Chapter Text
LUCIFER
The clock ticks.
It always does, with its incessant pattern that the demon wouldn't normally pay attention to, but today it makes Lucifer threaten to tear at the papers in frustration.
These reports are never-ending, just like his misery. A blotch of ink against the paper makes him growl in frustration.
It's lonely without you. Lucifer held it together the first time they fell, but now you're gone and the ropes of sanity in his hands are slipping. He doesn't remember the last time he had a peaceful sleep, for it rarely came, and when it did nightmares accompanied it.
Cursing himself for not focusing at the task, Lucifer picks up the pen which had been thrown on the ground. But as soon as the tip touches the paper, he feels it. He feels power flowing through the pact, faint and weak but there.
Lucifer nearly jumps from his desk, wide-eyed as he waits to be teleported to their location. Finally see their face and see them alive.
But as soon as the rush comes, it goes away.
His head nearly collides with the desk as Lucifer kneels on the floor, the remnants of their energy making his heart beat faster.
They're there, they're trying to summon him. They're alive, missing, but alive and breathing. Hope flows throw his veins as Lucifer shakily gets up. They're alive and they're trying to summon him, they miss him and he misses them, it's been so long since he last saw them and he wants to see them they're alive and they're not gone—
His brothers must be assembled immediately.
MAMMON
Your shirt lies in his lap, tears on it having long dried, but the aching in his heart hasn't.
He bargained in dark alleys and dingy clubs, hell, he was ready to give up his card, but it only yielded him despair.
He was their first man, their protector, and he let them die. He let them get killed. He wasn't there. They died and not even the body was found to bury.
Fresh tears dampen the shirt.
If only you were alive, what he wouldn't give for you to come back, he'll give his life if it means you'll live, he'll rip his heart out if it means if you'll come back. If only you could summon him.
Summon.
Mammon feels it. A heartbeat, a faint chanting of an incancation, just a bit more, a little more energy and he'll be there, just a bit more force and he'll be teleported, just a bit more—
Silence.
The shirt lies forgotten in his lap as Mammon gasps. They're alive and they're trying to summon him. He won't let them leave him again, he won't.
This time, the tears that flow from his eyes are of joy and not despair, of relief and not pain. Mammon doesn't realize that he's screaming or that he's babbling words at his bewildered brothers until he calms down and chokes out syllables.
They're alive.
LEVIATHAN
The screen flashes "Game Over" in large letters.
Leviathan wants to throw his controller at the computer, destroy the very thing that holds dreaded and loved memories. But he doesn't have the energy to move.
The picture of them and him cosplaying as the famous pair of TSL makes something in him shatter. His Henry, now gone and dead. He's nothing without them.
Just a useless, worthless demon who sulks and cries.
His throat is dry, maybe from the constant crying earlier, but Levi doesn't have the energy to grab the bottle and drink.
But then, he feels his heart best faster.
A foreign energy, one not felt in a long time, now thrums through his veins and makes him open the bottle and glug the liquid. Only when the container empties does some sense of consciousness float in Levi's mind. The energy is theirs.
But as soon as it comes, it disappears.
But Leviathan doesn't fall on the floor after their essence leaves his soul, he remains standing, something in his heart bursting with joy as he nearly screams.
Something warm and soothing brews in his heart. Hope brews, revitalising and strengthening him.
They're alive.
SATAN
Torn.
Torn is what he sees.
Torn are the books in his room, torn are the curtains and the mattress, torn is the cover, torn is his heart.
Even this book failed to provide any answers. Knowledge was supposed to empower someone, invoke respect and power, but it failed this time.
Revival of the dead isn't possible.
He tried, at first, to use the pact and channel his energy to them so they could remain alive, but their soul wasn't there. Gone. He roamed and read, threated and searched, but no answers came.
If only he could have held their hand one last time.
Satan sighs as his claws drag through the stone walls, untouched spots now hard to find. The silence hangs heavy in his room, and Satan nearly curses as he barely manages not to trip on a stray book, and when he leans down to pick it up his pupils dilate.
He can feel the chanting, the summoning spell and their energy, their soul.
But it fades away, for it is too weak.
But the newfound hope in Satan isn't. Nearly screaming like a madman, the blonde demon grins as he rushes outside, words already spilling past his lips.
They're alive.
ASMODEUS
The library is a mess.
It always has been, since they...died. Satan nearly tore all of the books in two if not for him and Lucifer stopping him. He had lashed out, angry, hopeful, but only back then.
There's not a speck of hope now.
He could go, forget this room with its messed-up books and torn furniture, leave and throw himself in the spotlight, where he would be adored and loved. But other's love didn't mean anything to him, because it was only your love that truly mattered.
Asmodeus sighs as he gathers the last of the pages, and prepares a spell to mend them. "May the torn pages of these manuscripts before me—oomfph!"
A garbled sound leaves him, and the demon staggers before resting a hand on the wall to compose himself. It's like the breath has been knocked out of his lungs, and new energy flows through him.
Warm, comforting, familiar—something that he loved, and still does.
His MC.
He can feel the incantation being muttered, a spell to summon demons, and Asmo closes his eyes, praying that he'll see them when he opens them again.
Asmodeus blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Frantic eyes looks around the room. The same books, the same chairs, the same torn—no!
No, he wants to cry out the word, each syllable echoing in the room, but Asmodeus doesn't make a sound. He only smiles, as tears stream down his face.
There's hope.
BEELZEBUB
The house is never this quiet.
Usually, there would be a cacophony of shouts and laughter at this hour, with Mammon and Leviathan running around as the others watched or interfered. There was joyous laughter and screams, something which was noisy but comforting. Something which felt like home.
But home has never been so silent before.
The water boiling interrupts him, and Beelzebub says nothing as he gently takes out the noodles, careful not to break them when he puts them in the pot.
But the noodle breaks in two in his hands as his eyes widen.
Barely a flicker, yet still there, trying to make itself known. A faint heartbeat, slow, but there.
You're there.
The ginger demon nearly screams at the discovery before quietening himself, fearing its a dream, but when the noodles break even more in his hand and his heart beats even faster does Beel relent.
The impact is jarring, so heavy that it throws his twin out of his slumber, who rushes downstairs to see what exactly has taken place.
Belphegor doesn't understand the joy thrumming through his veins when he feels his twin rejoice.
BELPHEGHOR
His heart beats loudly.
Fast, as if he's gone and ran in the house, creating a ruckus. But he's the personification of Sloth, and Sloth rarely runs.
So why does he feel the pounding in his chest?
Belphegor sighs as he lazily rubs his eyes, still in the daze of sleep. For a moment, he thinks Satan's gone and ravaged the house again. His brothers would often ask him to aid in cleaning up. But the demon would decline, for the books were torn when they couldn't find a solution, and the furniture was broken in despair and anger.
It was the fourth-born's way of mourning.
Belphegor was sleeping the days away. Usually he wouldn't wake up so easily, but the sudden thrumming in his chest makes him grumble as he hastily gets up.
And then, the demon's eyes widen.
Belphegor nearly falls off the bed as he jumps, a newfound vigour in every step as he stands straight, closes his eyes shut and pleads to be summoned.
It's you whose trying to summon him, it's you whose alive and breathing, not dead, it's you whose calling out to him.
The demon doesn't succeed in stopping the gasp that spills past his lips, a silent wail caught in his throat as he falls silent.
Not a sound escapes from his throat.
Only when he opens his eyes and places a trembling hand on his chest, feels the beat of his heart, only then does the demon fall to the ground.
He screams, shouts as tears fall from his eyes—he can't tell whether they're from relief or happiness, but Belphegor's damn sure they're from hope.
Hope, that he will give his brothers too now that they surround him in worry.