. 

The demon said nothing, merely shrugged a shoulder as he continued to watch Peter as if he was an interesting line of spellwork, his eyes trailing over Peter like they were reading the inner workings of his mind.

Peter stomped his foot, a sudden anger rushing through him. “Why can’t I be in there with Abba?”

Asmodeus watched him a moment more, and then slowly his palm fell away from his chin, and his hands gathered right in front of his chest, palms facing each other. He glanced at Peter, as if checking that he was watching, and then called a bright, flickering flame to his hands. 

“Do ye like animals, lad?” he asked, and Peter was so bewildered by the question that he merely nodded. 

Asmodeus nodded as well, giving him a pleased smile. Then his fingers began to dance around the flame, teasing its shape this way and that. His palms pressed into the fire, then pulled it taut, as if he was working with clay. Peter’s eyes widened as the flames sputtered and morphed into something that didn’t look like fire at all. The oranges, reds, and yellows swirled through a shape that looked very much like a goat, and Peter found himself sitting down across from Asmodeus to get a better view. 

“‘Tis a goat,” Asmodeus supplied.

“I know,” Peter said. 

Something gleeful and young passed through Asmodeus’ eyes. “Let us see if ye ken this next creature, then.” 

His hands and fingers moved around the flames again, turning the goat into something amorphous that spat sparks, before the flame followed the rhythm of his hands properly and took on a new form. One Peter wasn’t familiar with.

The thing had four hooved legs like the goat had, but it was obviously not a goat. The legs were longer, the muscles more defined where they connected to the body. The neck was long, the snout as well. It had a wild stream of hair growing out of its neck, and a long tail popping out of its flank. Asmodeus’ fingers danced around the thing quickly, and it ran in place, the flames licking up around it as if moved by an invisible wind. 

“What is it?” Peter asked, entranced by the strange animal. 

“A horse,” Asmodeus answered easily. “Humans like to ride them, up on earth.”

“You can ride them? How?”

The pleased smile Asmodeus had kept broadened, and he told Peter all sorts of things about horses, about taming them, saddling them, the speeds they could go, the distances they could cross, how it felt to be on one. Peter was enthralled, holding onto Asmodeus’ every word, and he was surprised to realize he’d forgotten to worry about his father by the time the door behind him finally opened.

Peter turned to see Abba emerging from the room, a terrible expression on his face that cleared the second he saw Peter. He bent down and scooped Peter up without a word, quietly thanking Asmodeus for keeping him company.

Asmodeus inclined his head, scattered the flames in his hands with a wave, then stood. He went to head down deeper into the darkened hallway they were all in without a word, and disappeared in a whirl of smoke and sparks when he was only a few steps away.

“Come along, Mammon,” Satan called. Peter turned to see the back of his head as he walked down the other end of the hall. With the distance between them, and with those sharp eyes fixed elsewhere, Peter didn’t feel crushed by the weight of his dark god, and he got a proper look at a full head of bouncing, tightly curled locks as his father began to trail after Satan. 

“Peter,” Abba whispered down at him, his words rushed. “There are many things I need to tell you, and I need you to listen closely.”

Peter spared one last glance at the fair hair in front of them, then looked up at his father. The older demon appeared to be anything but happy, and Peter didn’t understand it. Their own dark god seemed untroubled, so why were all the lines in Abba’s face creased with worry?

“It is forbidden for a demon to kill a human,” Abba told him quietly. “You know this, yes? And so you know that Agnes’ spell has consequences to the demons who performed it. The fact that it was even possible at all is a dangerous thing. The knowledge of the spell, the ingredients, the incantations… it can never reach the eyes and ears of our kind. Even knowing the consequences, I’m sure others will try it. Others will succeed.”

“W-What are the consequences?” Peter asked, his hands tightening around the material of Abba’s robes.

Abba looked at Peter heavily, his mouth twisting as if he’d rather do anything but answer. 

“What will happen to me?” Peter asked, his voice breaking in fear.

Abba blinked, and his arms tightened around Peter. “Nothing, my little טללא,” he soothed. “When you recounted to me what happened, you said you were blindfolded before the spell even began. And you told me yourself that you couldn’t recall the words for the incantation; you weren’t able to repeat them when you tried. So you are innocent in this.”

For some reason, the fear didn’t subside from those words. Instead, it settled in the pit of his stomach, hard and cold like a stone. “Then why are you telling me this?”

Abba’s eyes held his for a breathless second, and then that umber gaze flicked up to the being they were following deeper into the compound. Peter noticed the stones here looked older, less well-kept. Some were cracked and crumbling, most were darkened by a layer of soot caked in from centuries upon centuries of ash-ridden air. 

“I know the spell,” Abba murmured, the words falling over Peter like a harsh wind, stealing all of his air in one swoop. “I learned every aspect of it, studied it intimately. I had to, in order to make it fail in a way that Darius would believe. I suppose all that work has condemned me now,” he laughed mirthlessly. 

“You said there were consequences,” Peter haltingly mentioned. He wanted to ask what those consequences were, but he had to take a moment to inhale all the air he’d lost, and on his next exhale, he discovered he couldn’t form the question properly in his head. The words were all jumbled up, a mess in his mind as it swirled and swirled.

There weren’t many lights in this part of the compound– only a few lanterns here and there that were so interspersed they flickered in the distance, both forward and behind. Peter couldn’t see their dark god anymore, could only hear his echoing steps. His stomach dropped when Abba stepped down onto a spiraling staircase that seemed to appear out of nowhere, and then they descended into darkness.

“There isn’t a spell that exists that can erase the memories of what I know,” Abba muttered. “Such magic would make the solution to this predicament as easy as fire. Still, the knowledge must be erased.”

There was a large amount of light emanating from the bottom of the stairs, and Peter winced as his eyes adjusted to it after being carried in dark and dimness for so long. There was an open doorway that greeted them to the right of the last step, and Abba stepped through. 

The light was coming from a large, dug-in pit in the center of a grand space that was otherwise dark and empty, save for the hugest fire Peter had ever seen, dancing and sparking up from that great pit. The silhouette of their dark god stood in front of it, facing the flames. 

Abba stood frozen in the doorway, Peter in his arms. 

“You must leave him at the door,” Satan lightly commanded, his words reverberating around the room and reaching them in a threatening rumble.

It looked like it took a great effort for Abba to bend down and set Peter on the ground. He knelt in front of Peter, tears in his eyes. “You must promise me something, Peter. It’s very important.”

His large, brown hands took up Peter’s own, engulfing them and squeezing them until Peter couldn’t feel his fingers.

“You must live. You must carry on. And most importantly, you must find a new family.”

Peter looked at his father, not understanding. “But why? I don’t want a new family. I want you, and I have you.”

Abba’s eyes briefly squeezed shut, and tears escaped down his face, running down and across all the lines around his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth.

“It is terribly unfair,” he said, voice choked, “but you must understand. Agnes’ spell should never have been conjured. A demon is never meant to kill a human, and our family has killed thousands. Even now, they continue to die. This is not the way of things, my little טללא. It goes against the balance and agreements put forth between us and the heavens long before you, long before me. And so the balance must be reinstated. The knowledge of this forbidden magic must be erased.”

Abba’s eyes opened, and he stared down at Peter, looking heartbroken. “ I must be erased.”

Peter shook his head. Shook it again. “No,” he said, because it simply wasn’t possible. All of his siblings had already sacrificed themselves to Agnes’ spell. There was no need for his father to go as well. It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t understand it. 

“Peter, please promise me you will find a new family. You will find new demons to love you and cherish you as we have. Even if it is just one person, I will be at peace.”

Peter was still shaking his head, his face suddenly wet. “ No. ”

One of Abba’s hands released his, and his calloused palm came to cup Peter’s face. His thumb wiped at his tears. “I know this is impossible, Peter, but it is the only thing I’m asking of you. It is the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.”

Another hand settled at the top of his head, foreign fingers diving into his hair. Peter’s entire body froze, and he felt that heavy, unbearable weight drip into him from the palm atop his head. His knees immediately hit the ground. His eyes were wide as they stared at his father, silently begging him to make everything better. 

His father’s expression pinched, more tears fell from his eyes, and he looked to the being standing beside Peter. Suddenly, a sharp expression tore through his features, and his eyes hardened.

“I was your first,” he stated. “And I have always done what you asked.”

“You have,” Satan agreed easily, his words sending Peter all the way to the ground. Abba still gripped his hands tightly as they settled in front of his bowed head, and that hand in his hair only left when Peter’s forehead rested against the ground.

“I would like a favor,” Abba said.

“I can only grant you what is within my power to grant.”

“I understand.”

“Then ask away.”

One of Abba’s large hands left Peter’s own, coming to rest on the back of Peter’s head. He petted his hair a few times, then let the weight of his hand remain there and warm Peter with its comforting presence.

“You will grant him the life he should have had. You will allow him access to whatever future he desires. If he wants to work with humans, he will have every facility and tutor within reach. If he wants to be a part of the Guard, he will be trained. Fate has stolen his family, but it will not steal his chosen path.”

A tense, weighted silence passed through the room. Peter became aware of the roar of the fire in the center, the crackling of its sparks. He could feel the heat of it on the side of his face.

“Very well,” Satan said. 

Peter could feel the way Abba sagged forward in relief from the palm on his head pressing down. Abba’s other hand came to his hair, and his palms moved down to cup his face, covering his pointed ears as his lips came to kiss his crown once, twice, three times. 

“My little טללא - my little shadow - if there is one thing you should never doubt, it is how well-loved you are.”

And then those large, familiar hands left him, and Abba stood and walked with their dark god towards the fire. With Satan turned away from him, Peter was able to scramble up to his knees and stare after them as their forms became silhouettes against the great, dancing flames. They said more words to each other, but it was lost in the roar of the fire. 

Satan gestured at the ground. Abba knelt. 

Satan got on one knee, and drew close. 

“I’ll do it!” the words burst out of Peter, and both demons froze. His eyes immediately found the floor when Satan turned his way. 

“I’ll do what you asked, Abba!” Peter managed, holding himself up off the ground with shaking arms. He wouldn’t let his voice get lost in the dirt. “I’ll find a new family! I promise!”

Satan must have turned away, because the weight between his shoulders abruptly left him, and Peter gasped against the release as his head whipped up to find his father. 

It was hard to tell with the flames at his back, but it looked like he was smiling.

Satan was by his ear, murmuring something, and then Abba’s form collapsed. Not in the sense that his body fell, but that the body itself became a burst of ash and sparks. One second Peter could see his father’s silhouette, the next it vanished.

Satan stood, watching Abba’s ashes get absorbed into the great fire at the center of the room, and Peter felt a terrible, building pressure behind his ears. The room spun.

He gripped at the dirt under his hands to stay upright, and he felt more than heard a sudden pop! in his head. Then, a burst of sound, as if he’d had wool in his ears all his life, and it was only now just removed. 

The roar of the great fire in the center of the room was the first thing that reached him, the twisting and crackling of each flame loud, patternless, and grating. He became aware of a steady drumbeat, echoing out of his own chest, and realized it was his heart he was hearing. The constant thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump was steadily gaining tempo, and he jolted when a scream tore its way through his head. 

More followed soon after - a fast cacophony of torture - and Peter knew he was hearing the souls of the damned. Whenever he went outside the estate, the sounds were muted and barely noticeable. Now, they were unbearable in their volume.

Peter’s breathing picked up, and even that was too much. He curled into himself, his hands flying up to his pointed ears. It did nothing to help, and the sounds around him only grew louder and louder with each passing second. 

“What’s this?” the voice of his dark god asked, and Peter whimpered at the noise. It sounded as if it was shouted right by his ear, but Peter knew Satan was still standing by the fire. He could hear the rough sounds of his boots scuffing against the floor as he turned towards Peter.

A disbelieving breath of laughter, and that mingled with the languid steps of his dark god coming closer. To Peter, each footprint was like an ear-splitting drum beat, vibrating through him with each step. He could do nothing but curl up tighter, desperate to escape the torture but unsure how.

“Now? Really?” His dark god breathed, although for Peter it may as well have been a high shriek. “You’re coming into your power now? ”

Was that it? Was that what was happening? Peter suddenly wished for another 200-year delay. He wished for the agony to end. But it only got worse. 

He didn’t know how loud the world around him was going to get, only that its volume was still steadily increasing. His ears rang from it. He felt dizzy and sick. His body was limp by the time his dark god scooped him up and held him close. A single palm pressed against the hand on his left ear, encouraging his other ear to press up against a lithe chest.

With both ears covered by his dark god, the world went quiet. Peter couldn’t even hear his own panicked breathing. 

Unbidden, smoke began to form around them, as unhurried and leisurely as the stroll of his dark god. It enveloped them both like an embrace from a friend, and the world tilted and distorted until finally Peter had to shut his eyes, afraid he’d really get sick if the dizzying sights invaded his vision any longer.

Soon enough, the world felt more steady, and Peter opened his eyes just as Satan set him down in front of a large set of wooden doors. Even with those hands retreating, the world was still quiet. Peter’s neck craned up at the doors in front of him, his entire body trembling. He had no idea where he was, or what was happening.

He cringed away from Satan when he stepped up beside Peter, his eyes downcast as the great demon knocked soundlessly against the thick wood of the doors. 

Well, it was soundless to Peter, in any case. The entire world was soundless, and he was sure Satan’s knock would have been heard by anyone not in his current predicament. He was certain his dark god had placed some kind of sound-canceling spell on him, one that would wear off at some point. He hoped he was in a quieter place when that happened.

Movement out of the corner of his eye, and Peter looked to see those heavy doors slowly swinging open. He turned to seek out his dark god, but he was already gone, the lazy smoke of his teleport already drifting away.

There was a flurry of movement in front of him, as various demons dressed in long flowing robes surrounded him. Some cupped his face, looking at him with concern and asking him questions he couldn’t hear. Others settled behind and ushered him forward, inside the darkness of the building.

Peter was able to steal one final glance of the outside, and realized he recognized the cobbled street, the tall, elegant buildings framing it. 

He was in a Silent Chapel, one of many that had been constructed in this particular area, where spells had been cast to mute noise from the outside, and the buildings themselves were warded from all sound. With the great doors closed, no screams of the damned, no fire, no bustling demons could be heard from within. Satan’s knock must have also been enchanted in some way, for it to have been heard by the demons currently ushering Peter within.

Peter closed his eyes in relief, the muffled questions of the demons around him finally reaching him. They asked who his parents were, who had brought him here, and how old he was. He found he was too tired to answer, and he slumped to the floor the next moment.

Chapter Text

Not every home had a Quiet Room, as there were better-equipped facilities in the more prestigious parts of Hell already built for these matters: Silent Chapels. All of Peter’s siblings had honed their powers at these places, and whenever they regaled the experience to Peter, it sounded like a lovely adventure. 

Amira and Emmeline had made friends who they shared plenty of studies with after. Agnes was taught how to embroider by one of the patrons working on-site. Darius was the first to graduate in his group. Mylan and Further were the only twins in their smaller, Silent Chapel, and became popular amongst their classmates because of that fact.

So when Peter was asked whether or not he wanted a Quiet Room installed at the estate, the answer was easy. He wanted the same experience his siblings’ had, and so he and Abba had toured the streets containing various Silent Chapels when Peter turned 200. Abba let Peter choose which building he would spend decades in as he honed his power, which building he’d be visited by his family intermittently, as he got stronger and had a better hold of his senses.

While he’d been taken to the Silent Chapel he’d hand-picked so long ago, Peter knew he wouldn’t be getting any visitors during his stay. But that fact was quickly swept aside under the sheer amount of sounds and smells his newly-awakened senses could detect, and it was all Peter could do not to scream against the barrage of everything. His skin buzzed unpleasantly from it, his heartbeat a constant, unwelcome drum in his ears.

Even with the sounds of the outside world completely blocked out, there was plenty of noise within. The careful steps of the patrons moving about were grating and thunderous. He’d been told every demon who worked on-site had to wear special unscented robes, but he could still detect the herbs and spices that lived in whatever homes they were from– scents that made a long-time home under the skin. It was a cacophony of discord to his nose; his throat ached from it. 

His short time in the receiving hall of the Silent Chapel was torturous, his guided path with a large, calloused palm leading him toward the meditation areas even more so. The footsteps of those around him were unbearable, but the trek of his own feet made him want to dig deep inside his ears and pull out whatever cursed things allowed him to hear in the first place. He shook from head to toe from the effort of not doing just that, his teeth clenched painfully as an unsuccessful distraction.

Finally, he was pulled through the threshold of one of the many meditation spaces on site. He was too overwhelmed to take in the room, the other children already seated were fuzzy blurs in his peripheral. He was coaxed to sit on a vacant cushion towards the back, and as the patron released his hand, he followed that open palm with his eyes as it gestured to the front of the room. 

A long tapestry had been hung across the far wall, its length and height occupying every inch of space. On it, simplistic embroidered figures meant to be demons mirrored his own seated position. Beside those threaded children were neatly painted words in a language he’d grown up reading, giving detailed instructions for pulling one’s focus inward, for practice at blocking out the unbearable sounds and smells of the world through careful attention at the space where his soul resided. 

He wanted to be rid of the screeching volume of the footsteps roaming the large building, of the breaths of those around him, of his own wretched heartbeat. So Peter wasted no time closing his eyes and pulling all his thoughts toward the center of his chest, a space just below his ribs, where a flickering, shivering speck of light greeted him in the dark. 

He imagined himself grabbing onto his own soul, pulling it close, and let everything else fall away.

Time passed, and Peter didn’t know if it was days, weeks, or months, before he was able to enjoy a break from his many meditations without wanting to immediately go back inward. It seemed as if between one long breath and the next, he could open his eyes and take in the room and its inhabitants with an easy sigh that was exactly as audible as it was supposed to be. 

There were other children making the same progress, and he met their eyes across the room, over the rest of the demons with heads bowed low in concentration. They smiled at him, and he smiled back. One of them tried to say something with their hands - another language Peter had learned early on, in preparation for when he came into his power - but at the first brush of their fingertips passing over each other and everyone’s responding full-body flinch, they immediately abandoned the effort. 

A couple of the children could speak without making any noise, but not everyone could discern what they were trying to say, Peter included. The ones who were fortunate enough to have learned lip-reading had long conversations with each other, while Peter and the rest watched on with envy, stealing glances at each other and grimaces that felt like camaraderie. 

Would the patrons at the Silent Chapel teach everyone how to lip-read? Peter wasn’t sure, but he hoped so. Speaking with hands had turned out to be far louder than he’d anticipated, and that language would be useless to him here.

The time of inward meditations lessened, which allowed him to properly take in the room he’d spent Satan knew how long in. It was about as large as the grand library back at the estate, but far more bare. A dim room with stone walls and ceilings, and only a handful of candles situated on either side to provide light. Which was fine for Peter, because his short time spent outside the Silent Chapel had been a screeching, blinding mess of noise and brightness. 

There were thick, comfortable pillows evenly spread out around the space, forming a 12x12 grid. Not every seat was occupied; the room was maybe two-thirds full of children who were all younger than Peter. The majority looked to be in their 300s, but there were a few who were a little smaller than the rest, barely making a dent in their plush seats. Peter wasn’t sure there was even someone in their 400s in the room, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t find a demon close to his age elsewhere. 

There were plenty of meditation rooms in the Silent Chapel, after all, and he knew from his siblings’ stories that he wouldn’t be spending the entirety of his stay on his comfortable pillow, in this one single room. He’d have to perfect many disciplines before he could officially master his power, and those disciplines were taught in different areas of the Silent Chapel. 

More time passed in that room, until Peter almost found himself growing bored. But luckily a handful of patrons came into the room with new demons to settle in - Peter could tell by their pinched expressions and free hands covering pointed ears - and these older demons picked out children like Peter who watched them with curiosity, showing no interest in going back into a long meditation. 

So Peter was led - along with the familiar faces of those he’d been meeting eyes with and having wordless conversations - out of the meditation room and through a twist of halls. He noticed the sounds around him weren’t as unbearable as they’d been his first trek through, and he was able to pay attention to his surroundings a little more. 

The walls were made of stone, the floor a flat, ashy-dirt mixture that was so compressed it remained solid and unbreaking under his feet as he was led through the building. He could hear faint whispers coming from the stoned walls, and when he looked he could just barely detect a low glow of symbols here and there on some of the larger bricks. 

He could only guess these symbols were old spells that helped dampen the sound within the Silent Chapel, as well as remove any possibility of outside noise creeping in. 

He craned his neck to look at the candled chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, suspended from chains so well-maintained they gave not a single creak of age. And then the hand holding his pulled him through another threshold, and he blinked against the sudden darkness of the new room. 

There were no light sources here, but Peter could still see well enough, after his eyes had a moment to adjust. His stumbling steps became more sure as the patron holding his hand never faltered in their gait, and soon Peter found himself in front of one of many beds lining the room. As he stared around at the other children being helped onto their own beds, he realized it had been some time since he’d slept, or even felt tired. 

Time was so strange here, and yet he knew it had been most definitely more than a day since he’d arrived. He was pretty sure a few days had spanned out, perhaps even a week, but he wasn’t positive. Still, he’d never before been awake for an entire 24 hours without feeling tired in the slightest, and he blinked owlishly at the patron as they gently guided him onto the bed and pulled the sheets up to his chin. 

I’m not tired, he wanted to say, but he was afraid the sound of his own words would be too loud for the room’s occupants to handle, himself included. So he obediently stayed put while the patron fluffed up the pillow around his head, then watched the demon go to trail behind the rest who had brought the other children into the room as they all left the way they’d come. The last demon shut a thick wooden door behind them, and the soft glow from the hall was cut off, plunging the room into proper darkness. 

Peter could still see just fine despite the lack of light, and from the looks of some of the other children staring around curiously, he knew he wasn’t alone. 

Most of the children were fast asleep in their beds, and those who weren’t showed no interest in getting up and moving around. At first Peter wondered why no one was up for exploring, but as one of the resting children rolled over in their sleep and abruptly woke from the sound the sheets made from their movements - Peter wincing along with everyone else - he realized why it was such a good idea to not move at all.

He could vaguely recall his siblings talking about this part of their training, but for the most part they were all tired enough from the meditation room to sleep when the opportunity was offered to them. From what Peter could remember, time spent in the sleeping quarters was brief and not nearly enough. So even though he wasn’t tired, he still tried to sleep.

He was sure he wouldn’t find any semblance of rest, but the next thing he knew he was being lightly jostled by a hand on his shoulder, and Peter groggily let himself be pulled from his bed and guided from the room with about a dozen other children, hair in disarray and wiping sleep dust from their eyes.

By the time he was awake enough to take in his surroundings, he was already being seated on a very familiar pillow, and at first Peter felt dismay to be back in the meditation rooms once again - sure he would be bored out of his mind and unable to talk to anyone - but then he realized he wasn’t in a meditation room. 

This one was different, with no tapestry on the front wall, and the cushions were placed closer together, grouped in threes. Peter himself had been seated across from another child much younger than he was, and the patron who had led him there sat on the last unoccupied seat in the cluster. They pointed towards the floor in front of them, and Peter looked and noticed the neat etchings there. 

Practice talking, the old words said, and Peter felt dread rise up within him, cold and thick. 

Although the sound of his own breath and heartbeat were bearable, he couldn’t imagine speaking up, not even to whisper. He knew any sound of a voice would be far too loud, most likely painful to his sensitive ears. He looked around the room to see various shades of dubious expressions on those around him, and was comforted by the fact that everyone seemed hesitant to start this new task. 

A sigh that sounded purposefully loud, and Peter’s head whipped toward the front of the room to see another patron standing, a large hourglass in their hands. They made a show of flipping it over carefully, placing it at their feet, then approaching a pair of seated children closest to the front. 

Their voice was barely a breath, but it still had Peter flinching along with the rest of the room when they spoke: 

“One at a time,” they said slowly, as if trying hard to give everyone ample opportunity to become accustomed to the harsh noise. And then, thank Lucifer, they said the rest with their hands. 

Each pair will say three words to each other. I will prompt who will go next, until the hourglass has emptied. Then we will spend the rest of the day in meditation.

With the grating sound of their fingers passing over each other for the words, Peter found himself looking forward to the meditations he was sure he’d be bored of not five minutes before. He really wasn’t looking forward to bearing the barrage of sounds that would soon be filling the room, and from the pale looks of the rest of the children, he knew the next endless moments would be grueling. 

The patron at the front nodded toward the shivering young demons before them, and it began.

Peter hardly paid attention to what three words each child had chosen, and he eyed the faint marks on the hourglass case with gratitude, happy that, at the very least, the sound of all that sand moving from top to bottom was muted against the spells which had been engraved onto the hourglass itself. He spent the next handful of minutes focused solely on the descent of each and every grain, trying his hardest not to flinch at every new brush of fingers as the horrible task of sign language was passed from one child to the next. 

The last speck of sand soundlessly hit its mark on the bottom half of the hourglass before even half of the children had had their turn at speaking, and everyone slumped forward in relief at the same time as Peter, all obviously having their attention on that one saving grace. 

The main patron stood without a word, softly crept toward the front of the room, and then seated themselves in the meditation position Peter had grown accustomed to during his stay thus far, and the rest of the children followed suit. Peter bowed his head low with his peers, seeking out the inner solace of his own soul faster than he ever had before. The silence that lived within himself was a balm against the torture he’d just faced, his ears itchy and sore from the barrage of sounds, of fingertips passing over each other. 

This is terrible, he thought inwardly, and he imagined his own soul flickering a nod of agreement. 

A sound caught his attention, and Peter opened one eye to see the patron tenderly flipping over the hourglass, starting the time once again. His other eye blinked open in shock, and he hoped their tutor would not be so cruel as to allot them only a handful of minutes of rest before he and the rest of the children had to face the debilitating task of signing three words all over again. 

A slow nod and knowing smile from the patron was all the answer he needed to be certain those hopes would soon be crushed. 

Time dragged on in a horrible pendulum between cringing alertness and brief inner reflection. Peter wasn’t sure how many times he’d swung between the wincing sounds of hands trembling over a trio of words and inwardly sighing as he buried himself in the small space where his soul resided, nor how many times he himself was the cause of everyone’s agony when it was his turn to pick three words to spell out with his hands, but eventually a line of patrons entered the room and led all of the dazed children back to the sleeping quarters. 

Peter shoved his face as deep as it would go into his pillow. He grabbed onto both ends of the thing and pressed the stuffed fabric tightly against each ear for good measure. Sleep was an abyss he plunged into with wild desperation, the screaming noises around him giving no room for any thought save that he had but one egress, and he was taking it then and there. 

The rest was brief. How brief, he wasn’t sure. But he felt a tiredness all the way in his bones as he was nudged awake by a patron and led back into what had become his worst favorite room in the entire Silent Chapel. 

A week passed, or perhaps two. Peter wasn’t sure. The only thing he was certain of was the fact that the amount of time it took for sign language to not sound like an ear-ringing wail was far, far too much. 

But, eventually, he and the other children were able to speak five, seven, even ten words during their turns. And those random phrases began to evolve into full sentences, until finally Peter was having entire conversations with whatever child happened to be seated across from him in the regular rotations between this room and the sleeping quarters. 

He received the same set of questions from anyone he spoke to, all with the same theme: 

Why have you come into your power so late?

No matter how many times he was asked, Peter never had a proper answer. He had no idea why it had taken so long for him to come into his power, why he was the oldest one at the Silent Chapel by a wide margin, or why his power was a bitter, petty thing, springing up on him at the worst possible moment. 

He never went into much detail with the vague answers he gave, at any rate. Even glancing at the circumstances that preceded his power making its debut was enough to have all words and thought leave him. The patrons were very clear about participation, and Peter wanted to avoid the sharp snap of fingers that broke through the quiet whenever a child petulantly chose to say nothing with their hands. 

That sound was an abrupt shout against all the quiet; as startling and unwelcome as a demon dropping and breaking a large, irreplaceable object made of something fragile. It only took two snapped fingers for Peter to decide to stick with simple answers, to not let himself get lost in the why’s and how’s regarding his appearance at this wretched place. 

I don’t know, his fingers said, only trembling a little. Perhaps I’m simply unlucky.

Of course, little demon children weren’t satisfied with a vague answer such as that, but they didn’t have the allotment of words nor the time to wiggle more truths out of Peter. And that was perhaps the only thing Peter was grateful for in this horrid place. He was glad his conversations with the other children were brief, glad to seek refuge in the quiet that found him as other pairs took their turns speaking before and after him.

But gladness - like most things he was coming to learn - was terribly brief in a place like this. 

By the time he and his peers were able to have short conversations with each other - not bothering to count the number of words they were allotted, but instead focusing on the small hourglass that had been given to each group to track their time - it was announced that everyone’s parents would be allowed to step in for a short visit. 

As Peter was led to the sleeping quarters along with the rest of the children, he felt a heaviness drag his feet as everyone else all but bounced to their beds, unable to wait to fall asleep and then wake to their family waiting for them in one of the areas closer to the main doors of the place, warded heavily from sound so as not to disturb the other pupils at the Silent Chapel.

He pulled the covers over his head, and wished he couldn’t remember anything at all. He wished he didn’t know not to expect any visitors when he woke. He wished he could forget his very last interactions with his siblings, with his father. 

But he was a demon, and no wish any demon made came true. They were dark creatures, after all, and would never get anything resembling a miracle.

Chapter Text

He was expecting to sleep through the entire parent visit, sure no patrons would come to pull him from his bed to meet a guardian that no longer existed. He was expecting to have the comfort of darkness rip away all the terrible memories that had resurfaced. 

He was not expecting to be roused from his deep sleep and led - alongside a dozen or so other children - to a new room altogether.  

The space was large, sectioned off into multiple little areas whose borders were made by magic; walls of golden light that revealed eager-looking parents with arms open wide, waiting for their children to pass through the translucent barrier. As soon as the child had crossed the threshold, all glowing walls turned dark, allowing privacy for those within. 

Peter stared around the room as, one by one, his peers ran off to see their parents. Some had just one waiting for them, while others had two. With each glimpse of a heartfelt embrace he caught before the walls went dark, he felt a bitter envy coil tighter and tighter in his chest. 

Why was he here? Why was he being shown these sights?

Not paying attention to the patron leading the group, he ended up bumping right into that demon as they stopped in front of the last glowing barrier still visible in the space. Peter looked up at them, ready to apologize, but they were already stepping aside and gesturing toward the golden, shimmery wall before them. 

Suddenly, Peter felt his throat constrict. He was simultaneously terrified to look at whoever was standing in that sectioned-off space, and unable to move his gaze fast enough to see his visitor. 

It wasn’t Abba. 

It looked nothing like Abba.

But the demon waiting patiently on the other side of the glass-like wall - watching him with amusement and hands clasped behind his back - looked an awful lot like…

Peter’s entire body felt numb, yet his feet somehow managed to make the few steps needed to cross the barrier and plunge the room behind him into darkness. With no glowing barriers and only a faint border of light framing where wall met floor, the space suddenly felt very cramped. 

Peter craned his neck to meet the eye of his visitor, cataloging every inch of the demon’s face. 

A strong jawline. Dark, messy hair. An unobtrusive nose with a slight curve. Mischievous eyes. 

Peter had never seen any sort of depiction of his first father, the one who had come before Abba. But the demon standing before him shared many of the features he’d become accustomed to from looking in a mirror. 

Logic had grown to be a fast friend in recent days, so Peter didn’t even entertain the idea that, somehow, his first father was alive and standing before him. 

Because the more realistic answer was another thing he was familiar with, and it filled him with rage. 

“You’d dare wear his face,” Peter hissed, his shaking hands forming fists at his sides. “You’d dare steal my Abba’s mask and wear my own father’s face. ”

That was the only explanation for what he was seeing: someone had taken the mask Abba had previously used to pose as a parent to each of his siblings during their outings, and had enchanted the thing to mimic the first father Peter lost. 

The mischievous glint in the stranger’s eye disappeared, and a sober look swept across his face as, slowly, he lifted a hand to remove the mask. Before they could lock eyes, Peter’s forehead was on the floor, his knees aching from the abrupt postrating position his body found itself in.

“I would not disrespect your first father’s memory by wearing his face,” Satan murmured. “I only wished to see you without questions from others. And I wanted to speak to you as an equal, not… as this.”

Even with his eyes tightly shut, Peter could tell exactly when his dark god righted his mask again, because the invisible weight pressing down between his shoulders vanished. Hesitantly, he raised his head to see the same disguise as before, as the features of Satan’s fake skin regarded him thoughtfully. 

“What I have to say to you is important,” he continued, as if Peter’s earlier rage hadn’t occurred, and they had had an amicable conversation from the start, “and what you will say to me is equally important.”

At that, Peter got to his feet. “What do I have to say to you?” he asked, the thought that he’d have anything to discuss with his dark god not crossing his mind until that moment. 

Satan got down to one knee, situating himself at eye-level with Peter. Even with the mask disguising his features and powerful nature, the weight of his stare still made Peter’s knees tremble.

“You have not told a soul about your family’s demise, or how it came to be,” Satan observed. “Why is that?”

Peter’s eyes fell to his feet, and he found he didn’t have an answer. 

His dark god waited a few breaths, but Peter said nothing. 

“In any case,” Satan started up again, “it has served me well– your silence. No demon should have the knowledge your family had, that you yourself have. Humans are God’s greatest treasure, and the fact that they can be harmed by our kind should not be possible. It must stay that way. And so the story of how your family became dust must remain locked inside yourself.

“Still, your silence has cost you greatly, while benefiting me just as much. Which is why I have come to tell you I owe you a favor. For your sacrifice. For not sharing the burden of your family’s absence with anyone.”

Slowly, Peter’s head rose, and he wiped at the wetness building in his eyes. His throat was too tight to speak. 

“I do not like to leave open debts, and so I have come to collect this one. The favor your father put in place does not affect this, mind you. The circumstances for opportunity and education will already be in place by the time you graduate from this Silent Chapel. So that only leaves one task to do: what favor would you like me to grant?”

What favor? What favor indeed. Peter stared at his dark god, dumbfounded. This being was capable of so much, and yet even he had his limits. Peter wondered what exactly he could ask for, what were the bounds of what could be granted. 

A mischievous gleam passed through Satan’s borrowed eye. He raised a single finger. “I must warn you, there is a caveat to this favor: you can only ask for something I am able to give. If you ask for something outside the realm of my power, I will consider your favor addressed, just from simply asking it.”

This was a game Peter was familiar with, and so he was not shocked or disheartened by it. After all, hadn’t Abba only given him answers about Peter’s life when he had the knowledge for it? It seemed fitting that this tradition continued here, in this strange place, far from anyone who could bring him comfort. The caveat itself was a comfort, and Peter clung to it. 

“If I might make a suggestion,” Satan said, as Peter’s introspective silence wore on, “I have decided to change the living arrangements of my personal entourage; I think it’s long-past time to keep those close to me where I can see them. And so, the estate you call home will not be housed by another like Mammon. No, the property will be given to one of Hell’s prestigious families. They will be moving onto the site soon, actually.”

Peter stumbled backward, the knowledge dizzying and sudden. 

“I can make it so that you will have this grand estate to come home to, after you leave this Silent Chapel. You need only say the word.”

His breathing quickened, and Peter grasped at the air in front of him. All of his family’s belongings, his sisters’ dresses and weavings, his brothers’ weapons, Abba’s many instruments and garden… would all of those precious items belong to the family moving into the estate? And if not, where would those things go?

Peter wasn’t sure what he would do with all of those innumerous objects. What he would do with an estate whose grounds were too large for him to roam in a single day. He tried to imagine himself walking all those empty halls, sitting in the silence of each of his siblings’ rooms. He knew he’d bar off the room that wretched spell was cast in. He’d probably bar off many rooms, the memories within already unwelcome. 

The more he thought about it, the more Peter realized there wasn’t a single room in the entire estate that he wanted to set foot in ever again. He felt awful, like he was betraying his family in some profound way, but he knew with a surety that he did not want the estate, nor any of the items housed within. 

Not even the carved animals from Abba. 

“I don’t want the estate,” Peter rasped, his throat raw. “I don’t know what I want.”

“No?”

Peter shook his head, his eyes lowering again. He blinked, and a line of tears fell down his cheeks. 

Lightly, a hand rested on the top of his head. “This debt must be repaid, Peter,” Satan murmured. “Normally, I don’t like to keep any debt open. But for you, I will make an exception.”

Peter’s hands came up to wipe his face, and he sniffled. 

“You may take as long as you need to decide, little thing. But I must warn you, after I leave this place, it will be quite difficult to get a hold of me. Are you sure there is nothing you want at this moment? Nothing I could give you?”

Peter shook his head again. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Satan’s hand moved to Peter’s shoulder, and his other mirrored the motion, his grip making Peter meet his eye. “I am the one who is sorry. Sorry this tragedy has befallen you. Sorry I didn’t foresee this. But I’m taking steps to make things right, and to ensure this never happens again. 

“With the help of my entourage, we are creating a special kind of magic that will soon reside in all of you, all of demonkind. It is a dark gift that will lie dormant until the need for it arrives; a power that will allow you to defend yourself against a human, should your life ever be in danger. You will be able to take the life of a human in this special circumstance.”

Peter blinked, uncomprehending of the words. How was such a thing possible? Since the beginning of all things, no demon was capable of taking a human life. Their physiology made it impossible. 

And yet… his siblings had done it, hadn’t they? They’d taken thousands of human lives. And if they could do that, their dark god certainly could do it too.

“I reckon this magic will be complete by the time you leave this place, or close to that time, at the very least. So please have patience, and believe in me. I swear to you that what happened to your family, will never happen again.”

Peter was overcome, and the grip Satan had on his shoulders was the only thing keeping him upright as he burst into sobs. 

“Poor thing,” Satan crooned. “And how cruel I am, to not offer more. But that is the way of it, I suppose. I cannot take you with me and serve as your new guardian. I am far too busy for that. And I cannot give you to another family, either. Not unless you ask me for it, and consequently use your favor.”

Peter swallowed, his tears slowing. Did he want anyone else to watch over him? Did he want a new family?

Twice now, the ones who called him theirs had left this life far too soon, under terrible circumstances. What if that happened again? Was Peter somehow cursed to cause agony and death to anyone he came in contact with?

He did not want to risk it. So he shook his head, sniffling. 

“No?”

“No,” Peter whispered, even though something shivered in the back of his mind, a spark of a thought with the voice of his Abba. 

Promise me you will find a new family. You will find new demons to love you and cherish you as we have. 

It was the last thing he’d promised his father, but he couldn’t bring himself to fulfill that wish. Not now. Perhaps one day he’d have the strength for it, but that day was not today. It wasn’t as if a promise had an expiration date, especially not this one. 

Forgive me, Abba.

Peter raised his eyes to meet the beguiling ones of his dark god, resolute in his decision. It may not have been the right one, but it was the only one he was capable of making at the moment. 

“Very well,” Satan nodded, drawing away and standing. “Then there is but one thing left to do.” Slowly, his hands rose to remove his mask.

Peter barely caught the apologetic look on his dark god’s face before his forehead was on the floor, and he suddenly felt afraid, but didn’t know why. 

“Peter Daemonfire,” Satan said, and the air around them immediately began to buzz. Peter felt the address all the way down to his soul, and the power of it stole the breath from his lungs. “Orphan of unnamed guardians, unblooded son of Mammon, youngest brother to siblings now past, hear this order of mine.”

Dread clenched in his stomach like a burnt-out coal, chilling and hard. Peter wanted to raise his head, to beg this powerful being standing before him to stop, but his voice had left him, and his body remained rigid in its submissive position on the floor. 

“From this day onward, you are not to share the truth of your family’s demise with any of your fellow demons. If any of your peers ask on these matters, you will tell them your family was wiped out by the mass exorcisms of the Dark Ages. Starting this very moment, that is the truth that will live inside your mind. Your family was wiped out by the mass exorcisms of the Dark Ages, understand?”

With each word Satan spoke, Peter felt weight after weight sink down around his thoughts and gather everything up tightly, as if chains were binding together all the terrible things he’d been keeping to himself. A shroud fell over all of it, and Peter grasped for the memories, for the words to describe what had been ripped from him, but the more he reached, the farther those things were pulled from him. 

No, he wanted to cry. Please, you can’t do this. You can’t take them away from me again.

It was worse than forgetting. The knowledge of what had occurred was still there, deep inside, but even glancing at the thought only brought up a single phrase:

They were wiped out by the mass exorcisms by the Dark Ages.

My family… my family was wiped out by the mass exorcisms of the Dark Ages.

His face rubbed against the ground as he shook his head again and again, as he tried to at least picture the last time he’d seen his siblings. But he’d been blindfolded, and he could only call up their final words, spoken to him in the dark. 

I didn’t realize it would be like this.

It doesn’t hurt.

I’m sorry, Peter. I’m sorry for not being a good brother to you.

You were my favorite brother.

Everything said to him before… before…

Before they were taken from him, by the mass exorcisms of the Dark Ages.

“Stop,” Peter begged, his palms open and shaking with the effort to push up and lunge for his dark god. But his body remained still, no matter how much he wanted to move. “Stop this, please. ”

“It’s already done,” Satan said, his tone grim and final. “I’m sorry, little thing, but it’s safer this way. No one must know the things your family was capable of. The things your siblings did.”

A thought struck Peter then, and he stared at the floor with wide eyes. “You could have done this to my father. You could have ordered Abba to–”

“I couldn’t,” Satan cut him off. “Mammon was human before he was mine, and I don’t hold any sort of power over humans. Not even the ones in my personal entourage.”

Peter could remember seeing Abba take a knee when Satan entered a room, while his own body moved into the humble position it found itself in now. At the time, he’d thought perhaps his father’s response was simply a dulled down version of his own, but now he knew he was wrong in that assumption. Abba had only kneeled out of respect for his leader. It wasn’t a physiological response, it was one made intentionally.

“If I could erase the knowledge from your mind, I would,” Satan went on. “That would be much kinder than this. But alas, this is all I can give you. This is the only way to keep our people safe. To make sure this never happens again.”

A hand patted his head in sympathy, and he didn’t want it. He couldn’t move away from the gesture, but he could curl deeper into himself, so he did. 

“This is where I leave you,” Satan murmured. “I don’t imagine we’ll be seeing each other again. At least, not until you seek me out to settle the debt between us. I will depart with some advice, since it’s the least I can do after everything.

“I am going to honor Mammon’s final wishes; you will have every chance to reach whatever goals you have for your future, regardless of your current circumstances. You may not have a home in Hell’s more prestigious regions, but that does not mean your status will be lowered when you leave this Silent Chapel. You will have an equal opportunity to grow your abilities and become whatever kind of demon you want to be, just like all the other privileged demons your age. 

“But know this: you will have to work harder than your peers to reach your goal, at least in the beginning. You have come into your power very late, and so that puts you centuries behind everyone else. The studies you step into will see peers much younger than you, for some time. It’s up to you to go above and beyond what is expected of the average student, in order to catch up to where you’re meant to be in your education and training. It will be hard, little thing, but not impossible. I hope you can keep that in mind, when the tasks ahead of you feel insurmountable.”

One final pat to his head, and then a harsh, heated wind blew through as his dark god teleported out of the room, and the weight that had kept Peter pressed against the ground lifted all at once. 

Slowly, he pushed himself up, staring blankly at the dim walls around him. He found he wanted nothing more than to stay where he was and never move again. He felt no drive to stand and walk back to the sleeping quarters, or wherever else he was meant to go. He didn’t want to do anything at all. 

So he sat alone in that walled off space for the next hour, until the barriers came down of their own accord, the magic glowing and humming as the large space beyond those fabricated walls became visible once again. 

A patron had to come and nudge him to stand, and only then did Peter get to his feet and follow the other children back to the sleeping quarters. 

It was hard to know whether or not he slept, as he didn’t dream. All he knew was that everything was dark. He lived in a void now, and he felt no urge to leave it. So he let himself drift.

Chapter Text

It seemed Peter wasn’t the only one who underwent a change during the parental visit. All of his peers’ behaviour towards him took a sharp turn, immediately following that event. 

Peter learned through forced conversations - as their training and education advanced - that the new truth of his family’s demise was old news by the time Satan delivered it to him. Apparently word had spread fast throughout the realm in regards to Peter’s unique family situation. He never found out who leaked the information, only that his once fragile secret of having adopted siblings was now common knowledge. It was impossible to hide the death of one of Satan’s hand-picked entourage, after all, and many had come forward with questions and concerns following Mammon’s death. 

The rumors Peter heard from his peers varied, but most had a common thread: Mammon’s adopted children were picked off, one by one, in the mass exorcisms happening upstairs. Mammon could not take the grief of losing his wards, so he went to earth himself to try and take his revenge. But, because he was no longer human, he could not harm humans. And so his fate followed that of his unblooded children.

That was the story, more or less, that Peter heard whenever he was sat next to one, two, or three children, as they were all meant to be practicing talking with words. And those were the only words his peers cared to breathe into the air. 

My mother told me…

I heard from my father that…

My parents said…

And it would always end with the same question: why was Peter spared? How had he escaped the fate of his entire family?

Peter had no answers for them. None he wanted to divulge, at any rate. But the questions didn’t stop. If anything, they got worse after the next parental visit occurred, when it was revealed that Peter’s first parents suffered the exact same fate of his adopted family. 

The questions turned into accusations, after that. 

Are you cursed, Peter? Is that why both your families passed in such a way?

It was a question he had already asked himself, and as the years wore on in the Silent Chapel and his peers put more and more distance between themselves and him, Peter found himself wondering if that was true; the only true thing in this mess of lies that clung to his thoughts, thanks to Satan’s order.

Was he cursed? Is that why all of this had happened? 

Peter didn’t know how curses worked. But as he felt stares every time he entered a room from countless eyes, he wondered if, somehow, he had been cursed very early in his life. Would he even know? Would there be evidence of it?

The years went on, the parental visits increased, and Peter spent those blessed breaks from his education in an empty room, curled into the darkest corner he could find, still feeling eyes on him but knowing he was alone. The sensation of being watched became a constant companion, and he stopped trying to find the source of it. He realized it didn’t matter whether or not he knew who was looking at him. It wouldn’t make any sort of difference.

He’d become an outlier in the Silent Chapel, thanks to whatever information children were learning from their parents. His only interaction with his peers was whatever the patrons deemed essential to their education. And while the patrons themselves never said outright if they thought Peter was cursed, Peter could tell their opinion of him by the wide berth they gave him whenever he was led anywhere in the place.

His own kind had shunned him, and Peter felt a distant rage at the thought. But the world was still loud and his abilities still needed to be trained, and anger would not help his progression. So he put it away with everything else, and focused on doing whatever he needed to do in order to leave the Silent Chapel.

Despite being the oldest one there, and despite no one conversing with him outside of their designated training, Peter still progressed at the same rate as the rest of his peers, and after sixty years, the doors to the Silent Chapel opened for him and his graduation class, and a crowd of demons welcomed his group.

In this area of Hell, where all Silent Chapels resided, special celebrations honoring children who had mastered their power were held every few decades, and Peter just happened to graduate at such a time. It was a large affair, with many children joining a parade that danced through the streets and eventually ended at the Central, where young demons could be rewarded for their hard work with one single gift of their choosing from the many colored stalls in the place. 

Many past-graduates who had missed the last celebration joined this one, and Peter watched countless children enter the massive line parading through the streets, the sound of music and cheers filling the air. He kept his distance from the crowd gathered on either side of the street, not wanting to get swallowed up by a sea of happy demons. 

Children were not required to join the festivities, and so Peter did not join his peers. There was somewhere he wanted to be, far from the cheerful noise, and so he turned away from the parade and started his long trek toward Hell’s upper regions.

The way was long, and he thought he’d tire, but he didn’t.

Even though it had been more than a couple centuries since he had taken the path, Peter remembered the way as if he’d walked these steps only yesterday– with his Abba, or with a sibling. He imagined them beside him as he went, the ghost of a hand in his large and all-encompassing. 

Peter knew the way, but he felt himself second-guessing that surety when he came upon the property where the estate resided. Tall walls had been erected, and Peter could scarcely see the grand building beyond it. What’s more, a metal gate blocked the main pathway leading in, and Peter peered through the bars in confusion.

Had he taken a wrong turn? These things had not been here before. 

He could see little of the estate from his vantage point, and he barely recognized the place. The front entrance seemed to be the only thing unchanged; the rest had become a ghost of the great building it once was. So much of the stone walls had been removed, and in their place were what appeared to be training grounds of some sort, with equipment for practicing agility and various fighting arts. Peter had seen smaller versions of these things in some of the larger rooms of the estate, where Darius liked to perform his Guard training when he was on the premises. But what he was looking at now was of a much larger scale. 

He heard a child’s laughter, and Peter’s heart seized in his chest as he saw a flash of white hair run out the front door. 

His hands gripped the metal bars of the gate, his face squishing between them as he struggled to get a better look. 

Mylan? But– No, this child was shorter than Mylan. And they were too scrawny to be Further, either. Had Abba adopted yet another child?

A new voice - a squeal of laughter - as what was unmistakabley that new child’s twin raced out of the entryway toward their sibling. And trailing languidly after that new arrival was a pair of grown demons with white hair of their own.

It was the parents of those twins. Because Abba could not adopt any more children, because Abba no longer lived in that poor excuse for Peter’s old home.

Satan had said a new family would be moving into the place, hadn’t he?

Abruptly, Peter pushed away from the bars, his mouth contorted in a snarl. That new family had wasted no time tearing down the property and warping it towards their own desires. He wondered just how much of the original architecture still stood; what rooms remained untouched. 

Did Abba’s garden still exist?

Peter realized he had no desire to remain on the grounds any longer, and he quickly spun on his heel to make an escape. In his rush, he didn’t see the demon walking towards him until he crashed into them, and the impact had Peter stumbling backwards and hitting the ground.

“My apologies,” the stranger said, and Peter glared at the hand that was held out for him. He got up on his own, dusting off the simple robes he’d taken with him from the Silent Chapel. It’s not as if he had any spares to change into at the moment. He’d found he couldn’t fit into the garments he’d come into the place with– the material just a little too tight, a little too short. At some point during his stay, he’d grown.

“The fault is mine,” Peter grudgingly admitted, keeping his head low. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”

Without another word, he strode past the stranger, eager to escape the echoes of his old home, his old life. Where he was off to, he wasn’t sure. But his feet seemed to know what they were doing, so he let them lead the way.

But a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Peter?” the stranger hesitantly asked.

Peter blinked, then turned to look at the demon behind him.

“You’re the healer,” he breathed, studying their face for the first time. It was, in fact, one of the healers that had once frequented the estate, restocking herbs for Juniper’s bath, and working to heal her affliction in the beginning. If Peter wasn’t mistaken, this particular healer was the head of the group– the most knowledgeable in their craft.

The demon gave a single nod. “I did not expect to see you here, but, I suppose I should have, given everything that transpired. How recently did you graduate from your Silent Chapel?”

“Maybe an hour or so ago,” Peter answered automatically.

The demon’s brow furrowed. “But the festivities for the latest graduates are still going, are they not?”

Peter said nothing. 

The demon leaned down and stared at him levelly. “Did you not want to join the parade? Or pick out a token from the markets to celebrate mastering your power?”

“Why are you here?” Peter asked abruptly. He jerked his chin towards the new metal gates of the property in front of them. “Do you work for this family now?”

The demon straightened, his hand finally leaving Peter’s shoulder. “I do. I stock the herbs, and tutor the children on potion making and hexes.”

“Hexes?”

“Yes. Small curses and how to counteract them.”

“So you’re an expert on curses, then?”

“I wouldn’t say that, but–”

“Could you tell if someone had been cursed? Is there a way to divine if someone has a curse on them?”

The demon paused, considering Peter. 

“Can you, or can’t you?” Peter demanded.

“I can,” the demon said, their voice subdued. 

“Then tell me, am I cursed?”

“You are not.”

Peter stumbled backward. “But you didn’t even check,” he said weakly.

“I do not need to check. I can detect a curse simply by looking at a person. The energy of it reeks like a strong, unpleasant smell. You do not have any of this energy about you.”

“Are you sure?”

The demon nodded, a grim look passing over their face. “I’ve heard what our fellow demons are saying about you. Word travels fast, rumors even more so. For creatures who can detect lies, we sure have a nasty habit of believing falsehoods spoken with a particular unshaken belief, don’t we?”

“So it is a lie, then? That I’m cursed?” Peter said, something clenching painfully in his chest. 

“As far as I can discern, yes.”

“But– Why would everyone think that? If there truly is no evidence of it?”

The demon took a moment to answer, seeming to ponder their words carefully. “I think when strange or terrible things happen, we need an answer for it, even when there is none. While this is a very human thing to do, demons are at fault for this behavior as well. It is hard to accept that events simply happen to us, and we oftentimes have no influence over the course of things.”

Peter turned the words over in his head, again and again. Was it better to have bad things happen to him, without any rhyme or reason, or would he rather have been cursed? If it had been the latter, at least he could have found a solution for it. But now, he had no way of knowing when the next tragedy would befall him, or how many more things would go wrong.

The unknown was a despairing, terrifying thing.

“I do not think we can control what happens to us, or when,” the demon continued. “At least, not as much as we’d like. I do, however, think that luck is a real thing, and that it has a balance to it. With the terrible luck you’ve had, little one, I do believe you’re set for a bright future.”

Peter’s head shot up to meet their sincere gaze, and he was afraid to hope.

A call from within the property grounds grabbed the demon’s attention, and they waved at someone inside, stepping to the right to obstruct Peter from view. 

“I’d best be getting back to my duties,” he murmured, barely turning his face towards Peter. “And you’d best be off to wherever you’re meant to be.”

“I’m not meant to be anywhere,” Peter said sullenly. “Can’t I join you? I could help with your work. I can learn fast, I’m sure of it. I won’t be in the way.”

He could just catch the downturn of the demon’s mouth as a sorrowful expression passed over their features. “Oh Peter, I cannot take you in. I am far too busy for that. You need to be cared for, not put to work, and I cannot do that for you. I’m afraid this is where we part ways, little one.”

The sadness was so bright and sudden, it caught him off guard. Peter turned away from the demon, his hands quickly coming up to wipe at his eyes. Why had he asked to begin with? Didn’t he think it was safer to not be close to others, lest they meet the same fate as the ones who had cared for him before?

But, he wasn’t cursed, so…

But everyone believed he was. Everyone, except the demon behind him, who had no space for him in their life. 

He did not want to beg or cause a scene, so he forced his feet to move as he started back the way he’d come. He supposed he’d need to find a home in the lower reaches of Hell, where plenty of empty, crumbling buildings resided. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about bothering anyone there; hardly any demon lived there to begin with. So few were of low enough status where their tenancy in such a place was warranted.

“Oh,” the demon breathed, as if just remembering something. “You should know, Peter, that much of the items housed within the estate are gone. Plenty were donated to areas where the less fortunate of us can’t get what they need - mainly the clothes and weapons - and the rest was taken by families in the area who picked off whatever suited their fancy. Even myself and my healers were given a few odds and ends, as payment for our services to your family. 

“I find myself with a nice couch I have no use for– one with hand-embroidered patterns weaving their way through the thing. I’d ask that you work hard to find a good home of your own, so that this piece of furniture does not go to waste.”

Peter whirled around, breathless. He stared at the back of that demon as they leisurely made their way to the gate. “Please hold on to it for me,” he said. “I will find you when I have a home for it.”

It would not happen anytime soon; he couldn’t imagine such a precious item in the grimy, half-built places where he was about to go. But someday, after his studies were complete, and he had a position worthy of a good, solid home in Hell’s upper regions, he’d get that couch. It was the only item from the estate he found himself wanting.

“I’ll hold you to that,” the demon said, the gates opening before them with barely a creak.

A question fell out of Peter before he could think to stop it: “Is the garden still there?”

The demon paused, then turned to look at Peter as the gates began to close behind them. 

“It’s the strangest thing, but every tree, flower, and bush in the space is thriving. No one has given any of their magic to it, and yet the entire area is lush with the sweet scents of greenery in full bloom.”

Peter blinked at them, dumbfounded. The demon gave him one last courteous nod, then turned to head deeper into the grounds, towards the front entrance. 

How was it possible? Peter puzzled over it as he slowly made his way toward what was to be his new home, the thoughts keeping him company through the long trek.

The feeling of eyes on him gradually increased the longer he walked, and it didn’t subside when he left the more crowded, bustling parts of Hell’s upper regions. As he navigated the dim, crumbling streets of the places where lower class demons resided, Peter couldn’t help but look over his shoulder every few steps. No one was behind him, even though it felt like someone ought to be. 

He’d thought he’d be rid of watching, judging eyes when he left the Silent Chapel, but apparently that wasn’t the case. What’s worse, whoever had him under their scrutiny was a being who refused to make themselves known. 

Looking around revealed no dawdling eyes, and so Peter decided to ignore whoever was watching him for now. If they wanted to approach him and ask if he was cursed, they could do so at any time. He had more important things to take care of at the moment, namely staking his claim on one of the abandoned houses in the area. 

For the most part, it was easy to tell which buildings were occupied. Most structures that housed signs of life - shadows moving through windows, low shuffling, the odd tune hummed halfway through then abandoned - were those that had complete roofs with no holes, a solid door in the threshold, and sometimes unbroken, glass panes in the windows. Peter barely spared these places a glance, although he didn’t miss the lingering stares of whatever face caught his eye from a pulled-back curtain, or the odd hole in an almost-finished wall.

He thought he might have better luck with one of the structures deeper into the neighborhood; homes with no roof or door, walls that could barely obstruct him from view with their uneven, cracking height. The tools to build up on such places were easy enough to come by– scattered bricks were aplenty in a place like this, long-fallen from what were once strong walls. And he could make a paste of sorts from the ashy ground and some water, creating a new wall together. 

A roof and a door would be harder to construct, but Peter didn’t think he had a dire need for either of those things. Hell had no sort of weather that would warrant a roof - no rain or strong winds - and a simple protective barrier at the threshold of the home would deter any intruders. Peter didn’t know the magic for such a barrier, but from what he could remember of Amira and Emmeline’s early studies, he knew he’d soon be learning the knowledge of such things, so he wasn’t too concerned. 

Just as he was sizing up a promising structure - two and half walls intact, with a half-built fire pit inside - a sharp ringing burst through his head, and Peter’s hands flew up to his ears, even though the sound seemed to be coming from inside.

Then, his dark god’s voice murmured through his very being:

“A congratulations is in order, to all of our latest graduates of our hard-working Silent Chapels. I commend your achievement. I know all you little things will do our kind proud. You’ve done well.”

Peter winced as he looked around, and saw that he wasn’t the only one hearing Satan’s voice booming through his whole body and shaking his bones. Other demons had walked out onto the main street, a hand either at their head or a wall for support. 

What was going on? Satan had never contacted the entirety of Hell this way. At least, not in Peter’s lifetime.

“I will be brief, as I know everyone is anxious to get back to their busy life. And I know this form of communication is not ideal.” Peter could almost hear the sympathetic wince in his dark god’s voice. Well, at least he knew the effect he was having on everyone.

“As most of you know, my elite and I have been working diligently to correct a terrible foresight in regards to your safety. We’ve recently completed rewriting the magic of teleportation between realms, and I’m now happy to say that you no longer have to worry about an unexpected summons by a human who may wish you harm. The magic needed to teleport freely upstairs - or to be called to such a place - is now nonexistent. No spell will take you to earth; you will now need to rely on the sanctioned portals in the Central. It is the only way you can visit humans to do your business.

“To better ensure these new magical processes are not deviated from, we have also enacted a drastic time change between our world and that of the humans. From this day onward, our years will fly much faster than theirs. This also gives everyone the added benefit of being forgotten by the current humans who would see our demise. These Dark Ages will be over and done with much sooner than ever before, and we can all be safe once again.

“Many of you will not see the same human twice, with this change. This also will help ensure your safety. And, to be certain that none of my precious demons meet the terrible fate that so many of us have suffered lately, I am bestowing you a gift.”

With Satan’s next words, Peter felt a foreign chill run through him and gather in a part of his chest that was deeper than he could hope to reach, deeper than where his heart and ribs resided, deeper than his organs. 

“If your life is ever to be in danger at the hands of a human, you will have the power to defend yourself. If you must kill a human in order to live, you will be able to do so. But only if your life is in danger. This dark gift I give to each of you, and to all demonkind who may enter our world henceforth.”

It was as if a spell had been spoken, and Peter felt a strong breeze blow through him from the bottom of his feet, all the way to the top of his head. He could hear wind whistling past his ears as his hair was tousled by the gale, and he felt heavier and lighter all at once.

“Do not worry about breaking any of the ancient rules we abide by, my precious demons. Heaven and I have been speaking since these terrible times first began, and this is part of an agreement we reached regarding such misfortune. We will never suffer as we have suffered, again. You will all be safe, and we can step forward into a new era of magic and business with humans. 

“Best wishes to our graduates, and thank you all for your loyalty and devotion. None of this would be possible without your faith in me.”

His dark god’s voice had been a full-body presence within him, and its absence left Peter feeling hollow and cold. He shivered as he stumbled up to his new home, looking around in a daze.

The other demons who had wandered out onto the street were doing much of the same– returning to their homes, or grasping hands with neighbors and speaking in low voices. And even with Peter’s newly-enhanced hearing, he could not tell what they were saying. 

He spared his distant neighbors one last glance, then disappeared through his empty threshold to take stock of his new home.

He felt numb as he began to make a mental list of what needed to be done - the fire pit would need to be dug deeper, the stones lining the thing more compact than their current haphazard state, bricks needed to be brought in to finish the walls; there were already holes that could serve as temporary windows, at least the foundation was good - and could not find an ounce of gratitude within him for what his dark god had gifted him and all demonkind. 

Everything was changing for the better, it seemed. But the change had come too late. Future demons would be saved from painful, gruesome exorcisms, yes, but Peter’s family was still gone. Nothing would change the fact that they had–

That they–

That they were wiped out by the mass exorcisms of the Dark Ages.

Peter grit his teeth, stifling a scream of frustration. He crouched low and brought his head to his knees.

“I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate this.”

He realized he had no desire whatsoever to get started on building his home, so he stayed in his uncomfortable position until his legs began to ache under the weight of his own body, and then he curled up onto the ashy ground, and drifted.

Chapter Text

Peter…

Peter sighed, curling deeper into himself. He was still tired, still wanted to sleep.

Peter, it’s time to wake up.

A hand on his shoulder, and Peter grumbled out half-formed syllables, trying to remember how to say ‘go away.’ His mind was still in the clutches of unconsciousness.

Come now, Peter, you can’t sleep all day.

“Leave me alone, Darius,” he muttered, adjusting his arm beneath his head, trying to use it as a makeshift pillow from his spot on the floor. The ash was soft under him, but it certainly wasn’t a bed. He had no idea how he’d been able to fall asleep in the first place. 

All at once, Peter’s eyes shot open, and he scrambled to push himself upright. He looked around for his brother, but saw a stranger instead, their arm retreating from his shoulder, their palms facing him in a placating gesture. 

It was a member of the Guard. A young man, but Peter was too groggy and disoriented to take in any more features.

“I’m here to escort you to your lessons,” the Guard member explained gently. 

Peter blinked at him, then spared his poor-excuse-for-a-home one last once-over. It seemed the space only occupied two people at the moment, himself included. 

He let himself be pulled to his feet, and he wordlessly followed the Guard member through the open threshold and onto the main street. He’d been sure he’d heard Darius’ voice, trying to get Peter to wake up, but it must have been a trick of his tired mind. He still felt so tired. 

Before they reached the more occupied houses of the neighborhood, the Guard member dipped off into a side street, and Peter followed him. 

“Don’t want to draw attention to ourselves,” the demon murmured over his shoulder, just loud enough for Peter to hear. 

Peter rubbed some crust from his eyes, his focus falling to the demon’s hand as it swung leisurely at his side with his unhurried gait. His own hand reached for that free palm, then at the last moment he decided better of it, and ended up grabbing hold of the back of the cloak the demon wore. It was embellished with a few patches, showing off his station in the Guard’s ranks. From the looks of it, he wasn’t very high up. Just a trainee, still. 

Peter studied the Guard member’s face. He couldn’t have been much older than Darius, so he had plenty of potential to improve and climb in the coming centuries.

If the demon noticed Peter holding on to him, he didn’t comment on it. He simply led Peter through winding alleys and side-streets until they stopped at a seemingly random spot. But Peter knew enough about Hell’s magical makeup to assume that this place allowed for teleports. Not all areas in Hell had enough natural magic to assist in such fast travel, especially the lower regions. 

The Guard member placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and then Peter’s view was blocked by a wall of smoke and embers that enveloped the both of them, sending them off in a whirlwind of a teleport.

They landed on a street corner of a well-paved path, laid with cobblestone and swept clean of ash and grime. All the buildings in the place were intact, and many of them had high, pointed towers, reaching up toward the dark sky above.

It was an educational district, each building housing disciplines for specific types of magic, teaching a set age of students.

The Guard member released Peter’s shoulder, and hurried down the street at a pace too fast for Peter to grab hold of their cloak again, so Peter jogged along behind him.

Peter saw a line of children far younger than him entering the building they were headed towards, and prepared himself for stares and questions. He couldn’t feel any eyes on him yet, but he knew that would soon change.

The Guard member stopped at the bottom step, turning to Peter once more. 

“I will meet you here once your lessons are complete for the day, and we’ll teleport back to your neighborhood.”

Peter’s hands fiddled with each other as he looked from his guide to the open doors of the educational facility. 

“Thank you,” he said, unsure of what else to say. 

The Guard member nodded once, then turned and continued down the street without another word. Peter watched him disappear in a cyclone of smoke soon after, and he swallowed, his eyes coming back to the open door. 

He spotted an elderly demon in the threshold, looking at him expectantly. 

That must be the teacher, Peter thought, gathering whatever resolve he had and forcing his feet up the few steps leading to the large, wooden doorway.

It seemed Peter was the last student to enter the building, and he took one of the few open seats in the back, settling himself on a bench and considering the space. This building was one of the shorter ones, and the room he was in appeared to take up most of the square footage of the place. He could see a door behind a podium up front leading to who knew what, and then a loud rapping at the podium itself grabbed his attention. 

The elderly demon cleared his throat, setting down a long wooden… thing… on the podium desk. It was thin and slightly curved, looking to be hand-carved. Peter studied the thing a moment more, before the teacher drew in a breath and began the lesson.

Peter did his best to pay attention to what was being said - the class would learn how to call forth fire over the course of their time in this building - but he couldn’t help but notice the gradual weight of many eyes falling upon him the longer the teacher spoke.

By the time the elderly demon sharply cleared his throat again, all heads had turned Peter’s way. Peter ignored the big eyes of a couple dozen young demons boring into every inch of him, his own eyes resolutely on the teacher. 

“Something to say?” The elderly demon inquired of the room. 

No one spoke. 

Hesitantly, Peter raised his hand. 

The teacher nodded at him. 

“What is that?” Peter asked, pointing at the wooden thing on the podium. 

“Oh,” The teacher said, a soft smile pulling at the lines in his face. He lightly picked up the thing and held it out for all to see. “This here is a wand. It’s terribly old-fashioned, and useless now. I keep it for sentimental reasons. It was my father’s, you see. And it makes for an excellent attention-grabber.”

He tapped the thing against the podium twice to demonstrate. 

“Wh-What was it used for?” A student hesitantly asked, raising their own hand.

The teacher’s smile broadened. 

Peter’s presence became forgotten as the elderly demon explained the workings of magic in the old days, long before any of the students in the room had been born. It was interesting to learn that Hell’s magical makeup had seen great changes before Peter’s lifetime, and before that of their teacher, even. Demons and humans alike used to require certain tools to channel and use their magic; things like wands and staffs. As magic evolved, and the creatures who used it became more powerful, the need for conduits became a thing of the past.

“Now, we only need spoken and written spells to guide our magic toward what we want from it,” the teacher finished, setting the wand back down on the podium. 

“Now,” he clapped his hands together, his eyes mere slits from how wide his smile had grown. “How about we get started on learning the easiest form of magic for demons: that of fire?”

The class erupted into excited rumbles of agreement, their yes please’s and show us how’s and I can’t wait’s colliding with each other and forming a chorus of eager voices, all ready to learn.

Peter found himself relaxing into his seat, happy to have attention off him for the time being, and happier still to actually learn something. With any luck, he’d go home that day able to wield fire to some capacity. He couldn’t wait to show Abba and the rest of his–

Peter’s hands gripped the bench beneath him, the wood briefly creaking until he loosened his hold. He sucked in a slow breath through his nose, his exhale shaky. 

He forced his eyes to focus on the demonstration the teacher was giving, forced his pointed ears to listen to the instructions. He ignored everything else– the tightness in his throat, the ache in his chest, the burning in his eyes.  

He’d thought it would be difficult, and it was, at first. But Peter soon realized he actually needed to pay attention to the elderly demon at the front of the room in order to carry out the magic that was expected of him and his peers, and that fact had everything else falling away pretty quickly.

Calling fire required a full-body attention, and a memorization of a short string of words that, the teacher promised, would one day be so ingrained in them that they wouldn’t need to say a thing in order to call forth fire in the future. Not many spells or magical feats existed that allowed such a thing - words and symbols were the conduit of the present times, and without them, no magic would listen to the user - and that fact alone had Peter eagerly leaning forward in his seat along with the rest of the students.

To Peter’s disappointment, the end of the day did not bring any ability to physically call fire into the world from his hands. Much of the lesson was spent going over the basics of it - turning all of one’s focus inward, meditating on the thought of fire itself - and by the time the lesson was wrapping up, the rest of the students seemed too fidgety and distracted to actually try conjuring fire. With how young they were, and how long they’d all been sitting, Peter couldn’t really blame them. 

Still, he couldn’t help but feel frustrated as the teacher stood by the door and told each and every student goodbye as they passed through. Peter lingered behind, pretending that the wood grain of his seat was the most interesting thing in the realm. Sitting in the back had been a good call at the beginning, but now he had to deal with every single eye focusing on him as his peers filed out of the room. He ignored the weight of their stares, tracing patterns into the empty, flat space beside him. 

His fingers made a curve of a snake, a rough outline of a bear, a goat. When he realized what invisible shapes he was drawing, he immediately stopped.

A throat cleared beside him, and Peter jumped, his head whipping up to see the old demon standing expectantly by his bench. They were the only two left in the building.

“It’s been some time since I saw a late bloomer such as yourself,” the teacher commented.

Peter said nothing, standing and brushing imaginary dust off his Silent Chapel robes. It wasn’t lost on him that none of his peers had worn such garb. All of them had sported what appeared to be the latest fashion– intricate fabrics that looked expensive, shaped into layers of skirts, shirts, and pants. Peter had no idea how to get his hands on such things, but he wanted them all the same.

“I would not be discouraged, if I were you,” the teacher continued, when it was clear Peter wasn’t going to respond. “I don’t see late bloomers often, but I do see them. And I’ve taught enough to know how someone like you can graduate from this class early.”

This caught Peter’s attention. The old demon quirked his lips, then inclined his head for Peter to follow as he headed back to the front of the room, then toward the door behind the podium.

Peter crept after him, then hung back in the threshold of the door the teacher had left open, eyeing the space the older demon stepped into. It was a large storage area, each wall lined to the top with shelves, all containing tomes of various sizes. The spines of many were identical. 

Much of the floor space was occupied by stacked crates, containing - from what Peter could tell - more books. The old demon muttered to himself as he pushed some haphazard crate towers aside with a grunt, then pulled a single book out of the topmost crate in front of him. Then, he turned to an overstuffed shelf on his right, a wrinkled finger hovering in the air as he silently read the covers of the spines to himself. 

He gave a quiet aha! as he seemed to find what he was looking for, pulling a book from the shelf that was bending inwards from the weight of its passengers. The elder demon then turned on the spot, made his way back to Peter, and Peter had to quickly bring his arms up to catch the books the teacher unceremoniously dropped his way. 

“These two will get you started,” the teacher said, walking past Peter and out the open door of the book storage room. He didn’t stop his trek until he was at the door leading out onto the main street. Peter followed after him, holding the pair of books he’d been given close to his chest.

“I expect you to have both read by the time you’re back, and to have at least a spark conjured with your fingers,” the older demon went on, as he waited for Peter to meet him. “Accomplishing those feats will put you on track for an early graduation, perhaps in as little as a few months.”

Peter’s eyes widened at that. He did not know how long such an early course was supposed to take - all of his siblings had graduated from this class long before he met them - but three months could have very well been half the expected time. Perhaps even less. 

“Bring those books back with you to the next lesson, and I’ll get you the next courses. I don’t want to see any torn pages, understand? I may have many copies, but those copies were still painstakingly made by hand. You should respect such work, young one.”

Peter nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

The older demon smiled, his eyes briefly disappearing into the wrinkles of his face. Then he glanced to the side, and Peter instinctively followed that gaze to see the Guard member who had brought him there, standing loosely at attention by the bottom step leading out onto the main street, his hands lazily folded behind his back.

Peter hopped down the steps to meet him.

They strolled down the street, and then the Guard member placed a hand on his shoulder, pressing just so to direct Peter to take the next turn. They took a few more steps before the air shifted around them, and Peter’s world tilted and blurred as his escort teleported. 

Peter flapped at the smoke around them until he could see the alley around them– the same one the Guard member had teleported them out of earlier that day. The demon stepped back from Peter, giving him a polite nod. 

“I will meet you at this spot, tomorrow morning. If you are not there, you’ll have to walk to your lessons. I have other duties I must attend to, and cannot wait on you.”

Peter’s grip on his books slipped, and he fumbled for a moment to catch them and hold them close to his chest. “A-Alright. I understand.”

He’d barely finished speaking before his guide was gone in another swirling haze of smoke. 

“Tomorrow morning,” Peter murmured to himself, turning to walk out of the alleyway and onto the cracking cobbled street. There was no day or night in Hell, no sun in the sky to mark time’s passing. But demons had inner clocks; an extra sense that automatically alerted them to whether it was ‘day’ or ‘night.’ These human concepts helped a little, in that there were parts of each endlessly dim day where demons worked, and parts where they could be at home and rest. No one was quite sure how all of this worked, or how long the realm had operated under such notions, but it worked all the same. 

As Peter made his way past the better buildings of the neighborhood and to his own hand-picked home, he could feel the weight of eyes on him grow heavier and heavier. He ignored the sensation, keeping his eyes forward and his books close to his chest.

The sight of his ramshackle home made him pause, and Peter looked around at the structures near it, because he suddenly wasn’t sure whether he was at the right place. He took a step toward the crumbling building, poked his head inside and counted the walls. There were two and a half, and the unfinished firepit sat in the center, just like he’d left it. 

Peter stepped inside, turning a slow half-circle to stare at the only solid walls in the place. Had they gotten… taller? It was hard to tell if new brick had been laid; there was no indication of fresh grout on the higher layers. But Peter could barely see over one wall, and the other went just over his head in its height. Had it been like that before? Peter wasn’t sure. 

His eyes swept over the floor, but he didn’t see any personal items left behind, any indication that someone else had made a home here. The space was empty. The dirt beneath his feet only contained ash.

Peter shook his head. He was probably misremembering things. The building had two and a half walls, that’s what he was sure of. He hadn’t paid proper attention to the little details, like the height of the walls.

He knelt where he stood, examined the covers of his books. The top one appeared to be the first to start with, as it illustrated the source of fire– an old inscription for the symbol of flame faded on the cover, with small etchings beneath it summarizing the book’s contents.

Peter set his second book aside, got into as comfortable a position as he could manage on the floor, and opened up the book in his lap.

*

Peter…

Peter breathed deeply, his face pressed against hot earth, passages floating through his mind as he thought of fire, of heat. Had he been reading something recently on the subject? 

Peter, wake up.

Something hard pressing against his belly - the corner of a book - and Peter drowsily remembered falling asleep reading the thing. He’d gotten through the first book, and had only been able to heat his hands until they glowed like coals. The second book would help him get a flame to spark, but his eyes had been heavy, and he wanted a break. He only laid down for a second, when–

“Peter, hide. ”

Peter’s eyes snapped open. He scrambled on autopilot toward the closest wall - the closest solid wall - and pressed up against it. He looked around, wide-eyed, at his empty home. His gaze snapped from his abandoned books, to the empty fire pit, to the open threshold beside him. He’d pushed himself up against the corner beside the doorway, it seemed. 

He heard footsteps approaching. A quiet conversation.

“Two books? On what subject?”

“What does it matter? They’re from an educational facility, hand-copied. They’ll fetch a fair price at the markets. We could trade for plenty of herbs with ‘em.”

“And you’re sure you only saw a child enter the building?”

“I’ve been watching the place all evening. No one else has come home. It’s only the boy.”

Peter’s heart hammered in his chest. His gaze locked onto his books, one open and on display on the ashy earth. He wondered if he had time to grab for them, but then a pair of heavy boots stepped up to the threshold. 

Peter held his breath, could hear the stranger at his door take a quiet inhale.

He could see the tip of a boot creep through the threshold, and Peter’s eyes trailed up to catch the face of his intruder. A frown, a crooked nose, and–

BOOM!

A loud, crackling noise that turned the entire room white. Peter could see nothing for long moments, could only hear the impact of a body hitting the ground outside, of shocked cries from whoever else was out there. 

Peter desperately rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear his vision, and stopped when he noticed a faint humming sound coming from the doorway. 

“Don’t know how you managed to get a barrier set up, boy,” one of the strangers growled outside. “But if you put it down, we won’t hurtcha. Got it?”

Barrier?

Peter blinked the last of the spots from his eyes, then carefully leaned away from the wall just far enough to see a glittery haze filling up the threshold. It sparkled and crackled– the last lingering vestiges of a barrier activating. 

Did the previous owner of the home put up a barrier and then leave it? But why hadn’t it affected Peter? Barriers were precise; they wouldn’t let anyone in who wasn’t approved by the spellcaster. Peter had no knowledge of who once resided in this space, and there was no chance they had known him, either. 

“We can get through your barrier, little one,” another voice said. “Someone your age doesn’t have enough discipline to forge a strong one.”

“This is your last chance,” the first stranger warned. “Release it now , or there will be consequences.”

Peter soundlessly moved back to his little corner by the door, pressing up close against the walls. He didn’t know what to do. He looked out at the empty room, wondering if the voice he’d woken to was even real. It couldn’t have been. The speaker was long-gone. 

A hushed curse outside, and Peter heard more than one pair of footsteps walk up to the threshold. The energy in the air began to change as one of the intruders began to mutter an incantation Peter couldn’t follow. But it had to be something that would break the strange barrier, and Peter willed his body to become as small as possible. Maybe they wouldn’t see him. Maybe he could run. His eyes darted to the half-wall, the–

Where was the half-wall?

Where was the non-existent wall??

Two and half walls. The place had two and a half…

Peter’s brow furrowed as he counted each wall. Four. There were four now. From his crouched spot, he couldn’t be sure, but all walls appeared to reach well above his height, even if they weren’t all the same height themselves. 

How in Hell…

BOOM!

A chorus of shocked cries, and then more than one body hitting the earth outside. Peter could hear the shhh of ash against cloth as at least one person slid from the impact. Whoever had made the barrier clearly knew what they were doing, as it seemed to forcefully throw back whoever tried to cross through or break the thing. Peter rubbed at his eyes in slight annoyance, because the bright activation of the barrier had blinded him yet again.

More curses from outside, but they sounded panicked, not angry. His unwelcome visitors were scrambling all of a sudden. 

Retreating footsteps as one ran, and the rest seemed to follow suit. Peter could hear their retreating arguments. 

“You said it was just the boy!”

“I didn’t see anyone else! I’ve watched the place since the kid got home!”

“When I tell you to stake out a place, I expect–”

Silence then, as they must have reached a spot where they could teleport. 

Peter’s heart pounded, and he stared wide-eyed at the threshold of his strange home. A few dots still swam in his vision from the bright light, but he could at least see now. And what he saw in front of him made him lose his breath. 

There, facing the open doorway and glowering at the world beyond it, stood Darius.

Chapter Text

Peter couldn’t get to his feet fast enough. He stumbled as he lunged for his brother, arms open wide and calling out his name. 

He didn’t expect to phase right through Darius, as if the teen were made of nothing but air. Peter fell flat on his face, stunned for a moment. Then he whipped his head around to see Darius looking down at him with an apologetic expression.

Is that how he looked at me, before he–

Before he–

Before he was wiped out by the mass exorcisms of the Dark Ages?

Peter clenched his teeth as the thought overrode him, his hands digging into the earth beneath him in frustration.

“Darius,” he said again, focusing on the spot where his brother was. He only saw an open doorway. 

Peter looked around wildly at his small home, but saw no one else. Darius had disappeared.

“Darius?” Peter called, shakily rising to his feet. “Darius?”

No one answered.

Peter was too afraid to go outside and look for his brother there, so he pressed himself up against the threshold and peeked around at what he could see. The street was dim as always, and empty, as far as he could tell. 

Peter briefly closed his eyes, falling back on his abilities to listen for any sign of his brother. He could hear a faint conversation down the street; one of the few residents of the neighborhood talking with each other. He could hear their heartbeats, their breaths. They were blocks away, and they were the closest demons he could detect.

Peter gave a short exhale, opening his eyes and looking around his home again. At the four walls, at the books left on the floor, right beside the fire pit. The fire pit had been dug out properly, with a neat circle of stones enclosing everything in a tidy fashion.

“Darius, did you do this?” Peter whispered, his eyes glued to the fire pit. 

No one answered.

Peter sighed, then walked the few steps to his books and picked them up. He eyed the tome he’d fallen asleep with– the one that would show him how to conjure fire, instead of the scorching red heat he’d managed to make in his palms. The teacher wanted him to have a spark ready by morning, and his internal clock told him that time was fast approaching.

He huffed, sitting on the floor and opening the book back to where he’d left off. He focused on the passage outlining the inner meditations and whispered incantations he was meant to do in order to channel fire through his body and outwards. He read one sentence again and again, struggling to understand what he was seeing. None of the information made sense.

Before he’d fallen asleep, he’d been able to follow the writings fairly well. Now, it might as well have been in a language he didn’t yet comprehend.

He huffed again, set the book aside, and put his head in his hands.

“Darius,” he breathed, “are you alive? Or is my mind playing a terrible trick on me?”

He didn’t expect an answer, and so he wondered at the ache in his chest that bloomed brighter as the silence in his home wore on.

There was a faint prickle at the back of his neck - the sensation of eyes on him - and Peter’s head snapped up abruptly. He looked at every corner of his home, but found it empty. Still, the feeling of being watched continued. 

Warily, he scooted over to the open doorway and peered outside. He saw no one. What’s more, he couldn’t pin down where exactly those eyes were stationed at. Who was watching him? Where were they?

Peter froze, thinking of all the times he’d felt as if he were being watched, when he could see not a soul around. Perhaps someone had been watching him after all, someone he couldn’t see.

“Darius,” he murmured, “is that you?”

The prickling at his neck became a shudder down his spine, and he could almost feel a presence at his back, a demon crouched behind him. Peter looked over his shoulder, his breath catching.

No one was there.

His neck stopped prickling, and whatever presence he felt vanished all at once. As Peter stared out at his home, he felt he was completely alone in it. No one was watching over him. If Darius had somehow been there before, he wasn’t now.

Peter’s eyes eventually landed on his open book, and he sighed. 

“There’s no way I can absorb any of this now,” he grumbled. 

He scooted back to his books and gathered them up, holding them close as he made himself comfortable against his new wall. He thought hard about what had just occurred, playing the scenes over and over in his head: 

The voices outside. The stranger in his doorway. The burst of magic and energy as the barrier activated and threw out his intruders. How solid and real Darius had looked in the doorway. The strange renovations to his home.

At least the how’s of the latter weren’t a mystery. There were plenty of spare bricks in the neighborhood, left behind from the echoes of homes that once stood there. It would have been easy for Peter to create a makeshift mud and piece new bricks together for his walls, his fire pit. Well, the work would be hard, but the practice was straightforward. He’d been planning on doing it himself, but it seemed his brother had beat him to it. 

Darius had to have been the one to build upon his home. The one who cast that strong barrier in the threshold. There was no other likely culprit, and Peter was sure he hadn’t hallucinated seeing his brother. There was too much tangible proof around him to doubt it.

Still, the how’s of it bothered him. How had Darius cast the barrier? How had he built up Peter’s walls? How was he still in this world?

He was dead. Peter knew he was dead. He’d seen his brother’s ashes, helped Abba put them to rest. And ghosts were not a possible occurrence in Hell. This was the afterlife, after all. There was nothing after this.

But how could that be true, when Peter had seen something that challenged that fact?

He couldn’t hope to figure it out on his own, he knew that much. But perhaps someone else might have the answers. 

Peter resolved himself to wait until morning, to meet the Guard member at their designated spot, and ask him about it. If that endeavor turned out fruitless, then he’d ask his teacher next. The old demon was going to be disappointed at his progress, but could Peter really be blamed for it, in the face of all that had happened overnight?

Hope flickered in his chest, and Peter couldn’t help but feed it until it grew into a healthy flame, warming him through and making a hesitant smile crack its way across his face. It felt like an old friend he hadn’t seen in some time.

He ended up unable to wait until the allotted meeting time, leaving his home early after stuffing his books under his shirt and trying to walk with them as inconspicuously as possible. He needed to figure out a better system for carrying books, if his teacher continued to send him home with them. He didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself, risk any more thieves on his doorstep.

He made it to the meeting spot without any trouble, no one stopping him, the feeling of eyes on him thankfully absent. Peter spent the next hours bouncing on the balls of his feet, pacing from one wall of the alley to the next. 

By the time the Guard member appeared in a haze of smoke, Peter was beyond pleasantries.

“Have you ever seen a–”

“Sweet Lucifer!” The demon jumped, startled. 

“Sorry,” Peter quickly apologized, glancing away from the glare his chaperone sent him. “Have you ever seen a ghost?”

“Have I ever seen–? What?” 

Peter looked back up to see the demon staring down at him in bewilderment, and then his eyes narrowed as he gave Peter a once-over. 

“Why are you covered in ash?”

Peter looked down at himself. Ah. All the crawling, scrambling, and scooting around on his floor had done a number on his Silent Chapel garb. The plain cream was barely visible beneath the gray-black of all the ash he’d managed to pick up.

The Guard member clicked his tongue in annoyance, before crouching down and roughly patting Peter down, dusting off as much soot as he could. He let out a frustrated breath when he saw Peter’s hair.

“Honestly,” he griped, using his hands to brush through whatever was going on on top of Peter’s head. Peter didn’t have a mirror, but the Guard’s expression told him it wasn’t looking good.

“You should really prioritize being presentable for your studies,” the Guard member went on, straightening and placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder. He paused. “Where are your books?”

Peter tapped at his belly, which made a hard sound from the books he had stashed in his shirt.

The demon slowly shook his head in confusion. “What–? Nevermind. We’re already running late.”

Peter opened his mouth to repeat his first question, but the world was already tilting around him, and he coughed around the blast of smoke that entered his lungs as they completed their teleport onto the educational district.

“Come along,” his guide instructed, steering Peter forward with the hand on his shoulder. 

Peter marched, spitting at the charcoal taste in his mouth. 

“You should keep your mouth closed during a teleport,” the demon lowly chided, stopping them in front of the steps that would lead Peter to his studies. The old teacher was waiting at the open door again, looking at them both with a soft smile. He beckoned Peter with a wrinkly hand.

“Have you–?” Peter tried to start up his interrogation again, craning his head up at his chaperone, but the Guard member pushed him forward again, and Peter stumbled up the steps.

He had to watch where he was going, and the Guard member took his distraction as an opportunity to leave. By the time Peter turned his way again, all that was left was the fading smoke of his teleport. 

Peter took a breath, gathering patience. He turned to his teacher. “Have you–?”

The old demon tutted at him. “Now what did I tell you? You’ll need to bring back those books before I give you any more.”

Peter growled in frustration, before digging into his shirts and procuring both of his tomes. 

The teacher spoke again before Peter could. “And let’s see your progress. Let’s see a spark.” He took the books from Peter, then raised an expectant brow at him.

Peter hesitated, his rush to get answers briefly doused by shame. He couldn’t conjure a spark. 

But the teacher was waiting. So he stared down at his hands, mumbling memorized incantations and feeling heat bleed out from his core and to his arms, his fingers. He watched his palms slowly turn red and glow, the air around them glimmering from the scorching temperature.

“Not bad, not bad,” the teacher commended, patting Peter on the shoulder a few times, before corralling him inside. “The rest of the class will be here soon, so we don’t have much time to chat. Tell me what you had trouble understanding, and I’ll do my best to get you started on the right path.”

Peter refused to sit when the teacher ushered him to the bench he’d taken the day before. He had too much energy to sit, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. “I couldn’t concentrate,” he explained in a rush, “because I saw my brother. Have you ever seen a ghost? Can demons become ghosts?”

The expectant smile the teacher had been wearing froze in place, and Peter thought he was staring at a statue before the elder demon blinked many times, as if clearing spots from his vision. Abruptly, he put an arm around Peter’s shoulders and steered him to the front of the class, all the way through the door to the storage room, where all the books sat on their packed, drooping shelves.

“Tell me what happened,” the teacher implored, lifting a crate from one of the many stacks in the space and setting it down. He motioned for Peter to sit. 

Peter still did not want to sit, and so the teacher ended up dropping down onto the crate as Peter hurriedly walked him through all that had happened the night before, not leaving out a single detail.

When he finished, the elder demon held up a finger, got to his feet with a pop and a grunt, and then began rummaging through the topmost crates of the various stacked, wooden towers in the room. He replaced Peter’s borrowed books as he searched, until eventually he procured what looked to be a bag that had seen better days.

“This will help you be a little less conspicuous,” he said, handing the thing to Peter. “It’s charmed to become invisible whenever something is placed inside.”

“Thank you,” Peter said in awe, his hand running over an old leather flap, his fingers finding a buckle that kept the thing closed. Then he shook his head. The bag was helpful, but not the most important thing he needed at the moment. “But what about what I saw? Did I really see my brother?”

There was a sudden commotion outside as Peter’s fellow students entered the classroom. The teacher winced, sending Peter an apologetic expression. He turned and found one of the books he’d recently put away - the one that would teach Peter how to conjure fire - and handed it to Peter. 

“Stay in here, and read. ” He instructed. “I will speak with you more after class is finished for the day. But I will only speak with you if you can manage a spark.”

“But–” Peter protested, and then immediately fell silent at the look the teacher gave him. He’d seen that look enough from his siblings and his Abba to know there was no arguing his way out of this. So he sat down on the single crate the teacher had set aside for him, and opened his book with a huff. 

The teacher patted him on the shoulder, then left the room, leaving the door open just a crack. Peter heard him welcoming the students, his gentle tone taking on a slightly stern edge as he tried to get everyone into their seats. 

Peter sighed. Well. He had to concentrate on the book now. He flipped to the page he’d left off at, willing the passages to make sense. It was a struggle, but he somehow managed.

*

The motivation of actually getting answers to the mysteries that had befallen him in the past 24 hours seemed to be all he needed in order to advance to the next level of his magical ability. By the time he heard the teacher bidding the students farewell, Peter could easily conjure a spark with the snap of his fingers and a quick incantation.

The elder demon was very pleased to see Peter’s progress as he met up with him in the closet space.

“Very good,” the teacher congratulated, clapping his hands twice. He took Peter’s tome from him and turned to the bookshelf behind him. “Let me get you your next courses, and we’ll review what I expect you to have completed by tomorrow.”

Peter stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. “What about my brother? You said we could speak.”

“And we will,” the teacher promised. “But I must make sure you are all in order with your studies. My duty as an instructor comes first.”

So Peter had no choice but to sit down on his crate with a pout and wait as the elder demon pittled around the space, muttering to himself until he procured two new books whose spines had seen better days. Peter handed him his new, enchanted bag when the elder demon motioned for it, and the teacher tenderly placed the tomes inside, before giving the thing back to Peter. It was strange to feel the thing in his arms, but not see it, and Peter let himself have a small moment to appreciate the magic of the bag. 

But then he was moving, helping his teacher pick up another crate for a makeshift seat and carefully bring it to the floor, and he perched himself back on his own crate as the elder demon settled himself down with a grunt.

“What happened?” Peter asked, as soon as the teacher seemed to be in as comfortable a seat as he could be.

“With what you saw?” the elder checked, and Peter’s head bobbed on a nod. The teacher nodded too. “I can’t say for sure. In my early years, there was talk of research being conducted on such things– on the possibility of a ‘beyond’ for demonkind, I mean. A place where our specks of souls move on to after our bodies die. But no conclusive evidence was ever found.”

Peter started to argue, saying how he knew without a doubt he had seen his brother, but the teacher held up a placating hand.

“I believe you, child. I believe that you saw your departed brother. You see, these studies came to light because a few demons had reported this phenomenon happening to them as well. Not many, mind you, but enough to warrant a team to come and investigate, to notate all that they saw and perhaps build up a new section of our libraries with information on the subject. But the research was fruitless. The sightings did not happen very often, and they became less and less frequent as time went on. Eventually, Satan decided it wasn’t worth the demonpower to sit and wait for a spectre to appear, when everyone’s time could be better spent on more modern matters.”

“So you’re saying, even if I see my brother again, eventually he’ll disappear for good?” Peter asked in despair.

“I wish I had a definitive answer for you,” the elder apologized. “But from what I know, and what I’ve heard, your interaction with your brother may have been your very last. The demons before you who saw their loved ones… not many had a chance to have more than one interaction. A fair few saw these ghosts twice, thrice. None actually spoke with these anomalies. It was all merely sightings.”

Peter slumped forward in his seat.

“You should count yourself lucky to have been able to see him at all,” the teacher said softly. “So few of us get that chance.”

Peter’s head dragged up to look at the elderly demon, who was giving him a pitying expression. He didn’t like it. “But what about the barrier? And the walls? And firepit?”

The teacher brought up his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know, child. I’ve never heard of such things occurring.”

Hesitantly, Peter straightened. “But doesn’t that mean that it’s possible Darius is different from those other ghosts? Maybe he’s stronger, somehow. If he could do all of that, maybe he could talk to me too.”

“Maybe,” the teacher allowed. “But I must caution you to not let speaking to your brother become priority over your studies, your life. Peter, you are still here. I have no doubt that your brother - and the rest of your family for that matter - would want you to carry on and work towards a solid future. You have the opportunity to do so; you shouldn’t waste that.”

“How can you expect me to do that?” Peter exclaimed, surging up out of his seat and glaring at his teacher. “How can you ask me to just leave all of them behind, when I’ve seen my own brother in my doorway? When he protected me?! I can’t ignore that!”

A pair of wrinkled hands presented themselves in a placating gesture. “I’m not saying you need to ignore this, or forget them. I’m merely saying you must remember the important things in your life. The things that matter, here and now.”

Peter was so angry he couldn’t speak. What did this old demon know about what truly mattered? What did he know about loss? About all that Peter had lost? If there was a chance to get any of that back - even just a mere glimmer of what once was - Peter was going to do everything he could to take it.

The teacher seemed to hear his thoughts, or perhaps he could tell what Peter was thinking from his stormy expression. He creaked his way to his feet, then put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “There is a way to speak to your brother.”

Peter snapped his head up to meet his eye.

“The few demons who saw their departed family and loved ones on more than one occasion, were able to commune. Not with words, but with other methods.”

“What other methods?”

“I will tell you, after you complete your next round of studies,” the teacher promised, tapping the strap of Peter’s invisible bag. He’d thrown it over his shoulder as they had talked.

Peter narrowed his eyes. 

“I swear to you, I will carry out my end of things, if you carry out yours.”

Peter pouted, and then sighed. “Fine.”

“Very good,” the teacher praised, and then he steered Peter out of the room and to the front door. “I want the first book read, and the second book at least started, by the time we meet tomorrow. You should be able to form a spark without words by then.”

That alone was interesting enough to drive off the rest of Peter’s sour mood. His hand trailed along the strap of his bag, marveling at the texture beneath his fingers while his eyes saw nothing but open air. He pressed his palm against the bag itself to check for the weight and shape of the books within, making sure they were still there. They were.

He went to ask the teacher how many bags like this existed, wanting to know more about them and the magic that made them possible, but found that he was already at the bottom of the steps, and the door to his studies was closed. 

A throat clearing behind him, and Peter turned to see the Guard member waiting beside him. 

“You’re late,” he said gruffly.

“I needed help with something,” Peter hedged.

It didn’t seem to matter to the Guard member though, as the demon guided him down the street with a hand on his back. They teleported back to Peter’s neighborhood, in the same alley as before, soon after.

“Here,” his chaperone said gruffly, placing a bundle of something into Peter’s hands.

Peter looked down to see black cloth, soft between his fingers. Curious, he unfolded part of the thing, then realized he was looking at clothes. The top part was a shirt– a little too long for him by the looks of it.

“You’ll grow into them,” the demon said off-handedly, looking anywhere but at Peter. “I got them adjusted to the smallest possible size. But they’re much more durable and grime-resistant than your current garb, so you’ll get better use out of them. Give me your current clothes later, and I’ll see about trading them for something else. Perhaps a hammock.”

“Why are you giving me these things?” Peter asked in confusion. 

“You should care more about how you look,” his guide said, a hint of frustration in his tone. “You should be presentable for your studies; they’re important, you know. And no matter what you decide to do with your career as an adult, you should be presentable for that as well. Follow me now. I’m going to show you where the communal baths are for this area.”

He didn’t wait for Peter to respond, and Peter ended up stumbling after him as the demon swiftly made his way out of the alley, and then turned into another narrow crevice in between a pair of mostly-in-tact buildings. He navigated a maze of twists and turns in silence, and Peter followed after him, just as quiet.

Eventually, the slim alley opened up onto a main street. The cobblestone here was more put-together, the buildings old, but with full walls, windows, and doors. Many demons bustled about the place, most of them convening at a large, square structure that dominated the street, steam emanating from various pipes jutting out of its roof.

“There,” the Guard member pointed, hanging back by the mouth of the alley. “Everything you need for bathing is inside; all toiletries and such are readily available to the public. I’ll wait for you out here. Don’t dawdle now.”

And with that, he ushered Peter forward with a light tap between Peter’s shoulders. Peter looked back at him a few times as he crossed the street, but stopped when an annoyed expression pinched up the older teen’s features. Peter passed under a set of large, thick cloth flaps that served as the door with a handful of other demons, and he followed the crowd, splitting off with the few children in the group who were led by older demons, parents and grandparents alike.

No one treated Peter the way he’d been growing accustomed to; no odd looks or whispers behind his back. Instead, the oldest demon in the place beckoned him and the other children through another cloth flap, which opened up into a large, tiled, steamy space with a small side changing area in the corner. Peter disrobed down to his undergarments with the rest of the children, careful to put his invisible bag under his clothes so as not to lose it, or risk it somehow being discovered and getting stolen. He tenderly placed his new clothes on top of his pile.

Then, he joined the line of laughing and chattering children as they ventured deeper into the large space, gathering at the far end of the room where steady streams of hot water gushed from the walls and gathered in a constant flow through narrow, dugout canals and eventually drained out in the center of the room.

Peter startled when a child only a little taller than him began to work some soap into his hair, unprompted. But the young demon continued their work, unbothered, and handed Peter a bar of soap, inclining their head toward a smaller demon beside Peter, who was currently playing with the water spout.

So Peter found himself in a group bathing session, his hands clumsy and unpracticed as he lathered soap into the hair of demons younger than him, as he helped rinse off suds and grime, rewarded with a hair washing and scrub-down for his troubles.

What an odd space, Peter thought to himself, as he and the rest of his group rinsed off their final scrub. 

No one treated him any differently. He couldn’t tell who was related to who; what parent or grandparent was helping a child that wasn’t theirs. The feeling of community was so similar to what he experienced with his own family, and his heart ached to experience this closeness yet again. 

He dried off when towels were handed out - fibers worn from overuse, but the cloth itself was clean - and dressed with the clothes the Guard member had given him. He’d been right about the shirt; it was far too long, and the short sleeves went down to his forearms. The pants at least had ties that he could gather up the excess with and keep his feet free from tripping over extra material. There weren’t any shoes, but he’d been going barefoot for a long time now - even back at the estate - so it wasn’t a problem. 

Peter looked down at himself, realizing he recognized his new garb. It was what the Guard members used to train in. The fabric was comfortable and light; easy to move around in (if it was form fitting, at least). He’d seen Darius wear this exact outfit when he went through drills, and he’d seen the new family at the estate wearing these things as they trained outdoors as well. He hadn’t noticed it at first, because the ensemble fit him so differently.

He stared at the small pile of his Silent Chapel robes. His chaperone wanted to trade them for a hammock. He’d like a hammock. It would be nice to not sleep on the floor, even if he didn’t need much sleep anymore.

Slowly, Peter gathered up his things, reluctantly preparing to leave. But he was stopped by the same elderly demon from before, who pointed him towards the circle of clean children, cheeks flushed from the hot water and smiles all around. 

So Peter sat himself down, and then watched the youngest demon in the group get their wet hair toweled down and brushed. One by one - seeming to go in order from youngest to oldest - each child got a proper hair drying and brushing. The elder demon was patient and careful with everyone, and Peter felt his throat tighten when his turn came, and a pair of aged, gray hands gathered up his short strands and brushed them out of his face with a comb. The repeated motion of the comb moving from front to back lulled him, and tears came to his eyes, unbidden.

But then it was over, and the elderly demon moved on to the next child - the one who was just a little taller than Peter, the one who had washed his hair - and Peter numbly stood with the rest of the younger children as they raced each other to the exit. He didn’t run or join the game, his feet heavy as they carried him out the cloth-lined doorway.

The Guard member was waiting in the exact same spot, and Peter wordlessly handed him his Silent Chapel robes.

“I’ll take you to this place whenever you need a washing,” the demon said, walking back into the alley without looking at Peter. Peter followed him. “So long as you don’t roll around in dirt and ash, you shouldn’t need to visit this place more than once a month.”

“Alright,” Peter said dully, staring at the back of the Guard member’s shoes. They were nice. Comfortable looking. Peter flicked his eyes up to take in a clean uniform, pressed and wrinkle-free. Not a speck of grime to be seen. 

Was that why this demon cared so much about appearances? Did the Guard drill such notions into their task force?

Soon enough, they were back at the alley that led out into Peter’s neighborhood. Peter’s hair was damp, but out of his eyes. He could smell the faint scents of whatever oils were used in the soaps at the communal baths all over him. He felt clean, and warm, and tired. He didn’t feel happy, though.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” his guide said, in lieu of a farewell. He was gone in the next blink, the smoke of his teleport winding its way toward Peter.

“See you tomorrow,” Peter told the empty air, then turned and made his way out of the alley and to his home, feeling hollow.

Chapter Text

“Tomorrow I’ll have a way to communicate with you,” Peter announced to his empty home, stepping inside. He didn’t expect an answer, and so he wasn’t surprised when none came.

“It’s supposed to be easier than speaking face to face,” he went on, glancing around at his four walls, his fire pit. Nothing seemed to have changed in his absence.

“You don’t have to wait until tomorrow to talk to me,” he finished, sitting on the floor and taking off his bag. He pulled out his books, watching as the bag itself reappeared from its invisible state as soon as it was empty. “You can talk to me now. I don’t have much to do; just read and work on fire magic.”

He waited.

He waited some more.

“I bet these clothes look familiar,” he tried. “I bet you’re wondering where I got them.”

No answer. 

Peter sighed, then flipped to the front of his first book. He kept an ear out for any sort of sound that would indicate someone else was in the room with him, but eventually the passages in front of his eyes gained his attention, and he lost himself in many chapters before he remembered he was meant to be vigilant for the appearance of his brother.

“I got my new clothes from the Guard member who’s been taking me to my studies,” Peter abruptly told the empty air of his home. “He showed me the communal baths, and I helped a bunch of children bathe and wash their hair. There was a very old demon who helped out too. They combed my hair.”

Peter waited a few breaths, but heard no response.

“I hate you,” he muttered petulantly, turning the page of his book with a huff. He went into his next readings spitefully, dutifully ignoring the lack of a second presence in his home. 

The evening wore on, and eventually he finished his first book, having a better understanding on the flow of heat and fire through his own body, the magic of it all. He could sense it within him, now. He could feel the heat in his veins– scorching and lively, in constant movement. 

On a whim, he tried to conjure fire without an incantation. He focused on the heat in his body, narrowing down his attention to his arm, his hand, his fingers. He stared hard at his palm, willing the fire inside him to come out into the open air. 

Nothing happened. 

Peter tried for a little longer, then gave up with a pout. He sighed as he reached for his second book. 

“It’s too bad there’s no sibling here to help me learn this faster,” he griped out loud. 

No one responded. 

Peter glared at his book, then decided to ignore Darius right back. If his brother was ignoring him to begin with, that is. Maybe he really wasn’t there. Maybe Peter really was alone.

Maybe his teacher had been right, about Peter not seeing Darius again.

Peter shook his head at the thought, his throat tight. His eyes burned as he stared down at his book, and he scrubbed at them in frustration. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” he told himself. 

With pure determination, he swallowed down the sharp feeling behind his pointed teeth, and forced himself to focus on reading his book. It took some time, but eventually he got back into the flow of letting the paragraphs and chapters wash over him, blow through him, and show him new things about himself and his magical makeup he didn’t know before.

*

Morning was creeping its way into the realm, and Peter was yawning on every other inhale. His eyes burned from tiredness, but he was halfway through the second book, and he felt his own inner fire like a close friend. 

He snapped his fingers, and a spark formed at the tips. Peter smiled. 

“Look Abba,” he said tiredly, “I can make fire now. I have fire magic.”

He suddenly wished he could do his special, coming-of-age ceremony all over again, this time on his own. He wanted his family to see him sprout fire from his hands. He wanted them to cheer him on as he went through the motions of the ritual by himself, without the help of hands at his back to steady him. He had all of his abilities; he was strong and agile. He had magic. He could do it all by himself, and his family would be so impressed to see it, he was sure.

But there was no one to watch him now. No one to applaud his progress, his achievements.

“What’s the point of it,” he breathed, staring at the open pages of the book in his lap. 

But then he remembered that his teacher had promised to show him a way to speak with his brother, and that was the only thing that had him standing and leaving his home to meet the Guard member. Without that surety, Peter could have easily just laid down on his floor and slept the whole day away. He was so tired.

*

When he walked back through his open doorway at the end of the day, Peter cast his eyes about the place to check if anything had changed - nothing had - and then he proceeded to empty the bundle of fabric he had in his hands and shrug off his bag, dumping out the contents of that as well. He was nonchalant and unhurried as he carefully laid a single piece of parchment on the floor, two words scrawled on the top:

Yes

No

In the center of the paper, he set down a long, rusted nail. 

Then, he stacked his next round of books neatly beside him, and turned to the bundle of fabric he’d brought with him. He unfolded the thing, revealing two metal rungs at its center. He left the fabric on the ground and walked over to the farthest corner of the room, calling heat to his hands and using that to weld the metal pieces to opposite walls. Once he seemed satisfied, he turned back to his fabric bundle, took it over to the situated rungs on the walls, and tied its two ends to each piece. 

“Look,” he announced to no one. “Now I don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

The Guard member had brought him a hammock - as promised - when he went to pick up Peter from his studies that day. He’d briefly explained how to mount the thing to Peter’s walls and securely tie it with sturdy knots, and then he’d left Peter as he always did: without a goodbye in a haze of smoke.

Peter turned to look out at his empty room, hands on his hips. 

“Oh, that?” he asked, as if prompted. He swept a lazy hand out at the paper he’d set on the floor. “This is how we’re going to communicate with each other. It’s very simple. I’ll explain it.”

He knelt down on the floor in front of the paper, smoothing it out with his hand and picking up the nail. His teacher had written the words on the paper himself, as he walked Peter through how to implement these odd utensils into a communication device that could be used for the dead. Peter recited the elder’s words to empty air.

“You use this nail,” he indicated the nail he was holding, “to point to one of the two answers on the parchment. I’ll ask you questions that only require a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. Very simple, yes?”

Tenderly, he set the nail back down on the paper, its sharp end pointing to the top of the page, where the words resided. He was careful to place the thing in the very center of the parchment. 

“Darius,” he said, “do you understand? Or do I need to explain it again?”

He watched the nail for any sign of movement, but there was none. 

A full minute passed. 

“Don’t get petty with me now,” Peter scolded his empty room. “I’m a very busy demon, you know. I can’t just prioritize talking to you over making up my home, or carrying on with my studies.” He inclined his head toward his latest stack of books.

“And besides,” he continued, “ you’re the one who ignored me first. It’s only fair you get a taste of your own medicine. Don’t you think I’m being fair?”

He stared hard at the nail, but it didn’t move.

“Fine,” he creaked, his throat suddenly sore. “Be that way. I’ve got fire magic to practice, at any rate.”

He turned away from the parchment, the nail, taking a book off the top of his stack as he went. He opened the thing, gazed down at its pages. Pretended to read. 

After about a minute, he swung his head to look over his shoulder at the paper on the floor. 

The nail hadn’t moved.

Peter turned back to his book, a hand coming up to wipe at his damp cheeks. It was so silly to cry. It was foolish to think he’d get any sort of answer to begin with. Darius was probably gone for good. 

“I hate you,” he whispered, blinking tears out of his eyes. 

The home was silent in response.

Peter sniffed, wiped his eyes again. Stubbornly, he resolved to not check on his paper and nail for the rest of the evening, and he grimly sank into the latest chapters of his book on fire magic. 

The teacher had said there weren’t many more books to read, but the next arc of his studies would take the longest. Coaxing an entire flame out of his body took practice and discipline, and Peter would be spending much of the near future on meditation, after he’d finished his latest books.

But for now, he read.

The home was quiet as the evening dragged on. There was no indication of sound that the nail had moved. 

When morning came, and Peter closed his last book, he allowed himself a single glance at the parchment on the floor. The nail remained at the center of the page, just as he had left it. 

Peter decided to ignore the paper altogether as he readied to meet his chaperone. He looked only at his books as he gathered them up, only at his bag as he set his tomes inside and slung the invisible strap over his shoulder. He didn’t look at the paper at all as he stood and stepped up to his open doorway. 

He drew in a breath, about to say another cutting comment, but blew it out in a gust of a sigh instead. Peter left his home without a word, his feet heavy as they carried him toward a routine he was quickly growing accustomed to.

*

The days passed, and the only thing that changed was Peter’s progress in his studies. His home was in a constant state of four walls just tall enough to conceal him from view, with a single piece of parchment on the floor and a nail that did not move, no matter how much time passed. Peter sat beside his firepit each night, feeling the heat and magic within himself more and more, moving closer and closer to being able to send fire out into the open air without a word or incantation. 

His magical senses were so acute he could now feel the barrier in his open doorway, the strength of it unchanging. He was even able to sense a faint magic in the walls of his home, although what the magic was for, he couldn’t tell. However, he knew his brother had done the magic, because it had the same signature as the doorway, the same sturdy feeling.

*

The weeks passed, and Peter decided to work on his home whenever he took a break from his fire meditations. He scavenged for bricks outside and used ash and heat to mold them to his walls, increasing their height bit by bit. The work was much more uneven than what Darius had done, but at least he had walls of a proper height by the end of it. 

*

The months passed, and Peter managed to find a tarp to serve as a roof. He had to stack many bricks to reach over his walls and secure the thing up top with even more bricks to keep it in place, and the tarp itself had many holes, but it was nice to have a roof over his head. Also, he was able to get a large strip of cloth to serve as a door, as the communal baths were switching out their door flaps and offering the old ones to whoever wanted them. Peter had jumped at the opportunity. 

By the time Peter had been living in his home for three month’s time, it looked much more like a home than before. He’d used heat to broaden the small holes in the bricks facing the open street, giving him proper windows into the outside, allowing him to see just enough without feeling as if he had to worry about prying eyes from the other side. 

A fire crackled happily in his firepit, lit by his own flame as he finally graduated from his very first magic studies. The flames held tightly to a bunch of large stones he’d found while scavenging for bricks, the heat maintaining its own life without Peter’s help. All he’d had to do was push the flame in his hands to the stones in his firepit, and the rocks handled the rest. Hell’s hearths typically housed either stones or enchanted wood, and both items would burn for an eternity, thanks to the innate magic they held.

“I’m going to start my next round of studies tomorrow,” Peter told the crackling fire in his home, speaking properly to the empty air for the first time in weeks. He’d given up on having one-sided conversations with his brother, although he kept the parchment and nail in the same spot on the floor, even if it remained unmoving in all the time that had passed. It wasn’t as if the things were taking up much space; Peter didn’t see the harm in leaving them there for the foreseeable future.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, rested his chin on them and wrapped an arm around his shins. Idly, he called a flame to his free hand, let it dance across his palm as he moved his hand this way and that.

“The teacher was nice enough to let me keep the enchanted bag, so my next readings will remain safe,” he murmured to the fire in his hands. It was warm and tender, nuzzling into the skin of his palm like a pet might. There were no animals in Hell, but Peter had heard about pets. Abba had told him about them once, as he’d carved an animal for Peter. Peter couldn’t remember which wooden creature it was, only that his father’s rumbling tone had been so soft he’d fallen asleep to it.

Why had he decided to not keep anything from the estate? Why had he not used his favor to ask for his carved animals? He was sure it was too late to retrieve them now; they were probably scattered about the realm, claimed by whoever managed to show up to the property as it was being cleared out, and all items housed within were given away to the higher class population.

“Aren’t you proud of me, Abba?” Peter asked. “I can make fire all on my own. I have a home that I helped build. I can do so much by myself.”

But he wished he didn’t have to do it all by himself. He wondered if Satan’s offer of giving him a family was still on the table. But how would he even track down his dark god to ask him for one? Did he truly want another family, or did he just not want to be alone?

“Perhaps I’ll make friends in my next classes,” Peter wondered. The children in the class he’d just graduated from were so much younger than him, and they never stopped being intrigued by his presence whenever he sat with them in the classroom, their eyes curious and judging.

“Perhaps my next round of peers won’t think I’m cursed.” He knew the children thought it; he’d heard them whisper as much before and after lessons.

“Is this what you wanted, Darius?” Peter hissed, his anger so sudden it doused the flame in his hand as his fingers curled into a fist. “Is this the future you sought for me? Some older brother you turned out to be; you can’t be anything for me now. I’m sure that’s so satisfying for you, to be relieved of the burden of brotherhood.”

A scratching sound to his right, and Peter’s eyes flicked over to see the nail on the parchment moving, shakily turning to the top right of the page.

No.

“Darius?” Peter gasped, scrambling over to the paper and crouching down low to watch the nail finish its trajectory. He held his breath. The nail didn’t move again.

“Darius, is that you?” Peter whispered.

A soft cry escaped his lips as, in minute increments, the nail trembled its way to turn toward the top left of the page.

Yes.

“Darius,” Peter breathed, and then he repeated his brother’s name, loud and disbelieving. “Darius!”

His brother was here, and Peter had so much to say, so many questions to ask. Where to even begin? How much time did they have?

“Is it just you here?” Peter blurted. “Is our family here too?”

He winced as he realized the answers to those questions might be contradictory, and the nail’s movement had been slow so far. He held up his hands. “Wait. Let me ask again. Is our family here with you?”

With a faint scratching sound, the nail dragged its way back to No.

Peter’s heart sank. “Do you know where they are?”

The nail turned again. Yes.

“You do? Where are they? Wait– No. Let me think of how to ask it.” Peter thought hard, limited by these one-worded answers. How could he phrase things in a way that was easy for Darius to answer? He suddenly felt overwhelmed.

And then he remembered that Darius didn’t even know about Abba. He wasn’t there for… for…

Peter grit his teeth as the phrase: for when he was wiped out by the mass exorcisms of the Dark Ages came and went from his mind. His brother probably had just as many questions as Peter, if not more.

“You’re probably wondering why we’re here, and not at the estate,” Peter muttered. “And where Abba is, for that matter.”

To his surprise, the nail moved to No.

“No?” Peter repeated. “Why ‘no’? Do you already know why we’re here, and not at home?”

The nail turned again. Yes.

Peter felt a chill run down his spine. “How do you know these things?” he asked. “Did someone tell you?”

The nail turned again. No.

Peter made a face at that, confused. “Does your position in the beyond somehow funnel such information to you?”

The nail wiggled once, but otherwise didn’t move. No.

“Then how can you possibly…?” Peter trailed off, thinking hard. Apparently, Darius already knew how Peter ended up in the lower part of Hell. And he knew about Abba as well. But how was that possible? The only beings who knew about Abba were Satan, and Peter. Peter wasn’t allowed to disclose that information to anyone, and Satan wasn’t likely to tell others either. In any case, Darius said no one had told him, so how did he know?

Abruptly, he remembered the feeling of eyes on him, back at the Silent Chapel. The feeling of being watched here, in his new neighborhood. Of looking for the stalker, but seeing no one.

“Have you been here this whole time?” Peter breathed. “Did you never leave?”

The nail became blurry as it moved again, and tears came to Peter’s eyes. 

Yes.

“You saw everything.”

Yes.

“You saw Abba.”

Yes.

“You saw me. Everything I went through. Everything .”

Yes.

Peter began to tremble. “And you did nothing. You just… watched .”

The nail didn’t move again, and for a few moments Peter found himself suspended in a strange, charged stillness, some great and terrible thing on the horizon within himself. 

Then, a roar tore its way out of Peter, sounding animalistic and foreign to his own ears. He grabbed for the stones in his firepit, immediately dousing the flames as, one by one, he picked the rocks up and threw them out his door. They caught on the flap, so Peter ripped that from the rungs he’d used to secure it in the first place. 

“You just watched! ” Peter screamed, turning back to the firepit and getting to work on the bricks lining the thing. He chucked each and every one out the door, the stone hard and heavy in his hands. They had some kind of magic in them as well, but he was too angry to try and sense what kind it was. 

“You WATCHED! And did NOTHING! And now–!” Peter screamed again, suddenly beyond words. He was halfway through the firepit now. His chest heaved on huge breaths. The bricks were very heavy, even with his demonic strength. 

He whipped his head toward the parchment, but the paper hadn’t moved. 

“Have you run away again?” Peter accused. “Have you left me again?!”

There was no answer - no indication that the nail would move again - and Peter fell to his knees and grabbed for the paper, snarling. The nail clamored to the floor as he took up the parchment in his hands, ready to tear it to shreds.

“I hate you!” he cried. “I HATE YOU!”

His hands shook, but the paper remained intact in his grasp. 

It didn’t tear. He couldn’t tear it. He couldn’t do it.

Peter roared again, crumpling up the thing and throwing it in a corner. He turned back to the fire pit, his rage the only thing keeping him going as he heaved each and every brick lining the thing outside. By the time he was on the last one, his throws were weak, and that final brick landed dully just outside his open doorway.

Peter stood there, gasping for breath, shaking from head to toe. 

“You just watched,” he said wetly, his throat sore from all his shouting. “ You just watched. ”

Chapter Text

It was jarring to wake and find his home in a much better state than it had been when he’d fallen asleep. He’d been too tired to even attempt to replace the bricks he’d thrown, the door he’d torn from its rungs. He’d half-expected one of his neighbors to come and see what all the noise was about, but no one came, and he fell into his hammock once his energy had deserted him, sleep immediately claiming him.

So when Peter opened his eyes to see the fire pit whole once again - his carefully collected stones in the center, those strange heavy bricks lining the thing - and his door flap back in place in his threshold, Peter stared at it all, at a loss for words. 

“Darius?” he croaked, his voice jagged and sleep-worn. His throat no longer hurt, at least– his abilities healing the damage he’d done overnight.

No one answered, and Peter couldn’t feel any eyes on him, any energy that would indicate someone else was in the room. Abruptly, Peter looked to where he’d crumpled up the paper, and found that was the only thing which had gone unchanged through the night. The nail was discarded beside it, and the ball of paper was in the exact corner he’d left it in. 

He briefly wondered why his brother hadn’t righted those things as well, but then he remembered he needed to meet the Guard member soon for his next round of studies, and he jumped out of his hammock at once, grabbing for his bag and hurrying out the door.

The thought of asking to see his first teacher tugged at him, and Peter almost inquired of the Guard member aloud as they teleported back into the education district. But his chaperone didn’t give him a chance to, as he seemed to finally take in the state Peter was in. 

“Your hands are dirty,” the older teen noted, extracting a handkerchief from his pocket and taking up Peter’s hands without hesitation. He tutted in annoyance. “Your feet as well. You were at the baths only last week, honestly.”

For some reason, Peter couldn’t bring himself to explain his appearance. He had no urge to tell the Guard member what had happened the night before. The demon didn’t seem as sympathetic as his teacher had, and Peter wanted to save his story for the right ears. 

But apparently that story would have to wait, because once the Guard member seemed satisfied with his work on Peter’s hands, he quickly steered Peter to a new building, a few blocks down from the one he’d grown used to visiting. This one looked similar - most of the ones occupying the street followed the same architectural makeup, with high pointing towers and decorative windows - and Peter caught himself with practised ease as his guide pushed him toward the steps leading to the open door.

There was no teacher to greet him at the threshold, and Peter was disappointed to see that the students already seated within were much of the same age range as his last lesson’s occupants had been. 

Apparently the time spanning between graduating primitive fire magic and moving on to the next courses was a mere 50 years or so, by the looks of it. Peter had no hope of making friends here. 

What’s more, the judgemental, curious stares were present in this class as well, and Peter avoided meeting anyone’s eye as he thankfully found an empty spot in the back to settle himself in.

The instructor for these lessons was younger than the last– a woman with stern eyes and pointed features. She didn’t make Peter feel nearly as welcome as his last teacher had, and she also lacked the patience the elder had exhibited. 

By the end of the day, Peter had plenty of books to read on his own in order to catch up with where his age group was supposed to be, and his new teacher handed him his stack without any fanfare, cooly informing him that he needed to have his four books read and mastered by next class, which thankfully didn’t happen for another two days. 

Her cold demeanor wasn’t reserved only for Peter, at least. His classmates all but fled the room as soon as the teacher dismissed the lesson for the day, and Peter followed after them, dumping his books into his bag and feeling its strap in his hands as it turned invisible with the close of its flap.

His feet were quick as he hopped down the steps to meet the Guard member yet again, and Peter looked longingly at the building where his first class was, the doors open as his old peers piled out onto the street. The elderly instructor was waving goodbye to them, and his eyes found Peter as he walked past with his chaperone. 

He waved at Peter, and Peter wanted to stop, wanted to tell him what had happened with Darius, but the weight of his new books was heavy at his side, and he worried how his new teacher would react if he had so much as one page unread by the time he met her again.

So Peter waved back and left it at that, moving smoothly under the nudges at his shoulder as the Guard member steered him to the corner he liked to teleport at.

*

The next weeks passed in a blur, Peter barely able to keep up with his readings, and only able to do so by not sleeping a wink. He was exhausted, and the work seemed endless. 

He was expected to have a more intricate control of his fire: growing and shrinking his flames to exact sizes and shapes. It was hard work, and Peter barely had time to congratulate himself on any milestones he reached, before the next goals were set, looming in the distance, as cold and foreboding as his new teacher.

He knew he no longer required sleep, but he also knew such magic taxed the body. It was why there were 2-3 day breaks between each class; the time allowed students to rest and recharge their energy for the next lessons. But Peter didn’t have the luxury of rest, because he was just shy of 300 years behind where he needed to be in his courses. Any breaks would set him back even more, and so he soldiered through the weeks, distantly surprised at himself for meeting each of the milestones the teacher set for him personally.

But the exhaustion from the work eventually took its toll, and Peter helplessly slumped over his latest books halfway through the third week, sleep stealing him away from the world, no matter how much he fought it.

He dreamt, and the awareness of the fact that he was dreaming at all would have shocked Peter back into the waking world, if he had energy left to do so. But his body had reached its limit, and so Peter’s wild bewilderment stayed with him solely in unconsciousness, as he looked around, taking in his surroundings.

His world was colorful, much more colorful and vibrant than Hell. But it was as if he were staring at a painting, the colors bleeding together, the shapes watery and in constant motion. 

It was difficult for him to discern what he was looking at, at first. But when the shapes finally settled themselves into a picture he could recognize, Peter’s stomach dropped. 

He was standing in the informal sitting room of the estate, the room he’d last been with his siblings. And the scene he’d been blindfolded from was there before his eyes, as Peter became an observer to the memory. He studied his small form knelt in a circle of siblings, his hands in his lap, a piece of cloth tied around his head, over his eyes.

The murmur of his brother’s voice as he guided Peter’s painted self through the incantation was just as muddy and near-incomprehensible as the world around him, and so the words didn’t register at all. Darius’ tone was muted as well, sounding as if coming from a great distance.

And so it was another shock to Peter when he heard a second Darius - this time his voice clear as day beside him - as his brother said:

“This is my greatest regret.”

Peter jumped, finding Darius standing at his side, as if he’d been there all along.

“Darius!” he cried, immediately latching onto his brother. He sobbed as his hands met solid cloth, solid muscle and bone. Instead of phasing right through his brother like he had the last time he’d seen him, his arms encircled Darius’ waist. 

Darius held him right back, a hand coming to Peter’s neck as his brother pressed Peter’s face against his stomach, obscuring the strange, paint-like scene from view. That was good, because Peter didn’t want to know what the state of the rest of his siblings was about to look like. 

He pressed up as close as he could to his brother, the force of his tears making his whole body shake. 

“Shh,” Darius soothed. “It’s alright now, Peter. It’s alright.”

Peter miserably shook his head, because his brother was wrong. Nothing was alright. 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Darius murmured softly. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for so long, but I couldn’t.”

“Why?” Peter sniffled, his voice barely comprehensible behind the fabric of his brother’s shirt.

“I’m going to show you,” Darius answered. “Right now, I’m going to show you.”

Even with his vision obscured, Peter could detect some kind of light invading the corners of what he could see. Hesitantly, he turned his head to find the painted scene again, this time much brighter than before. All that light was emanating from a single point, from someone , though who it was, he wasn’t sure. The stranger was barely an outline of a demon, shining a brilliant, blinding gold. 

“Thank you, Darius,” Agnes’ voice said, faint but warmed through. “Thank you so much.”

Peter blinked as the shape of the person became something more recognizable, and he gasped as he realized he was looking at Agnes. The wounds around her face were gone - even with the watery imagery before him, he could tell that much - and she was the most dazzling thing in the room, just as breathtaking as he remembered. 

He noticed more lights, more colors appearing as his eyes adjusted to the brightness in front of him. He could see all of his siblings now, standing at either side of Agnes, their hands all linked.

Mylan and Further were the same pastel blue hue, the glow of them pale in comparison to Agnes. Emmeline was a swirl of gold and orange, flickering like a flame. Amira was a deep, saturated pink. And Juniper - when she appeared - was green and glowing just as bright as Agnes, if not moreso. 

Juniper’s eyes were no longer pale and sightless; there was no scarring on her face. She had the biggest smile Peter had ever seen, bigger than any he’d witnessed before. And she was looking at her brothers and sisters with such love and adoration, it made Peter’s heart hurt to see it. Peter found a new wave of tears overtake him as her eyes landed on the painted version of himself– the one still seated on the floor and unaware of the emptiness of the room. 

Her smile shrank, and she looked to the painted Darius. His colors burned a hot red, which enveloped him from head to toe, and he met Juniper’s eye.

“You have to keep him safe,” Juniper whispered, Peter barely catching the words. 

The painted Darius nodded. “I’ll fulfill my promise to him.”

“If- If you can,” Juniper said uncertainly, “please, will you tell him how much we love him? Please, will you tell him this doesn’t change that fact?”

“We had to do this,” Agnes agreed, and the rest of the siblings nodded with her. “It had to be done.”

“She was wrong,” the solid Darius said above Peter, the hand at his neck moving to his shoulder and gripping the fabric of his shirt. “It didn’t have to be this way.”

Peter barely registered the words, his eyes glued to the scene in front of him as, one by one, his siblings became a smaller, compressed burst of light that shot off through the ceiling of the informal lounge, going who knew where. 

“They went to the mortal realm, after,” Darius said, as if reading Peter’s thoughts. The painted room they stood in moved around them, colors blurring together and shapes rearranging themselves into a new picture altogether. 

Peter saw his painted self again, situated on Abba’s hip as his overly-saturated father pointed out a map to him, showing him all the places where the great plague had spread throughout earth.

“Abba was right,” Darius noted, looking grimly at his painted father. “Their souls, their energy, their power… it went to earth, where their grief lay.”

“Are they still there now?” Peter asked. 

Darius didn’t look at him, his eyes staying on the Abba in the moving picture. “If the plague is still rampant, then yes. If not, then…”

“Would they not come back here? To be with me, as you have?”

Finally, Darius looked down at him. The expression on his face told Peter everything he needed to know. He had never seen such sadness in those steely eyes.

“I did not know Abba would be taken, too,” Darius quietly despaired. “I did not know you’d end up alone.”

The scene around them blurred and moved again, and Peter watched Darius’ painted self burn redder, brighter, as he screamed beside a painted Peter, who watched a blurred, watery Abba kneel before a great fire, his dark god leaning to whisper something in the old demon’s ear.

“No!” the red-hot Darius was begging, his voice breaking. “No, you can’t take him away! You can’t do this!”

But it was already done. The smudged, watery Abba disappeared, and Peter knew what happened next.

“Peter, I’m sorry,” the painted Darius was saying, the air around him trembling, swirling with new colors: blues intermingling with the reds. “I’m so sorry. Peter, I’m sorry.”

But the painted Peter couldn’t hear him, absorbed in his own sudden onslaught of sound, smell, and feeling. 

The scenes changed quickly after that, showing Peter all the misery he’d recently lived through. All the times he’d felt alone and isolated, with no one to comfort him. He saw his painted self curl under the covers of his bed at the Silent Chapel, and a painted Darius was at his side, apologizing again and again. His brother’s colors had turned cool: blues and purples overrunning his reds.

He saw his painted self hiding away in unoccupied corners during parental visits, crying behind his knees. And there was his painted brother, sitting right beside him, his arm around the trembling, painted Peter, almost touching. He couldn’t make contact. His arm would go through Peter if he so much as tried; Peter knew that now.

“Look at what I’ve done to you,” the painted Darius mourned. “Look at what I’ve done.”

The solid Darius spoke up beside Peter. “What good was I to you, like this? You couldn’t hear me. You couldn’t see me. You couldn’t feel my arms around you. I couldn’t even put my arms around you. I couldn’t hold you. Console you.”

Peter watched a new scene unfold, watched his painted brother begging him to take Satan’s offer of regaining the family estate, of having a new family. He heard his brother’s distant cries of dismay, his questions of ‘why, why, why’ when Peter declined everything that was presented to him.

“I couldn’t even ask you. You couldn’t hear,” Darius dejectedly recounted, pulling Peter impossibly closer to him.

“I thought about seeking out Abba, when I heard about the garden,” Darius went on, as the imagery changed again to the new walls and gate of the estate, to the muddled conversation between a painted Peter and a painted healer. The painted Darius was red again, lingering at the closed, metal gate while his painted brother turned and left the scene. 

“But I didn’t want to leave you for a second,” Darius said, and they watched his painted self turn and follow his little brother, after hesitating for just another breath.

“What if I lost track of you?” Darius asked the next scene, as a painted Peter wandered a crumbling neighborhood, looking for a home to claim. “What if I never saw you again?”

“I’m not leaving you,” the painted Darius promised his brother, as a watery Peter slept on the floor of a space that could barely be called a home. “I’m not leaving. Not until I know you’re safe. That you’re alright.”

“I found a power, there, when you needed someone more than ever before,” Darius narrated, watching his painted self observe the crumbling home with its two and a half walls, as he walked the perimeter of the building and looked out at all the abandoned bricks surrounding it, just waiting to be used. 

“I wanted you to be safe more than anything, and suddenly I was able to do that,” Darius explained, as they watched his painted self guide individual bricks to lay themselves one on top of the other with a simple move of his hand. 

Building magic. He was using building magic. Peter had heard of it, but none of his siblings had studied more than the minimum amount required by their curriculum. Seeing it in action - watching as bricks became walls, as a neat fire pit was formed, all while Darius moved his hands and fingers like a conductor to it all - left him breathless and astonished.

“I needed you to be safe,” Darius went on, and they listened to his painted self beg his sleeping brother to wake, as a silhouetted, blurry group approached the building outside. “I needed to protect you.”

“Peter, hide. ”

Color and light sprang forth as many forms moved across the scene at once. The painted Peter, jolting upright and immediately scurrying into a corner. The dark silhouettes walking up to the open doorway of the newly-built home. Darius, spreading out his hands and shouting an incantation, the words fast and overlapping and incomprehensible. 

The barrier that presented itself glittered in a burst of color and sound– a sight Peter hadn’t seen on that night, hadn’t heard. The painted world they were in made the magic beautiful, the barrier clear as day: so many colors glittering together Peter couldn’t name them all. 

“Whatever power I had to do these things…” the solid Darius spoke again, as the colors and shapes of the scene before them all rushed together as one, rearranging themselves into the aftermath of that terrifying encounter, when the strangers ran from the neighborhood and Darius was left standing, seething, in Peter’s open doorway. “...it left me. Protecting you took a lot of energy, you see, energy I was never able to get back.”

After the watery Peter ran right through his brother, the painted Darius began to collapse in slow motion. His reds muted, his outline blurred and shrank. He became a speck of light, floating toward the painted Peter as he looked around wildly for a demon who could no longer be seen.

“That was all that was left of me,” Darius inclined his head toward the spark of himself. “That was all I was for some time.”

“But I wouldn’t leave you,” he continued, as they both watched blurred scenes rush by, one by one, in front of them. Of a painted Peter speaking to the rough shape of his instructor, their voices muted. Of the painted Peter walking through various backgrounds and returning home with a parchment and nail. The speck of Darius was at his shoulder, through all of it. “I refused to leave you.”

“I wanted to speak with you, but I lacked the strength to do so.”

The painted Peter waited expectantly by the parchment and nail, before giving up and opening what could barely be distinguished as a book in his lap. The colors here were so muddy, the shapes blurring into each other worse than before. The speck of red that was Darius was barely visible against the rough shape of Peter.

“Eventually, however, I gained some power back. Time gave me a fraction of what I had before, but it was enough.”

The colors encompassing the portrait of their conversation became more vibrant as the painted Peter grew more and more upset. Reds, oranges, and purples dominated the scene. Watching himself tear down his door flap and throw brick after brick outside seemed so much more violent, when displayed like this. His painted self was a blur of movement, colors swirling in and around him in a fiery mix that mirrored the furious heat he had felt at the time.

The colors died down to the dullness he was more used to, as the painted Peter eventually tired himself out, curled up in his watery hammock, and fell asleep.

“I thought perhaps I could speak to you in a dream,” Darius continued, “but there was other work to do.”

And they watched as a painted Darius - not a speck now, but more demon-shaped, red and glowing - gradually tidied up the mess his little brother had made. With a swipe of his hand, the cloth and bricks came as if called, and in no time at all, everything was back in its place.

“The work drained me, as it had before.” The painted shape of Darius grew duller, smaller, becoming just a speck of light once more. It stuck close to Peter through the next scenes: a routine of going to class and going home. Of reading late into the night. Of practicing his fire magic. “I had to wait to regain my strength, and then I had to wait for you to fall asleep.”

They were finally caught up now; the scene of a painted Peter slumping over his book fading out into blackness in front of them. Peter felt Darius watching him, and, hesitantly, he turned to meet his brother’s eye.

“I promised you I would protect you. That was the last thing I told you,” Darius said, and Peter didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to hear those words. He cast his eyes down at his feet, but his brother kept speaking.

“I’m going to keep that promise, Peter. Even if you hate me. Even if you never want to see me or talk to me again. Keep the paper crumpled up in the corner, if you like. Throw out the nail. I’ll know then - to not visit you or try to communicate - if you do that.”

Peter looked back up at him, wanting to say that he would flatten out the parchment as soon as he woke. But for whatever reason, the words wouldn’t come. He felt an unhappy expression pinch up his face, and Darius mirrored it.

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” his brother said. “If I had known what would happen, I never would have carried out Agnes’ spell. I felt I had no choice. But there was a choice. There was a future where all of us could have grown up together; one where we’d grieve our sister and move on as a family. We could have been there for you, when your power came. We could have visited you in your Silent Chapel. We could have helped you with your studies. But instead…”

He shook his head. Finally tore his pitying gaze away from Peter.

“I approached each of our siblings, alone, while Abba was spending time with the others. I asked them if they would help me complete the spell, just as I had asked you. I told them Abba would die, just as I told you. I told them they could choose whether or not to help, but there wasn’t a choice. Not really.”

Darius knelt in front of Peter, his hands coming up to cup his face, but stopping short, his fingers an inch from Peter’s wet cheeks. Peter didn’t know when he’d started crying. He didn’t know one could cry in a dream.

“I tricked all of you. All of you. I took everyone’s future away, because I thought it was the only choice.”

From a great distance, Agnes’ voice tore through the empty, stagnant air. 

Don’t let them get away with this. Don’t let my death mean nothing. The spell’s complete; you just have to piece my writings together. Look under my mattress, you’ll find them there. You must finish what I started. Promise me.

It was the words her voice had been too damaged to speak, the final wishes she’d told Darius with her ruined lips.

Darius’ hands fell limply at his sides. “I should have never listened to her. I should never have let my grief cloud my judgement. This is my fault, Peter. This is all my fault.”

“I know,” Peter croaked, bringing up an angry fist to wipe at his eyes. “I hate you so much.”

“You should,” Darius agreed, levelling him with a look Peter couldn’t tear his eyes away from. “You should hate me forever, for what I’ve done. But I still won’t leave. I told you I’d be your brother, and I plan to do just that. I’ll stay by your side until I know you’re safe. Until I know you’re alright.”

Peter miserably shook his head, a sob jumping out of his throat. “I’ll never be alright.”

Darius’ expression morphed into one of absolute sorrow, and he moved to put his arms around Peter, but his form was blurring and disappearing. Before Peter could realize what was happening, he was opening his eyes to the dim, ashy walls of his home, and a hand was on his shoulder, pulling him into the waking world.

Peter blinked at the Guard member, who was looking at him with such concern. Peter’s face was still wet. He’d been crying in his sleep.

“You- You didn’t come to meet me,” his chaperone said awkwardly, drawing away from Peter. “You’re going to be late.”

Mechanically, Peter rose from his curled up position on the floor, his feet unsteady. His chaperone grabbed his arm so he wouldn’t fall, and kept his grip up as Peter stumbled through the space of his home, grabbing for his bag and books. The demon helped Peter slip the strap of his bag over his head, and they paused before the doorway. 

Peter was still crying.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, wiping at his eyes, even though it was useless.

Unbidden, the older teen situated himself in front of Peter. He brought his hands to Peter’s eyes, his palms turning everything dark. They were warm on his face, the pressure light but unyielding. Peter couldn’t move, shocked by the sincerity of the gesture.

“Take a breath,” the Guard member quietly instructed, and Peter obeyed on instinct.

“Take another.” Peter took another.

The hands retreated from his face and eyes, and Peter blinked to see his guide crouched in front of him, putting them at eye-level. The demon had a very serious expression on his face.

“No more tears, alright?” he said, and Peter was surprised to find that his eyes had finally stopped leaking their unhappy trails. He gave a wordless nod.

His chaperone nodded as well. “Let’s get you to your class. You’re very smart and capable, you know. It would be a waste to spend all your time crying, instead of advancing your abilities.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, and so he mutely followed the Guard member out of his home, through familiar alleys, and barely felt the tilting sensation of a teleport as they made their way to the educational district.

He felt hollowed out, but not miserable. It was as if all the heavy feelings he’d been carrying with him had somehow been dug out and left behind, somewhere. Perhaps in his dream.

His chaperone tapped him twice on the back, encouraging Peter to the steps of his studies. Peter walked, distantly noting how even his steps felt lighter.

He pretended he could feel his brother as a speck on his shoulder– a weightless glow to encourage him into his day. It made something determined smooth out his features, and he entered the classroom ready to learn. Ready to grow.

Chapter Text

Peter was in his early 800s by the time he finally caught up to where he was meant to be in his studies. He learned about more than just fire– his books branching out to illustrate how to create charms, what etchings could be used for protective spells, and even a bit of building magic. He learned that the magic he’d initially felt from the walls Darius had built for him, was for protection. And the bricks lining his fire pit had been embedded with enchantments for longevity and stability. 

Thanks to his lessons, Peter had a greater appreciation for all his brother had done for him.

All of his brother’s work would last through Peter’s lifetime, and Peter hoped that if he was ever able to move out of Hell’s lower reaches, he could somehow take Darius’ efforts with him to his next home. Perhaps there was a way to safely take apart and reconstruct his walls without disrupting the magic. He hoped he’d learn how to do so in his future studies.

He was only just starting to learn proper building magic, so he was optimistic about discovering such things. Already, he had applied what he had learned into his current home, bewitching the space so that the inside appeared much larger than before, while the outside remained unchanged. He had more space to install shelves for his piles of rotating books. He had a corner desk with an un-crumpled parchment and nail, that he used to communicate with his brother semi-regularly. 

Darius didn’t always answer, but Peter knew he was there. At times when the nail remained still and unmoving despite his questions, Peter would opt instead for speaking to the seemingly empty air of his home. He’d tell his brother all that he’d been learning, and demonstrate what he was working on. 

More shelves filled his home, with charms spread out on display. Chalk etchings were added to his walls, strengthening the protections already set in place by his brother. There was even a drying rack for herbs he’d been given in class, to prepare for future spells he’d be mastering. 

His clothes fit him better than they used to, and in the handful of times Darius visited him in a dream, Peter found he could wrap his arms around his brother’s torso, instead of his waist. 

“You’ll be taller than me soon,” Darius commented, the first time he’d seen Peter at such a height. “And you’ll be needing new garments as well, at this rate.”

Peter had merely ducked out of the affectionate hair-ruffles that followed, laughing at the absurdity of the notion. He could not imagine being taller than his brother. He did not want to.

*

With his classmates being in the same age group as he was, Peter finally had anonymity on his side. All who knew of his predicament were left behind in the remedial studies he had surpassed. No one batted an eye at Peter when he first entered an educational facility housing those as old as he, and some even invited him to sit with them. 

“What’s your name?” they asked, and the question was a marvel, stunning Peter for a moment.

“Peter,” he answered on autopilot. And then, when they went to tell him their name, he added: “Peter Daemonfire.” 

His peers froze at that, and the judgemental looks Peter had grown accustomed to dawned on their faces. They made up fast excuses to move seats - bitter lies ringing in the air - and Peter found himself alone on a bench once again, the whispers of his classmates surrounding him.

He no longer needed to sleep, and so he felt he was safe from his brother’s questions over his behaviour. He knew Darius would want him to have friends, to not be isolated and cut off from his kind. 

But Peter didn’t want friends. He didn’t like his kind. They were all so quick to form their own outrageous opinions of him without even asking him for the truth. They’d labeled him as cursed so early on, Peter had no interest in making them think otherwise.

What was the point of making a friend, if they would turn their back on him as soon as they learned his full name?

Peter resolutely avoided the topic of his lack of companions whenever he had his one-sided conversations with his brother. He steered clear of any questions relating to the matter on the odd occasion Darius was able to speak with him through the nail and parchment.

Peter was well under the impression he’d escaped his brother’s ire by the time his studies ramped up into more complex subjects that required a plethora of energy on his part. 

The herbs he’d been drying at home ended up needing to be used for a spell of protection cast on one’s self, the strength of which would depend entirely upon the magical capability of the user. Peter and his peers were to be tested on how long the spell would last, and were expected to hold the enchantment for a minimum of two hours.

With a week to practice at home, Peter was alarmed to find he was drifting off from exhaustion on just the first day. And that alarm turned to dread as he realized, eyes drooping closed, that his brother would no doubt be meeting him as soon as he was asleep. 

And he’d been right, because Darius was there right as Peter fell into darkness, his arms crossed and his steely eyes leveling him with a disapproving squint.

“Why are you neglecting Abba’s promise?”

It was the first thing out of Darius’ mouth, and Peter stumbled backward, caught off guard by the question.

“What do you mean?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Behind him, Abba’s voice blew through the space, pleading and faint and brushing past him as if on a breeze:

Peter, please promise me you will find a new family. You will find new demons to love you and cherish you as we have. Even if it is just one person, I will be at peace.

Peter whipped around, finding a painted scene already waiting for him. He saw the glimmering oranges, yellows, and reds of a great fire. He saw the blurred silhouettes of his father and himself. He saw the echoing shadow of his dark god approaching the pair.

Peter stood in the open doorway of the painted scene, and he slumped heavily against the stones lining it. Despite their watery appearance, they caught him and held him just as any solid threshold might. 

“You are dousing your chances at finding a family before they can even spark,” Darius accused, stepping up and joining him at the threshold. 

Peter craned his head to meet his brother’s eye, if only to avoid witnessing the scene playing out before them. “I cannot find a family from a friend,” he said petulantly. “I don’t want to make friends. I don’t like any of these demons.”

Darius’ expression creased. “You can find family in friends.” He shook his head. “You never made friends, so you do not know. But Peter, a friend can be just as close as a family member, if not more so.”

He held out a hand, and Peter took it. Darius led him away from the threshold, and they walked in inky darkness for a while, before a colorful scene presented itself in the distance. It was a rendition of the grand library of the estate, with a spitting, dancing fire in the hearth, and impressions of books lining many painted shelves. 

Darius led him all the way to one of the many, blurred seats in the space, and they sat. Peter’s hands dug into the fabric beneath him, feeling echoes of the plush cushions he’d once lounged in countless times. It wasn’t quite the same texture, but it was close enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“It’s too late to find friends in these studies,” Darius said, “but when you join a new group of peers, I’d advise you to not share your full name.”

Peter looked at the colorful patterns of the painted rugs at their feet. “They’ll come to know my full name, in time. I cannot hide it forever.”

“By the time they learn it, it won’t matter.”

Peter turned his head to look at his brother in bewilderment.

Darius gave him an easy smile. “They’ll have met you first, before knowing your name. And they’ll know you first, before knowing your past. And they’ll love you. And so it won’t matter by the time they know your full name.”

“How can you know that?” Peter asked helplessly. “How can you possibly know that it won’t be like all the others? That they won’t fear me and shun me and label me cursed, like all the times before?”

“Because I know you, Peter,” Darius said, bringing a hand to his own heart, and then moving that hand to rest against Peter’s sternum. “I know you. And I would never think those things.”

Peter wanted to believe him. He wished it was as simple as his brother said. But he could not imagine a world where anyone would love him, after they learned who he really was. All the demons who loved him were gone, now. There would be no one else.

Peter couldn’t look at his brother anymore, and so his eyes fell back to the colorful patterns covering the floor. Darius’ hand fell away from his chest.

“Please try,” his brother urged. “Please, just try. Just once. And then I’ll leave you be. I won’t ask again.”

Peter’s shoulders crawled up to his pointed ears. “I don’t want to. Not right now.”

“You don’t have to right now,” Darius reminded him.

Peter side-eyed him. “But you’ll keep pestering me until I try.”

He got a lop-sided grin as an answer.

Peter huffed out a sigh, then hopped off the couch. “Is there a painted version of my room, in this dreamscape?”

Darius allowed the diversion, and he stood up from his seat and held out a hand for Peter. Inwardly, Peter was grateful.

*

When his chaperone next met him and escorted home from his studies, he surprised Peter by motioning for him to wait once they’d teleported into the alley of his neighborhood. Peter watched as the Guard member pulled a scroll from an inner pocket of his uniform jacket, and then confusion fell upon him as the scroll was handed to him.

“What is it?” Peter asked, already unraveling the thing and taking in its contents.

“The steps and movements you’re meant to memorize for your 1,000th celebration,” his guide answered.

Peter tore his eyes away from the painted characters illustrating various, complicated movements and dance sequences to stare at his chaperone in bewilderment.

Although he had heard his peers talking amongst themselves about their upcoming celebrations, Peter hadn’t even considered the possibility that he would take part in his own personal ceremony. The scrolls for the advanced footwork and fire magic token to such an event were typically housed in a family home, and passed down through generations. 

Peter had no access to those things, and what’s more, he did not know of any space he could use that was large enough to practice the ceremonial movements and magic in. He did not have the skillset to expand his own home to accommodate his needs. The large room where he’d celebrated his 500th was the usual size required for a spectacle like this, and families with smaller homes were typically able to borrow a space from a nearby communal area specifically set up for these things. 

However, the lower reaches of Hell did not have any large, in-tact buildings, and although Peter had spotted plenty of children in the area, he was under the impression that their celebrations were different– less grand, without any flare, and as simplistic as one could get with such things.

He considered asking Darius if he would be able to conjure what he needed in a dream, but then remembered that he’d only just seen his brother, and past visits had taught him that Darius needed time to rejuvenate his energy between those face-to-face moments. The last time he had dreamt of his brother, it had been years before he’d seen or heard any sign of him once more. This time would be no different. In fact, he expected to see Darius again in no less than a decade, if the pattern of his brother’s appearances were anything to go by.

Hesitantly, Peter went to hand the scroll back to the Guard member, saying that he couldn’t use it, but he was stopped by a hand on top of his own.

The Guard member looked anywhere but at him, when he said: “I have a place for you to practice your steps and magic.”

Peter blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“My superior officer has allowed me to use one of the training rooms at my sect’s compound for this purpose,” he continued, still not looking at Peter. “Your practices and ceremony will both take place there.”

Peter was at a loss for words, and he continued to stare up at his chaperone in silence, until eventually the demon met his eye, looking uncomfortable.

“Why,” Peter asked, so stunned that the question couldn’t make it into his voice.

The Guard member’s expression pinched, and he looked to the side, suddenly interested in the nearest, grimy wall of the alley. He stepped back from Peter, his hand falling away.

“Why?” Peter repeated, his confusion belatedly making itself known in his tone. “Why do this for me? You’re only meant to escort me to and from my lessons. Why do this as well?”

He couldn’t understand it. All the years he’d known this demon, and the one fact he’d been made aware of time and time again was how busy the Guard member was. How he didn’t like to be late, and was annoyed whenever Peter made him so. Peter was under the impression that he was an extra task on top of whatever else the Guard member had in his ever-busy itinerary. So why would this demon go out of his way to spend even more time on Peter, time he’d made clear he didn’t have?

“I’ve been nothing but a burden to you,” Peter stated. “And you’re adding to that, with this?” He indicated the scroll in his hands. “You owe me nothing. If anything, I’m indebted to you, now. Is that why you’re doing this? To rack up more favors from me? What could you possibly–?”

The likelihood that the Guard member knew of Satan’s open favor blew through him, snatching the rest of his words from his chest. Panic swept through him, and Peter worried that he’d not get the chance to ask Satan for whatever important thing he’d been holding out on, before the opportunity was stolen from him. 

But how could his chaperone have possibly known of this advantage? How could he–

“I knew your brother,” the Guard member said stiffly, wiping away Peter’s frantic thoughts. “I knew Darius.”

Peter’s entire body went numb. The scroll fell from his slack fingers.

His guide clicked his tongue in half-hearted annoyance, crouching down to pick up the thing. He dusted it off, rolled it up, and stared at a point past Peter, as he went on: “We trained together. We fought for the top marks. He was my rival. He was… he became my friend.”

Slowly, the Guard member straightened, and he held out the scroll for Peter to take. Peter just stared at him, taking him in properly for the first time. 

He was older than Darius, in his early 2,000’s, if Peter had to guess. But then… Darius would have been that age too, if he was still alive. Peter was so used to seeing him unchanging, each time his brother visited him in his dreams, while Peter kept getting taller, kept getting older. 

If Darius was still in the world of the living, would he have continued to train with the demon standing before him? Would they have risen through the Guard’s ranks together?

“I only learned that he was your brother after he had passed,” the Guard member went on, carefully taking one of Peter’s hands and putting the scroll in his open palm. He nudged Peter’s numb fingers to close around the thing, then let his arm fall back to his side. “Everyone learned about your family, after. And when I was assigned to take you to and from your lessons, I thought perhaps fate was having a laugh at me. Why was I the one hand-picked, after all, to chaperone the youngest brother of my dead friend?”

He shook his head. “But after knowing you, I no longer believe in fate. There is no explanation for your misfortune. None whatsoever.”

Peter brought the scroll close to his chest, just so he could have something to hold.

“In any case…” his chaperone brought up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. He kept it there, as a brief sorrow passed through his eyes. He swallowed once, cleared his throat, and his uncomfortable expression returned. “I’ve been neglecting a promotion for some time. My superior officer made an arrangement with me, just so I could rise to the next rank. He’ll allow you to use the space as you need for your upcoming celebration, and then you and I will have to part ways, after.”

Peter stumbled backwards.

“Don’t worry, someone else will take my place. You’ll have a guide to take you to and from your lessons,” the Guard member said softly, as if that was the issue here.

“I don’t want to do my ceremony,” Peter said hoarsely. “I don’t want to celebrate my 1,000th.”

His chaperone’s expression pinched. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. In just shy of 200 years, you will be 1,000. And you will be expected to carry out the steps and magic to mark that achievement.” He nodded at the scroll Peter was clutching. “You’d best start studying now. I’ll be taking you to my sect’s compound tomorrow, to begin your practice.”

He took another step away from Peter, and Peter could feel the shift in the air as his chaperone called his magic to him for a teleport. 

“Don’t go,” Peter said abruptly, leaping forward and grabbing onto his sleeve. “Don’t go.”

The energy picking up around them halted, then fell away, as the Guard member looked down at him with an unreadable expression. To Peter’s surprise, he knelt before him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Memorize your steps,” he instructed, nodding toward Peter’s scroll. “Be prepared to start practicing them tomorrow. There will be help available to you at the compound. All will be well.”

“Will you be happy to be rid of me?” Peter couldn’t help but ask, hot tears coming to his eyes and rolling down his face.

The Guard member frowned at them, and he used his free hand to dig a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipe at Peter’s face. “I’ve been neglecting my rise in rank for too long already. I must move forward. The open slot I’ll leave has a long waiting list, you know.”

Peter sniffled. “You’ll be happy,” he muttered. “You’ll be happy to be rid of me.”

“I won’t be,” his chaperone said, and the truth of the statement stopped Peter’s tears in their tracks. There was no trace of a lie, and Peter’s eyes widened as he watched the Guard member pocket his handkerchief and stand. 

“I’ll take you to the compound tomorrow,” he said, stepping back and calling magic to himself for a teleport. The air vibrated slightly– there was a hum and crackle Peter could now detect, thanks to his lessons, thanks to his progression in his magical abilities. “All will be well. You’ll see.”

Peter watched his chaperone be overtaken by a blaze of smoke, and he watched that smoke until it dissipated into nothing.

“If only you hadn’t shown me a dream so recently, Darius,” he whispered. “There’s so much more I want to speak with you about.”

But it would be years before he would have the chance to have a proper conversation with his brother again, and so Peter turned towards the mouth of the alley, stashing his scroll in his invisible bag. He had so many subjects to study and master, and now he had to prepare for his 1,000th on top of that. There was no time to waste.

Chapter Text

His 1,000th ceremony began in a large, dark space, much like his 500th had. But that was where the similarities ended. 

A strum of an instrument marked his first steps, and Peter dashed through the beginning sequence of a dance he’d been practicing for nearly two centuries. Each of his hands held a special baton, and as he started a series of twirls and spins, he called fire to himself and channeled it through those metal rods. They glowed red from the heat, and then a long line of fire burst out from the tips of both as Peter raised his hands on his last spin, his feet planting and keeping him steady.

With a precise flick of his wrists, the lines of fire turned into cyclones on either side of him, the twirl of the batons guiding their mesmerizing motions. They were the only source of light in the room, and Peter saw how the flames caught on the special golden paint on his arms, making it shine and flicker like the fire. He knew the swirling lines that had been painted on his face were also shimmering, even if he couldn’t see it. 

At the very least, he could detect a faint glow from the fire’s reflection coming off the intricate headpiece he wore. That was made entirely of gold, secured to his head with various pins. There were ornate designs throughout the piece– demonic mouths open in silent roars, delicate symbols etched in sprawling lines which crawled up and through the various twists and turns of gold embellishments. It was heavy on his head, and much of his practice had been dedicated to keeping the thing from toppling over. It had been hard work, but he’d had help.

As he jumped and flipped in and out of the fiery hoops he’d made with great arcs of his arms, Peter recalled the guidance he’d received from the demons currently in the room, all barely shadows in the dark. His feet moved of their own accord, the steps of the dance etched into his very being. He hardly had to think of how to move his arms, his wrists, his fingers. 

Peter closed his eyes, let the strum of the instrument set his pace, and pretended his onlookers were his family. 

His chaperone had taken him to the compound he’d been training at as promised, and introduced Peter to three demons who had volunteered themselves as his supervisors while he learned the ceremonial movements and magic to commemorate his 1,000th day in the realm. They’d all pushed against each other to greet him, talking over themselves excitedly as they made introductions. Their enthusiasm had been disarming; Peter didn’t know what to make of it. The last demons who’d been this excited to see him, were his own family.

But eventually he learned their names, as the years passed under their careful direction, as each one of them taught him the special dances moves, flips, and spins he’d be expected to carry out. 

There was Catalina, the tallest of the group, taller even than his chaperone. She was broad and muscled, but the most graceful as she demonstrated how to perform intricate flips and twists in midair, one after the other. 

There was Daegal - the demon currently strumming away at the stringed instrument with deft fingers - who had been happy to lend Peter the headpiece he was currently wearing for the duration of the event. It had been handcrafted by his ancestors, and passed down through the generations with care. Daegal had also been first to adorn Peter in his current ceremonial garb, wrapping the special, borrowed robes around him with care and precision, while Catalina used delicate brushstrokes to decorate Peter’s arms and face with the proper markings.

And then there was Kazimir, whose bubbly, glittering energy reminded Peter of Amira and Emmeline. They helped Peter master the baton movements, showed him how to weave fire through the metal things and spread those flames into long, fiery lines he could then use to create wide arcs, hoops, and tunnels to step, dance, and flip through with ease.

Sweat had begun to build on his brow, the heat and the exertion making his limbs burn. But he was only halfway through the sequence, and the tempo was about to pick up in speed.

“Are you watching, Darius?” Peter dared to ask on the only breath he had time for, before he became a blur of movement as Daegal’s notes began to blur together, the speed of the strings singing out one on top of the other.

He’d not seen or heard anything from his brother in all the time that had spanned between that last dream. No movement of a nail on paper. No voice at the edge of his consciousness before he fell asleep or woke. No dreams whatsoever. He’d tried other methods of sensing him, after learning new information about his own innate abilities from his studies, but all had been in vain.

Sometimes, he thought he could feel eyes on him, but the sensation was so faint he could have very well imagined it. 

He had to catch himself with a quick turn of his feet as he felt a hand briefly rest on the back of his head, and a voice at his ear whisper, “Always.”

Peter’s throat choked up, and he swallowed so he could join the chanting that accompanied the last steps of his sequence. His feet carried most of the movement, and a chorus of voices united with his own as he recited old words in a dead language, wishes in the dark that hoped for strength and success in future endeavors, a long lifespan filled with victory after victory, a last breath drawn with no regrets.

He could distinguish each individual voice that called upon such a future, as vehemently and desperately as he sounded. There was the gruff voice of Catalina, the deep tone of Daegal, the high, happy chime of Kazamir. And there were more guests as well– ones his chaperone had surprised Peter with when he’d arrived at the compound to prepare for the ceremony.

The grainy, crackling voice of his first teacher was just as clear as the rest, as well as the strong voice of the healer he’d last spoken to outside his family’s estate. And below all that, he could hear Theseus, the Guard member who had been escorting him to and from his classes all this time; his guide, his chaperone, the one who’d made this event possible. He’d learned the demon’s name on his first day at the compound, as his three new tutors gossiped about him during their special lessons.

Theseus speaks of you constantly.

Theseus got in trouble for neglecting his duties in favor of getting one of our lounge clothes tailored to fit a smaller frame.

Theseus was rather proud of himself for procuring a hammock by trading your old Silent Chapel robes.

Theseus hasn’t ceased speaking of you since he first met you.

Theseus never runs out of ways to tell us how proud he is of you, how far you’ve come.

Theseus loves to tell us every single detail of what you’ve been learning.

It was jarring to hear these things, spoken by demons who didn’t whisper behind his back or avoid him, but rather welcomed him with cheers and hair ruffles every time they saw him. These demons had been patient with him as he’d struggled to learn the steps he was now completing, happy to explain things again and again. Happy to demonstrate how it should be done, how it should look. It was an unexpected change from the studies he’d still been carrying out in the educational district, where his peers turned their backs as soon as they learned his name from whatever students he’d last shared lessons with.

Peter had tried to make friends, had tried to hide his past, but his self-sabotage was haunting him. He was sure he’d ruined any chances of having a companion, so long as he kept the same peers in his studies going forward. Demons loved to gossip, he was learning.

As the centuries passed, he looked forward to his time training at the compound more and more. He did not know what he would do once it ended, after today.

A series of flips and twists - framed by a flourishing display of his fiery lines - and Peter landed smoothly on his feet as the last note sang from the stringed instrument, his arms up high and his flames vanishing at once.

A breath of silence, before the space erupted into applause and cheers. Peter startled at the sound, his head whipping to see the silhouettes of other Guard members gathered in the large threshold leading into the room. They must have stopped by to see the display as well. 

The large space became more visible as, one by one, candles were lit across the floor, illuminating Peter’s many spectators. Theseus looked up at him after he’d lit the last candle with a small fire that had jumped right out of his finger, the flicker of that flame making the pride in his eyes glimmer even more so.

“Well done,” a breath of a sigh fell across his cheek, and Peter looked for his brother, tears coming to his eyes. 

He only saw the small crowd of demons rushing toward him, as his tutors, his first teacher, and the healer all gathered around him to congratulate him on a perfect ceremony with shoulder pats, hair ruffles, and embraces.

Catalina picked him up with one arm and set him on her broad shoulder, displaying him for the growing group of Guard members in the threshold. They cheered when they saw him, and then filtered into the room, happy to offer their own praise and congratulations.

Peter’s face was stretched from how wide his smile was, and he felt breathless and weightless, as if he could easily leave his perch on Catalina’s shoulder and start floating up to the ornate ceiling at any moment. It had been so long since any demon had done anything like this, had treated his hard work with the pride Peter so desperately craved. 

There were no whispers in this room, no hurtful words spoken on a breath. Only loud cheers and whoops as every single demon in the room celebrated a moment that had taken centuries to perfect.

He couldn’t seem to stop smiling, even as he wiped tears from his eyes. The joy that was expanding through his chest felt as if it would burst right out of him, showering everyone in the room with the glittering things they were giving him so freely. Peter laughed, feeling giddy and perfect.

If I could have this forever, I think I would be alright, Darius. I think the grief could heal.

Already, it felt like it was. He could sense no trace of the fractured things in his chest, the heavy weight he dragged with him. The joy left no room for it, swallowing everything that was dark and blowing out a sigh through his very being, one that was as light as a new spark, as strong as Hell’s oldest fires.

Eventually, the celebrations naturally died down as more than one superior officer sternly reminded the Guard members that they had duties to attend to. As the space gradually cleared out, and Theseus, Catalina, Daegal, and Kazimir all got to work bringing in the equipment that had had been moved out of the space to make room for Peter’s ceremony, Peter was approached by the healer.

“I’ve heard much talk about all the hard work that made this possible; all the demons,” they started, spreading their hands to indicate the candle-lit room, sweeping their fingers forward to gesture at Peter. “You are incredibly lucky to have so many individuals who support you, who wish to see your success.”

The choice of words was not lost on Peter, as he recalled this demon’s particular thoughts on luck and curses. He nodded in agreement. “I am.”

“I must return to my duties now. It was lovely to see how much you’ve grown and improved. I trust to see much of the same, the next time we meet.” They bent down to give Peter a few pats on the shoulder. “Remember, I have a couch for you, whenever you have the space for it.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Peter said. He never would, and he looked forward to the day he had a proper home to display Agnes’ embroidered, plush seat. He already knew he’d put it in a main living room, in front of a happy hearth. He wouldn’t want it anywhere else.

The healer smiled at him, straightened, and waved to the few demons left in the room before they disappeared through the wide, open threshold. 

A crackling sound of an old throat clearing beside him, and Peter turned to see his first teacher standing there, pride in what little bit of eyes he could see; the old demon had gained even more wrinkles since Peter had last spoken with him, and they swallowed up much of his eyes. He held out a frail, trembling hand toward Peter. 

“Would you mind walking me to the front entrance of this compound?” he inquired. “I can teleport myself home from there.”

“Of course.” Peter stepped up to him immediately, taking his hand and pressing himself close to the elder demon’s side, taking his weight easily as the ancient one leaned on him.

Their trek through the great building was slow, but Peter didn’t mind. There was much to discuss between the two of them. He had not had a chance to see his teacher since he’d last left the demon’s educational building for beginner students, and so Peter spent the walk filling him in on all that had occurred with Darius over the centuries. The success with the nail and paper. The dreams. The one-sided conversations.

“Nearly two centuries passed before I felt any sign of him,” Peter recalled. “In my demonology studies, I learned of our sixth sense; our innate ability to see ghosts. I tried it a few times, but had no luck.”

The elder gave a nod, as if he’d expected this. “I would not think you to have much luck with such things. None of the research I heard mentioned anything about this innate ability helping those who were able to communicate with passed loved ones. If I had to theorize, I would say that those abilities are meant specifically for earth, where the veil between the living and dead is more solid. Here, we are already on the other side, already in the afterlife. Whatever rests beyond our senses - wherever our souls go after, if they go anywhere at all - is in too muddy a place for us to detect with our sixth sense. It is too complicated for our abilities, I’d say.”

Peter remembered the watercolor-esque quality of his dreams, how everything looked painted roughly. He wondered if that had some connection to the muddiness his old teacher surmised.

“I felt him here, today,” Peter mentioned, quieting his voice as they passed a group of marching Guard members in the hall. “He was watching me perform the ceremony.”

“I’m glad he could see it,” the elder demon said warmly, patting Peter on the shoulder where he’d come to rest his hand as he’d settled more of his weight against Peter, the longer they walked.

“I know it takes a great deal of energy for him to show himself, or speak to me plainly like that. I worry when I will see him next, or if I will even see him at all.”

“Although he has been able to be with you far longer than any recorded instances, it is natural for him to fade like the others. We all go on, one way or another.”

Peter’s lips thinned, as a sentence he did not want to say rested just behind his teeth. It was something he’d been pondering for a while, a statement he was sure would come to light, as soon as he spoke it out loud. 

But perhaps it would come to light, either way.

“I think it’s because I’m alright, now.” Peter decided to risk saying it. It would be his only opportunity to do so. This was the only demon who knew of his special circumstances, the only one he was comfortable discussing such things with. “Or, rather, I can see that I will be alright.”

The elder took a moment to gather his words, a thoughtful expression pulling at the corners of his mouth. “You said he told you he would be with you, until he knew you were safe and alright.”

Peter nodded.

“Perhaps that was his tether, then. The purpose he’d soldered his soul to.”

There could be no other explanation, and Peter didn’t know what to do with such a fact. If he somehow landed in more misery, would Darius show up more? Would he stay longer?

But Peter did not want to be miserable anymore. He wanted to hold on to his newfound joy for as long as he could. If that meant never seeing Darius again, if that was the price he’d have to pay…

The thoughts lingered with him as he bid his first teacher goodbye at the grand entrance of the compound, its great wooden doors reaching high above them and open wide to allow various Guard members and officers to venture in and out of the building. 

Peter wondered if this was the last time he’d see the old demon as well, as he watched the shaky smoke of his teleport engulf the elder in a flash of sparks and soot.

By the time he returned to the great room he’d performed his rituals in, the various training equipment previously housed within had all been returned to their rightful spots, and it was time for Peter to give back his borrowed headpiece and ceremonial garb. Daegal took these things back with a smile, after Peter had changed. 

His trio of tutors gave him a last round of hair-ruffles and embraces, as well as the start of bickerings over who would be the one to escort Peter to and from his studies the following day, before he and Theseus were off to Peter’s home.

Theseus had allowed him to keep the paint on his arms and face, grudgingly accepting Peter’s argument that he was due for a bath in a mere three day’s time. And besides, he’d already seen other peers wearing their golden markings with pride for nearly a week in his classes. It would not be strange for Peter to do the same, regardless of the whispers that would arise from his fellow students the next time they saw him. They never tired of finding something to whisper about, after all.

As soon as they’d passed through the great open doors of the compound, Theseus teleported them with a light hand on Peter’s shoulder. They popped up in the same spot they always did: the crumbling alley outside Peter’s neighborhood. 

But instead of leaving Peter in the alley and teleporting away, Theseus walked ahead of Peter, making his way toward the main street. Peter hurried to catch up with him, heart thrumming in his chest. He did not dare ask why his guide had decided to stick around, worried it would push Theseus to leave. He did not want his chaperone to go.

“You should know,” Theseus murmured over his shoulder, “it was I who sought out your first teacher. I was the one who invited him to see your 1,000th celebration. He was more than happy to accept the offer, of course. But it was that healer who sought me out. I did not realize you were close.”

“I’m not sure if we are,” Peter said softly. It had been so long since he’d last spoken to the demon, but they had been just as cordial as ever, today. They’d been holding on to that couch for all this time. That had to mean something, right?

“In any case,” Theseus said, crossing onto the street leading to Peter’s home, “there are a fair amount of demons who you might consider friends, now. Catalina, Daegal, and Kaz all adore you.”

“And you do as well,” Peter dared to add. He earned a stumbled step from Theseus, and a muttered curse. Peter couldn’t help but smile.

Theseus coughed once before carrying on, “I know… I know you haven’t had much luck making connections with your peers. But as you can see, the Guard does not care about petty things like rumored curses, or the fact that you’re the only orphan in the realm. You’ve established yourself fairly well amongst my fellow Guard members. Have you thought about joining up when you’re of age?”

Peter’s head snapped up to look at him, and Theseus briefly caught his eye before turning away, visibly uncomfortable. 

“Would I see you again, if I joined the Guard? Would I be able to see the others?” 

It was no secret that once he was able to teleport, he’d no longer need someone to escort him to and from his studies. This camaraderie he’d found with Catalina, Daegal, and Kazamir would end, come his teens. He did not like to dwell on it, but it stood at the edge of his awareness, looming dark and hollow in his future.

“It would depend on where we all end up stationed, but I’m sure those three would make an effort to see you.”

“And you?”

Theseus coughed again. 

They both stopped walking as they reached Peter’s home. More changes had been made over the past two centuries; there was a proper, wooden front door now, hinges and all. Peter stepped forward and pulled open the thing with ease. 

The magic was tied to him, and so the door only would open at his touch. It was advanced magic he’d opted to learn after his building studies were complete, and he’d been able to layer it on top of the barrier Darius had set up all that time ago. Peter had never felt more safe in his own home, than the day he was able to install his door and its magic.

He turned to look back at Theseus, lingering a few paces away. “Would you like to come in? I want to show you something.”

Theseus seemed relieved to be invited, instead of having to ask. Peter was happy he wasn’t the only one not yet ready to say goodbye.

Peter led him inside, faintly relieved that Darius’ barrier didn’t react to Theseus at all. Perhaps because he wasn’t a threat. It’s not as if the barrier had put up a fuss with him in the past, so it was likely Darius knew Theseus well enough now to see that he was only here to help, not hurt.

They seated themselves at a tea table Peter had constructed during an earlier study in building magic, the thin pillows below them a product of a workshop Peter had signed up for, for sewing.

Theseus looked around, an appreciative gleam in his eye as seemed impressed by the changes that had occurred in the space since he’d last been within it. He said nothing, but Peter preened as though he’d spoken praise aloud.

Eventually, Theseus’ eyes settled on the piece of parchment that had seen better days, his eyebrow raising at the nail in the center of the page. Peter had moved the thing to the table after he’d set it up in his home, and it had remained unchanging through the centuries. He’d wanted to do this with Theseus far earlier, wanted to tell him about his conversations with Darius. After learning of their friendship, Peter thought Theseus would be ecstatic about having a conversation with Darius.

But Peter also worried that Theseus wouldn’t believe him, if he told him he’d been seeing and talking to his brother, without any proof. And with Darius’ prolonged silence, Peter had been hesitant to share such information. He was hopeful now, however, that the nail would show some movement. He’d felt and heard his brother mere hours before, and was optimistic about this working.

Without any preamble, Peter spoke directly to the paper. “Darius, are you here?”

To his delight, the nail wiggled its way to point at Yes.

Theseus scrambled backwards, a choked sound coming out of him. “What sorcery is this?”

“I wanted to tell you sooner,” Peter started, putting up his hands in a placating gesture as he took in the terror on Theseus’ face. “I’ve been able to speak with my brother, on and off, all this time. But it takes a lot of energy on his part to do so, and I don’t know how much time we have to speak with him. We can talk more about it later. Please, ask him whatever you want.”

“Whatever I–?” Theseus broke off with a hysteric giggle, and the sound made Peter uneasy. He’d never seen his chaperone exhibit much of any sort of emotion, in all the time he’d known him. What he was witnessing now made him start to second guess his decision to share this secret.

Suddenly there was a presence beside him, and Peter turned in shock to see Darius there, arms resting leisurely on the table as he smiled at Theseus. 

“Darius,” Peter admonished, “you’ll use up too much energy. I won’t be able to see you again for–”

Darius held up a hand, not looking away from Theseus, who had begun to hyperventilate. “I’m sorry, Peter, but it’s best to have this conversation face-to-face. Theseus will waste his time, otherwise.”

“Oh, you–!” Theseus sputtered. He scoffed and then rolled his eyes in annoyance, though his arms trembled at his sides, his fingers clawing at the freshly swept ground beneath him. “Of course, of course you’d outrank all of us in death as well. All poised and untroubled, reappearing just to show how skilled you are.”

Darius’ smile broadened. “I’m sure it’s been a relief, to not have to battle for top marks anymore.”

Theseus gave a disbelieving laugh. “A relief? A–? You think that’s what I cared about? Surpassing you?”

Darius’ smile shrank. “I would have thought with my absence–”

“Your absence?!” Theseus shrieked, the sound making Peter jump. “‘Absence’ is far too kind a word to describe the endless, aching void you’ve left behind. How could you have been so careless? Letting yourself get exorcised– You should have known better!” 

Briefly, Darius and Peter side eyed each other, the same thing obviously on their minds: Theseus could never know the truth of Darius’ demise. No demon could. 

“I’m sorry,” Darius softly told Theseus. “I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.”

Theseus sputtered again, his words unintelligible for a few moments. Finally, he breathed, voice shaking and hoarse, “I loved you.”

And there was a bitterness at the tail end of the admission that was rocking Peter to his core; a lie at the finish.

“You still love me,” Darius whispered, wide-eyed and unearthing the truth of it.

Theseus laughed, and tears fell from his eyes. Peter was absolutely floored, unsure what to do or say. He was certain this had been a bad idea, but he couldn’t take it back now. Could only watch the events unfolding before him, the hysteria Theseus was visibly fighting and losing against.

“I’m sorry,” Darius said again, looking lost.

“You bastard,” Theseus spat, angrily wiping at his face. “You terrible creature.”

“You did well, you know,” Darius offered, sending a soft smile Theseus’ way after earning a glare for his words. He inclined his head to where Peter was staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed beside him. “You did well with him. You took such great care of him. You did more than was asked of you. I thank you for that, a thousand times. I’ll carry my gratitude with me forever.”

Theseus’ covered his own mouth, muffling the sobs that had cropped up from Darius’ words. “Terrible creature,” he repeated, the words barely breaking through his own palm.

Darius laughed warmly. “We could have gone far together, I think. Perhaps we’d share posts, and…” he shook his head. “Alas, what’s done is done. I’m at peace with my fate. I only hope you go far, despite it all.”

Theseus’ hand flew away from his mouth, his finger pointing shakily at Darius as he sneered at him. “If you think for one second that your death is going to prevent me from maintaining my top marks and rising to the highest Guard ranks…” He laughed, low and dangerous.

Darius brought up his hands helplessly. “I’m not assuming such notions, I can assure you. You’ve already proved time and time again that you’re more than capable of handling not only your Guard duties, but this one as well.” He nodded at Peter. 

Theseus scoffed, dropping his hand and crossing his arms. “Well… fine, then. So long as you don’t carry any ridiculous thoughts in your head about… about…”

Darius laughed softly. “I would have come to love you too, you know. In time.”

New tears sprang to Theseus’ eyes, and his head swung toward Darius, despair and betrayal warring to make space on his features.

Darius gave a solemn nod, his smile gone. He blinked as his hands began to fade from their spot on the table, that invisibility crawling toward his forearms. 

“Oh,” he breathed. “I thought I had longer.”

Theseus shook his head. “No,” he growled. “No, you don’t get to leave now. Not after all the things you’ve just dropped in front of me. I’ll not clean this mess for you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a choice,” Darius said, turning to look at Peter in apology. “Don’t worry, brother. I will be with you, until I know you’re alright.”

“But I–” Peter started, and then immediately cut himself off. He did not want to tell Darius he was already alright. Because then Darius would leave for good.

Darius’ body was fading fast, and all that was left for Peter to see was his smile. In the next blink, that was gone as well, and Darius’ next words echoed through the room.

“Not yet. You’re not alright yet. But you’re getting there.”

A heavy silence followed, and Peter stared at the table, his vision blurred by unshed tears. Across from him, Theseus was desperately trying to compose himself.

“I’m sorry,” Peter finally said, when the quiet became stifling. “I shouldn’t have shown you this.”

“Don’t you dare,” Theseus seethed, the fury in his tone causing Peter’s eyes to snap up and meet his fiery gaze. “Don’t ever apologize for such things. That was a gift, you hear me? An absolute treasure.”

Although the words were appreciative, they were delivered with such raw anger. Peter didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t know what to say.

“Now,” Theseus carried on, swiping at the last of his tears and extracting a handkerchief from his pocket to blow his nose. His expression became as smooth as ever, once his handkerchief was back in its place. “There’s plenty more to discuss, and I’m not leaving this spot until you tell me everything.”

He scooted forward and settled himself on his pillow, his hands clasping themselves on top of the table as he gave Peter an expectant look.

Peter blinked, his tears disappearing at once, and he haltingly carried Theseus through each and every interaction he’d had with Darius from the start, careful to omit anything that might key into the circumstances of his death.

Chapter Text

Theseus was attentive as he listened to all that Peter recounted regarding his brother, namely how often he had seen him, and under what circumstances. Peter glanced over the contents of the discussions themselves, careful to leave out any information that might clue Theseus in to how Darius had died in the first place. 

Thankfully, Theseus did not ask for such details, and was rather more interested in how Darius was able to commune with Peter at all. 

“It should not be possible,” Theseus muttered, slowly shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of an afterlife for our own kind.”

“I’m not sure myself,” Peter admitted, his eyes falling to the unmoving nail on the table. “My first teacher told me there had been brief research conducted on such things, but all turned out to be fruitless. There have not been many cases of this occurrence, and all of the spectres reported never stuck around for very long.”

“Perhaps this should be reported,” Theseus said. “Perhaps more research could be done–”

“I don’t want to report it.” Peter clasped his hands together. Unclasped them. Clasped them again. “The realm knows enough of me as it is. And besides…”

Theseus raised a brow, nodding for him to continue.

Peter’s eyes fell away from his chaperone, and he watched the color drain from his fingers as they tightened their hold on each other. “I doubt I’ll see Darius again, if I see him at all.”

From his peripheral, he could see Theseus tense. “You think he used up too much energy, when he spoke to us? To me?”

Peter nodded.

Theseus blew out a gust of a sigh. “Then I apologize.”

That had Peter looking at him properly. 

Theseus grimaced when he caught Peter’s eye. “I feel I’m to blame for his actions. If I had used the paper and nail like you intended, perhaps it would have prevented this.”

Peter’s hands released their death grip on themselves, and his fingers splayed as he smacked his palms against the table, leaping out of his seat. 

“You shouldn’t blame yourself!” he cried. “I wanted you to speak to each other. It doesn’t matter how that happened, only that it did. I wanted you to see him, in some shape or form, before he disappeared for good.”

Theseus merely gaped at him, speechless. With Peter standing, they were eye-to-eye.

“He would have faded, with or without this latest conversation,” Peter went on. “The purpose that’s tied him to me is so frail now. I’m safe. I’m… I’m beginning to be alright.”

Theseus blinked, then looked down at his own hands where they were resting on the table. He seemed deep in thought, carefully gathering his words. 

Peter let him take his time, and he sat back down on his flat pillow, his elbows resting on the table, his hands coming up to cushion his chin.

Eventually, Theseus spoke again. “I thank you. Your time with Darius is so precious, and I’m honored that you would share that with me.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s the least I could do, after all you’ve done for me.”

Theseus shook his head. “No. This far outweighs my efforts. Let me do more for you. Let me make things even between us.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “How? This is the last we’ll see of each other, at least until I’m able to join the Guard’s ranks.”

Theseus nodded. “Precisely.” There was a gleam in his eye that had Peter straightening in his seat. Theseus drew in a breath, then proceeded to lay out all that had to be done in order to join the Guard’s ranks. 

It was not an easy path.

There were workshops Peter would need to sign up for; prerequisites to the prerequisite courses for the Guard. Any demon could join up, at any time in their life. 

“But you only get one chance,” Theseus warned. “These places have limited seating, and instructors won’t waste a spot on a demon who slacks off. You must retain top marks throughout your studies in order to stay in the program. Fail a single course, and that’s it. You won’t be able to try again.”

Peter reared back at that.

“I don’t think you should wait to sign up for the first courses,” Theseus continued. “You have three excellent tutors who would be more than happy to help in whatever areas you might struggle.”

Catalina. Daegal. Kazamir. His new chaperones. He had such limited time with them; Peter understood why Theseus wanted him to begin his special studies now. He needed to take advantage of the help while he had it.

A thought struck Peter. “What about my regular studies?” he asked. “Will I be expected to complete those, alongside these particular ones?”

Theseus nodded soberly. “Yes. But you will receive a special document when you start, to show to your regular instructors. They’ll allow you to complete your regular courses at your own pace. Though I’m afraid you will fall behind your age group, for a time.”

“Nothing I’m not already used to,” Peter grumbled.

A breath of laughter surprised him, and he looked to see a smile tugging at the corners of Theseus’ mouth.

“No,” he said warmly. “Certainly not.”

Peter gave a long-suffering sigh, then steeled himself. “Alright, fine. How do I start?”

*

His enrollment for the prerequisite to the prerequisite courses of the Guard was a simple process: he merely had to sign his name on a few papers, and then he was in. But that was the easiest part of the whole ordeal.

He witnessed Theseus’ warning early on, as, while he struggled to keep up with what he was expected to achieve - memorizing drills that leaned heavily on his fire magic, as well as learning new spells for defensive magic - there were about a handful of demons in his group who lazily coasted through the weeks. While his peers’ age ranges varied immensely, with only a few being his own age, he found that both old and young demons alike made up this small part of the slacking class.

Halfway through the semester, as another drill was completed and performed in front of the teacher, their instructor hand-picked these lazy students, informing them that they were dismissed from future lessons.

As the banished group left, Peter could see visible shock on at least a couple of their faces, while the rest didn’t seem fazed at all. Peter was sure the latter had no idea of the opportunity they had just blundered, and would not realize they wouldn’t get the chance to join the Guard again until later.

Peter had no time to dwell on these things, however, as his next lessons required even more effort and concentration on his behalf. He found himself falling behind in his regular studies fairly quickly, and he was glad that at least those instructors took pity on him, accepting his certificate that indicated his pre-Guard training easily, all of them urging him to focus on his extracurriculars for the time being.

It stung, falling behind his age group yet again, but the desperation he felt at not failing a single one of his special courses was enough to douse that hurt.

He learned so much about himself, about his own physiology. He could blend in with the shadows. He could move so fast his body became a blur.  He could detect other demonic presences around him, even if those beings were hiding themselves in shadow.

He also learned extra tidbits that had nothing to do with his demonic makeup, but rather his personality. He found he was quite good at getting along with others, and that he was actually funny. His sarcastic comments that trailed after the conversations of those nearest to him earned snorts and giggles, and it wasn’t long before his peers were inviting him to sit with them, to practice whatever they were learning.

He’d even been invited to study sessions at the homes of his fellow students, and Peter learned pretty quickly that the large majority of the pupils in these courses came from wealthy families. He became hesitant to invite any of these fragile friends to his own abode for after-lesson studies, worried what they might think of him. 

He was sure that, once they found out he was an orphan, the only orphan in the realm, living on his own in Hell’s lowest reaches, they would abandon him. He had no reason to believe otherwise, so he hid his full name, and everything else that might push his peers away.

Each friendship he gained was a wonder and a treasure, and none of these connections lasted nearly long enough. The pre-Guard program was set up for a short turnaround, shorter than any of his regular studies. The large groups of varying age ranges grew smaller and smaller, as his special classes led him to more niche courses, each of which he signed up for under the advice of his new chaperones.

“You can bypass a handful of classes if you take this route,” Daegal had explained, when Peter came to him with a chart of dozens of programs he could pick from. His gray fingers pointed out a rough trail, connecting magic studies and drill programs Peter didn’t initially think could be connected. 

“You don’t have to take the advanced fire courses, if you already have a good handle on your fire,” Kazamir agreed, nodding at the line Peter had marked from the path Daegal had outlined with his finger.

“We’ll help you be ready,” Catalina reassured, when Peter hesitated on skipping the optional courses. “We’ll help you fill in the gaps outside of lessons.”

The gratitude he felt from their assistance was endless, and he tried not to take advantage of it. But as his pre-Guard lessons approached their final endpoint, he did not know who else to turn to, once his final project was announced.

“I have to make a spell from scratch,” he despaired, clutching his invisible bag to him and feeling the weight of each and every book housed within as a heavy anchor pulling at his shoulder. “I have no idea what to even do.”

He was plenty prepared, thanks to his lessons taking on a more technical edge towards the end of his curriculum. He knew more than the basics of spellcasting– he knew the components, both physical and magical, needed for enchantments. He knew the theory of spellmaking, both inside and out. He knew how to make an original spell, he just didn’t know what to do for the spell itself.

“I remember that project,” Daegal recounted, swinging their arms where he was holding Peter’s hand. It had been his turn to be Peter’s escort for the day, and so he was privy to Peter’s current bemoaning. “For me, it was easy to choose.”

“What did you choose?” Peter asked.

Daegal smiled impishly at him, and then released his hand. He got down on one knee without any preamble, muttering an incarnation Peter was unfamiliar with. Then, he pressed his pointer finger and thumb together, his free digits splaying. His thumb and pointer finger made a perfect O shape, and he brought his lips to that small hoop, blowing through it.

A gust of wind shot out, as if his lungs were suddenly capable of creating great gales, and the sharp breeze gathered Peter up, lifting him off the ground for a moment.

Peter laughed in surprise, his clothes ruffling, his arms flailing for purchase. The weightless sensation was brief, and the winds brought him back to the earth in the next moment.

“I wanted something fun,” Daegal said simply, shrugging a shoulder.

Peter considered him, considered his approach to the project. But Calatina had different advice ready for him, when he asked her what she had chosen, while she helped him home the following day.

“I’d been told by my parents that the instructors give top marks to those who create a spell that can be useful,” she explained, finding the invisible strap of Peter’s bag and taking it from him without a word. It was overfull, packed with books Peter had borrowed from the realm’s public libraries. He thought he’d find more insights in tomes featuring the history of spells throughout the ages. Perhaps inspiration could be found in one of those pages.

“And your parents were Guard officers?” Peter checked. Catalina had mentioned as much, early on, but he wanted to make sure he wasn’t misremembering.

Catalina nodded. “And so I followed their advice, knowing they’d have a better idea than anyone else I could have asked.”

“What spell did you make?”

“One for healing grievous wounds. One that can knit limbs back to the body, in the event that they’re severed.”

Peter blinked. “Do such wounds happen often in the Guard?”

Catalina shook her head. “No. But it’s better to be prepared for such events, rather than have nothing for it at all. I was in the top 3 of the graduates from that project, so I think the instructor appreciated the effort.”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. A healing spell could be a safe option, if he was able to conjure one that was useful, and not already in circulation. There seemed to be a healing spell for every little hurt and ache, the opportunity for adding something new to that endless well so small in comparison to the leaps and bounds Hell had already made before he was even born.

So he wasn’t certain whether it was the best route to take. When Kazamir escorted him home the next day, he asked for their thoughts on the matter.

“My spell was personal to my needs,” they said, ruffling his hair before racing ahead.

“But what was it?” Peter called, his pace picking up to catch them. 

They chuckled, then leapt up and grabbed at a broken part of the alley above them, hoisting themself onto a crumbling ledge, up high and out of reach.

“I removed something I no longer needed,” they said unhelpfully.

“Removed what?” Peter craned his neck to see them, but they had hidden themselves on the wooden perch. The only sign that they were still up there, was the impish laugh that made its way down to Peter.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” they promised, and Peter knew they’d teleported away the next moment, because smoke appeared and wafted out from the wooden ledge.

Peter sighed, and spent the next few weeks puzzling over what kind of spell he should make. If he wanted top marks, it had to be useful. He liked the idea of doing something fun, like Daegal. He thought something personal to his own needs might be nice too, like Kaz.

Inspiration struck when he was at the communal bathhouse, helping small demons wash their hair and scrub their backs free of grime. He realized he wanted something useful, not only for himself, but for those around him as well. He did not want anything harmful, anything painful or dangerous. Nothing like–

Like–

Like how his family was killed by the mass exorcisms of the Dark Ages.

He was surprised Satan’s order was activated by such a simple phrase in his mind. If he was spiteful, he would call images of it, watch in his memory as his eldest sister scrawled messily into parchment, the sound lulling him to sleep. His dark god’s order did not reach the pictures of his mind, merely buried down the terrible truth of it all. 

But Peter held no interest in reliving painful memories, so he let the order wash through his thoughts as he rinsed soap off a young demon.

“Will it be enough, Darius?” he asked his empty home later that evening, surrounded by books and scrawling half-formed notes and symbols onto various parchments. “What did you choose for your project? Was it something like this?”

He was met with silence, but he hadn’t expected much else. He’d not seen, felt, or heard any sign of his brother since that last conversation with Theseus, a conversation Peter still had a slight regret over, as it had caused so much upset to his first - and secretly favorite - chaperone. The guilt was only quelled when he found out that Theseus hadn’t let that emotional interaction dampen his endeavors in the Guard.

Catalina, Daegal, and Kaz all spoke highly of his achievements, as they updated Peter on Theseus’ trajectory throughout his pre-Guard lessons. Every few years, he’d learn of another rise in rank, another medal or badge Theseus had earned. While Peter debated over what spell he should create, Theseus was slowly but surely approaching a Strategos ranking. Peter was beyond proud of him; he was inspired by those triumphs. 

If Theseus could rise above his fellow officers, despite holding himself back for centuries on Peter’s behalf, then Peter could do the same. He would not hold himself back any longer.

So he ignored the silence of his home, the lingering memories of his family, and dove into his research, ready and eager to make a new spell all his own.

*

Catalina happened to be his escort on the day of his spell presentation, and she helped him carry the ingredients for it all the way into the class. Peter could feel the curious eyes of his peers as he and Catalina set a pitcher of water, a large brick, and a sliver of soap on the empty expanse of floor that had been set aside for the project.

Catalina bent low as she settled the brick where Peter indicated, murmuring down to him, “You’ll do great. Tell me all about it later, alright?”

Peter nodded absently, busy drawing out chalk circles and symbols. His heart pounded an anxious rhythm in his chest, and he tuned it out in favor of hearing Catalina’s heavy steps as she left the building.

He ignored the trembling in his fingers, telling himself that he had volunteered to go first when the teacher had requested a presenting order from the class, so there was no need for second-thoughts now. He’d wanted the anticipation to be over with, ready to be done with all his preparation and practice. If he had to wait another day, he was sure he would combust from all the buzzing energy he’d been carrying over the past month.

Watch me, Darius, he thought, drawing any resolve and courage he had to him, and gripping it tightly. 

He felt no shift in the air, no change that might indicate his brother had heard his inward plea. He could not feel his brother at all, but that did not mean he wasn’t there. So Peter acted as if he was, as if Darius was the only person in the room, instead of the crowd of students who had gathered around to watch. He pretended that the sharp eye of the teacher was instead the excited gaze of his brother, ready to see what Peter had in store.

The incantation he’d created was ingrained in his bones– he’d been reciting it so much, he did not even need to glance at the parchment he’d brought with him, did not need to look at his own handwriting for the spell. He simply breathed out the words that would enact his home-made spell, and that was that.

The symbols he had drawn into the floor lit up as he spoke, glowing brighter and brighter in a dazzling mix of pink-gold. The circle before him puffed out a hot mist of steam, and then the earth contained by that circle began to sink. A small well dug itself at Peter’s feet, a thin layer of stone lining the thing all around and making way for the bubbling, soapy water that rose up and filled all that empty, new space. 

Peter stared down at his small, hand-made washing tub, inwardly pleased at himself. He glanced around at the ingredients Catalina had helped him place, and saw that only the pitcher remained. He did not need to look inside it to know that it was empty. He’d practiced this spell enough at home to expect this outcome. Seeing the empty pitcher was all the confirmation he needed to know that the rest of the ingredients had been converted into the spell. His original spell was a complete success. 

“What is it?” one of the students asked.

“A small washing tub,” Peter answered, looking out at his peers and feeling something tighten in his stomach at the confused expressions that met him.

“But why would you want a small washing tub, when you have larger sinks and tubs at home?” another demon asked.

“Not- Not everyone has those things at home,” Peter hesitantly said, his eyes falling away from the disbelief that was passing over the faces of his peers, as if no one had ever considered such a thing.

Peter swallowed, then plunged his shaking hands into the steaming water. “The spell– It only lasts for about half an hour, which gives plenty of time for a quick scrub. And the well and water disappear once the magic wears off; the conjuring earth or ground returns to the state it was before.”

He resolutely kept his eyes on his hands as they mechanically went through the motions of washing, scrubbing grime that wasn’t there, all the way up to his forearms.

“For demons who rely on communal baths, this can come in handy,” he carried on. “The ingredients are easy to obtain. The spell is uncomplicated, but very useful.”

“It is,” the teacher agreed, finally speaking up and saving Peter from the judgemental silence of his fellow students. He brought his head up to look at them, and the instructor gave him a single, approving nod.

The relief that washed through him had him slumping forward, and water splashed around him as he stumbled to catch himself, hands grasping at the lip of the well.

“The Guard’s core duty is to serve all of the realm; to help and protect those who cannot do these things themselves,” the teacher continued. “Our brave soldiers offer not only safety, but care to all demonkind. Peter has created a spell with those less fortunate in mind, creating something that could ultimately improve their lives at home, by saving time and a trip to a bathhouse.”

Peter’s cheeks heated as all eyes locked on him, and he felt strange and fluttery when he caught the glimmer of pride in his teacher’s eyes.

He earned the highest ranking score in the class, that day. 

The teacher even asked for his notes after everyone was dismissed, wanting to know how the spell worked, how it could be replicated. 

“I’d like to circulate this into the regular curriculum, particularly in the educational districts frequented by lower class demons,” they said, to Peter’s shock. “If it’s accepted by the board, you could be compensated for your work.”

The information felt huge and foundation-breaking, and Peter swayed a little.

The teacher gave a soft laugh, bringing a hand to his shoulder to steady him. “Not enough to buy yourself some grand mansion, mind you, but perhaps a new wardrobe to carry you through this latest growth spurt you’ve been having.”

Peter stared down at his clothes, the very same ones Theseus had gifted him all those centuries ago. He’d kept them well-maintained, washing and mending them when the longevity magic embedded into the fibers began to wear. Everything had begun to fit him perfectly when he first started these special studies, but now, after over 70 years in the program, things were feeling a little tight in various places. He’d been meaning to ask his new chaperones if they could get him a new set of garb, but he’d been so busy with his spellworking that the thought had ultimately slipped his mind.

“I’ll send word for you, as soon as I hear back from the educational board,” the teacher said, patting Peter’s shoulder a couple times. 

Peter nodded, at a loss for words, then gathered up his things and met Catalina where she was waiting for him outside.

“Well?” Catalina said.

“Well…” Peter dumbly echoed, and then he cleared his throat, and recounted what had happened as they made their way to Catalina’s preferred teleportation spot at the end of the street.

Catalina gave a great whoop that turned heads, and Peter blushed fiercely as she clapped him on the back. The force of it had him stumbling forward.

Catalina laughed, scooping him up with one muscled arm. “We’ll have to tell the others the good news!” she cried, and then fiery smoke was enveloping them both in a strong embrace, teleporting them to the compound Peter’s chaperones all trained at.

He was speechless as Catalina’s booming voice alerted everyone in the building, and Peter was swarmed by not only Daegal and Kazamir, but any and all Guard trainees who happened to be nearby. There were cheers and congratulations, hair ruffles and claps on the back. Peter’s face hurt from how wide he smiled, and how long that smile stayed on his face.

Eventually, commanding officers barked for the trainees to resume their duties, and the crowd grudgingly broke up, leaving Peter with his chaperones.

“We’ll need to get back to our chores as well,” Kaz grudgingly admitted, hooking a thumb toward Daegal.

Daegal gave Peter a playful salute. “You’ll have to tell us more about your spell when we take you to your next studies, alright?"

“Although,” Kaz cut in, “you may want to wait before you sign up for the Guard’s prerequisite courses.”

Peter’s brow furrowed.

Catalina nodded. “You’re quite behind in your regular studies, yes? It may be a good idea to catch up with those. The Guard’s precursor learning program is brutal when it comes to magic. I’ve no idea why they insist on starting with the most difficult subjects - especially right after all the hard work students endure in those precursor-precursor courses - but they do.”

“You’d be more prepared if you were up to date in your regular magic courses,” Darius agreed.

“In any case,” Kaz added, “there’s no age limit on the prerequisite Guard program. You have time.”

Peter’s lips thinned. “But I don’t have unlimited time with you three.”

All of their faces fell at that. Catalina took a knee, grasping his shoulders in her large, calloused hands.

“We will be here for you, as long as you have us,” she murmured. “But Peter, you don’t need us. All of the work you’ve done, all of your achievements… you did it all on your own.”

“We helped you in subjects where you were confused,” Kaz said, kneeling as well and giving Peter a soft smile, “but you were the one who learned and mastered those subjects. You’re the one who just graduated at the top of your class.”

Daegal ruffled Peter’s hair. “We have full faith that you’ll succeed, and one day join us in the Guard. We don’t have limited time at all, actually.”

Their encouragement and belief in his own capabilities had tears coming to Peter’s eyes. He quickly brought up a hand to wipe at them, scoffing at the sympathetic coos of his chaperones.

“Aww, you really do love us!” Kaz teased.

Peter blinked. Was that what this was? Had his connection to them glided entirely over friendship, and landed at love?

Peter looked at them all, at their smiling faces, and thought the hands on his shoulders, the fingers ruffling his hair, felt a lot like family.

Was that why he’d not heard anything more from Darius? Was he already gone? Did he deem Peter alright and taken care of at some point in the recent past, and Peter had missed it?

As he fell into the regular pace of his less-intense studies, and worked to catch up with his age group yet again, Peter pondered these things. The promise he’d made to Abba floated through his mind, and he wondered if he’d already fulfilled it. 

But the promise felt incomplete, somehow. Something was missing.

He had demons who he considered near-family. He was happy and soaring through his studies. He had a purpose he was working toward, a goal to join the Guard and be with those who had mentored and cared for him when he thought he’d never have a single soul do those things again.

Hell, he even obtained a modest pile of funds as a result of his spell project - his instructor had sent for him and handed him a certificate and a bag of coins to commemorate his efforts, not long after his final pre-Guard studies had concluded - so he even had his financial needs taken care of, to a point. All he needed at the moment was clothes that fit him, and he had those now.

Still, something was missing.

He tried not to let the thought distract him, as he spent the next century and then some catching up on his regular studies. He had just turned 1,200 when he walked through the doors of his pre-Guard lessons, ready for the test that would track what he retained from his prerequisite courses before.

He’d been warned about the test, while he was nearing where he was meant to be in his regular studies.

“It’s brutal,” Kaz had recounted, shivering.

“Whoever outlines these courses is merciless,” Daegal soberly agreed.

“Anyone who doesn’t make a passing grade is immediately booted from the program,” Catalina explained.

Peter paled, but the trio were quick to reassure him. They quizzed him on all that he had learned in his pre-pre-Guard courses. Catalina ran through the early drills, reminding him of the steps, the fire magic involved. Daegal had him reciting passages about the components of magic and spellcasting. Kaz hid with him in the shadows, giggling the whole time.

He felt he was as ready as he could be for the test, and it turned out he was right. Once the test concluded, and the class neared its end, everyone’s first name and score was posted on the blackboard at the front for all to see, written in the small, neat scrawl of their instructor. As Peter watched the list being made, he was relieved to see his name pop up in the middle. The teacher kept writing out names and grades until the black board was full, and Peter felt guilt rise in his chest when he saw the faces of those who were not featured on the board, those who didn’t pass. As the teacher set down their chalk and formally announced the dismissal of class, Peter found he wasn’t the only one hesitating to leave.

It was easy to spot the demons higher up on the list, as they lingered to excitedly chat with each other. The ones who didn’t pass looked as if they were made of stone, unmoving and unseeing. Peter felt bad for them, remembering how they had appeared just as stressed and concentrated as the rest of the students while the test was being taken. They had probably prepared as well as they could, as well as any of his peers had, for this future-changing exam. And now, they would never get the chance to take it again.

I need to aim for top marks, Peter thought, watching one of the stone-students somehow manage to stand from their seat and trudge their way to the door. I need to ensure I don’t get dismissed from the course.

There was nothing he could do for those who had failed. He could only help himself, in this. Only offer help to those who still had a chance. 

His eyes trailed up the list, over all the names he was unfamiliar with, all the demons who had already cemented their spot as top of the class. Perhaps he could wiggle his way into more study groups, more friendships with those at the top. He wondered if he could help those in the middle of the list like him, and those at the bottom, if he had the knowledge and skill of those at the top.

He was sure all the high-ranking students made up the older portion of the group surrounding him - having more training and regular course work under their belt - and so it may not be so easy to bridge the age gap between them. They could very well dismiss him before he could even introduce himself, brushing him off as a less-experienced child who would only slow them down. 

But his own chaperones were either at or nearing their 2,000’s, and they still enjoyed his company. The teens around him may very well feel the same, once they had the chance to properly meet him. If they gave him that chance, that is.

He thought it might be best to start at the very top of the list, and then work his way down. Better to reach high at the beginning, and cut his losses quickly while he made his way through the list. Who knew? He might even get lucky on his first try.

He read the name at the top of the list.

Eve.

Peter looked around, eyes roaming over the older girls in the class. It was then that he became aware of whispers, of others saying that name under their breaths.

“A prodigy,” one said softly.

“Top of her class in the pre-Guard course,” muttered another.

“And kept up with her regular studies as well,” breathed yet another. “She never fell behind.”

Well, as the top of his own precursor class, Peter thought he could use their similar rankings as a jumping-off point toward a lasting friendship. Surely she wouldn’t care that he’d fallen behind in his own regular courses, for a time?

As he followed the gazes of those whispering around him, Peter entertained the idea that he and Eve would hit it off from the start, that they would share lessons from here on in, and be close-knit by the time they were Guard trainees. He could introduce her to his chaperones, and if she was closer to their age, then he was sure everyone would get along and connect right away.

His eyes finally landed on the demon everyone was murmuring about, and–

And–

And…

Oh my, he thought helplessly. I cannot look away from her.

She was staring at her name on the board, looking unbothered and even unimpressed by her own achievement. Her lips were pursed in a disinterested pout, and she ran a hand through her long, thick hair, brushing it off her shoulders as she stood and gathered her things. She had a cold beauty about her, a watery grace in her movements. Peter had never seen anyone like her before.

There was something dangerous happening in his chest: a hot-cold that shot all the way down to his toes. He found himself standing, and then pausing.

He wanted to walk over to her. He wanted to introduce himself. He wanted to know what her voice sounded like. He wanted to know everything about her.

With a start, he realized he’d felt something like this before. His desperation to bond with another, his genuine interest in their interests. How he felt a pull to be in their orbit, to be near them and listen to them speak about literally anything at all. How he wanted to watch them, no matter what they were doing. Whether it was embroidering furniture when they weren’t supposed to, or sewing dresses, or practicing with swords, or stepping through Guard drills…

I want to be in your life, Peter thought breathlessly, staring at the girl who was throwing a bag over her shoulder and moving to leave. The rest of the students were also starting to file out. I want you to be in mine.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Darius’ voice breathed by his ear. He could feel phantom hands at his shoulders, nudging him to get walking before Eve was out of the building.

He did not even feel surprised by his brother’s appearance. In fact, he knew that if he stepped forward and didn’t look back - didn’t look for Darius - this would be the last moment he’d ever share with him. 

Because this was the final piece. This was what was missing.

Peter drew in a breath, and walked forward without a second thought. He only had eyes for Eve. He wanted to learn more about her. He wanted to know her full name. He wanted to tell her his. 

He wasn’t afraid to share it; it didn’t matter whether or not she rejected him because of it, only that she knew his name. If all she knew was his name, and what he felt for her, that would be more than enough. Because what he felt made his footsteps light as he trailed after her, and he was sure even rejection wouldn’t dampen the airy feeling blowing through him, warming him from head to toe.

It was something that was stronger than what he’d felt and shared with his siblings, if that were even possible. But it had to be, because none of their faces or smiles could conjure such giddiness, none of their remembered words could grant him the lightness he was feeling now. 

As he shortened the distance between himself and Eve, Peter knew he wasn’t leaving his family behind. That he wasn’t really walking away from Darius. They would always be with him, right on his heels, their past encouragements and cheers just waiting to be remembered, waiting to push him forward again and again. 

He knew without a doubt that if all of his siblings were here to see this - if his Abba could feel what Peter was feeling - they would be telling him to keep walking. To keep going. To try to reach her, no matter what it took. How could they not?

Peter Daemonfire was in love.