Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Adam woke up in a hospital bed, his entire body throbbing with pain. It took him a moment to register where he was, his mind foggy with confusion. The sterile white walls, the faint scent of antiseptic—it all came rushing back in fragments.

A voice broke through his haze.

“How do you feel today, sir?” a doctor asked, standing by his bedside.

“Like I’ve been stabbed by a thousand damn exorcist spears,” Adam muttered. He sat up slightly, clutching his chest as pain flared through his ribs.

The doctor gave a small, sympathetic nod. “That’s understandable. You’re recovering well, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. How long until I can kick Lute’s ass again?” Adam grumbled, frustration seeping into his tone. He hated being stuck in a hospital, unable to fight.

The doctor hesitated, his discomfort palpable. Adam narrowed his eyes. “Oh, come on. Give it to me straight, Doc. How long do I have to lie here like a loser?”

The doctor finally exhaled, offering a faint, reassuring smile. “You’ll be able to get up soon and leave the hospital by the next week.”

Adam leaned back, somewhat appeased. “Good. This white room is so damn lame.” He shifted in bed before looking at the doctor again, more serious this time. “So… are all the exorcists okay? No one died, right?”

That same hesitation returned, but this time it was heavier, almost suffocating. The doctor sighed, his expression darkening. “Well… sadly, there have been losses.”

Adam’s chest tightened. A pit of dread formed in his stomach, cold and heavy. He swallowed. “...How many? Who?”

The doctor hesitated again. “Are you sure you want to discuss this now? The High Seraphim will see you this afternoon.”

Adam sat up straighter, his grip on the sheets tightening. “Yeah, Doc, I’m sure. Spit it out. I’m going to hear it anyway. Who died?”

The doctor took a deep breath and began listing names—thirty exorcists, one after another. Each name landed like a blow to Adam’s gut. Then, the doctor hesitated before speaking the last one. “And… Lute.” His voice was solemn. “I’m very sorry, sir. We all are.”

Adam stared at him, unmoving, his expression unreadable. The words barely made sense, as if his mind refused to process them. He just sat there, trying to remain calm. It wasn’t working. “What?” His voice was barely a whisper. “You’re joking, right?”

The doctor shook his head, his sorrow evident.

Adam’s expression twisted into something between rage, despair, and disbelief. His hands clenched, his breath became unsteady. His voice trembled when he spoke again. “T-This is some kind of joke, right? Lute… she can’t be dead. Tell me Lute isn’t dead.”

The doctor hesitated before answering, his voice careful but firm. “She hasn’t come back, sir… At the very least, she’s dispersed in Hell.”

Adam shot up from the bed, ignoring the sharp pain that tore through his body. “No… this has to be some kind of mistake,” he muttered, his chest tightening. “Lute can’t be dead. No. This is—this is bullshit. She’s fine. She’s always fine—”

The doctor took a step forward, concern etched on his face. “Sir, please, you need to rest. You’re still—”

Adam didn’t listen. He couldn’t. His thoughts spiraled, his grief too overwhelming to contain. “No. No—no. No, this isn’t right. It didn’t—It shouldn’t have happened like this. This is—” His voice broke, and a choked sob escaped his throat. His vision blurred as hot tears welled up in his eyes.

The doctor, seeing there was nothing more he could do, quietly stepped out of the room, leaving Adam alone with his grief.

For a moment, Adam kept standing, clinging to his disbelief. But then his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the bed, his body wracked with silent, heaving sobs. He buried his face in his hands, not caring who saw or heard. The weight of loss, of guilt, of sorrow crushed him entirely. And so, Adam cried.

* * *

A couple of hours passed before there was a gentle knock at the door. It creaked open, and Sera stepped inside.

“Hi, Adam... how are you?” she asked softly.

Adam didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the hospital bed, his hands clasped together, eyes locked on the floor. He stayed silent for a moment, still trying to steady himself, to keep his voice from cracking. When he finally spoke, his words were laced with exhaustion, slightly shaky. “…I’ve been better, man.”

Sera offered him a sad smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry for the loss of our sisters who fell in battle,” she said gently. “But I’m also glad you survived.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, but his expression barely changed. He tried to return her smile, but it was futile. The weight in his chest was too heavy, the pain too fresh. If he let his guard down even slightly, he knew the tears would start again. “…Yeah… survived. So far, I guess…”

Sera sighed and sat down in the armchair beside his bed. “We’re planning a memorial ceremony to honor them.”

Adam nodded again, finally forcing himself to meet her eyes. His expression was still pained, still lost. “…And Lute?”

Sera hesitated before answering, her gaze dropping. “Right. Some bodies are missing... We will send a diplomatic delegation to recover them before proceeding with the funerals.”

Adam swallowed hard, his throat tightening. The thought of Lute’s body still out there, possibly buried under rubble, abandoned in the ring, or worse—decaying—made him feel sick. He turned toward the window, pressing his lips into a tight line, willing himself not to break down in front of the High Seraphim. “…When?”

“I don't know, but soon. We’re organizing the team,” Sera admitted, rubbing her temples. She looked exhausted. “In all honesty, Adam, a lot of things are going on right now.”

Adam nodded again, but it was more out of reflex than understanding. Nodding was all he felt capable of at the moment. His mind was a storm: part of him wanted to curl up and cry forever, another part wanted to destroy something. He hadn’t decided which feeling was stronger yet.

“Yeah, I bet,” he muttered. “That’s a lot to deal with...”

Sera exhaled heavily. “For a month now, some members of the council have questioned the purpose of the exterminations—my sister Emily included. After yesterday’s defeat, and the news that a sinner’s soul actually reached Heaven, those doubts have increased exponentially.”

Adam stilled. The grief weighing him down was suddenly pierced by something hot and sharp. Anger. They were doubting the exterminations? Now? After everything? The anger flared, burning through the haze of sorrow. His hands clenched into fists as he sat up straighter, his features darkening. “They doubt the exterminations? Are you fucking serious?”

Sera’s voice remained calm. “They are very compassionate...”

His frustration boiled over. His eyes narrowed, and his voice rose, edged with something raw and furious. “Compassion?!” He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “We just lost over thirty exorcists! A whole damn generation of new soldiers! And you’re telling me they’re having doubts? That the council is full of pussies?”

“Calm down, Adam,” Sera warned, her tone firm but not unkind. “We'll explain our reasons. And remember—the exterminations were a secret. They just need time to accept the truth.”

Adam exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He was dangerously close to snapping, but he forced himself to breathe. To stay in control. It was hard. “…Yeah. You’re right,” he muttered. “It’s just… a lot, man. A lot to take in right now.”

Sera nodded in understanding. “I know. And you need to rest. I’ll come back later, Adam. Bye."

Adam barely heard her. His gaze had returned to the floor, his mind slipping back into the same fog of sorrow he’d been drowning in before she arrived. He lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave, his voice distant. “Bye…”

Sera lingered for a second before silently exiting the room, leaving Adam alone once more.

Chapter Text

Lute was barely holding on. Her left arm was gone, severed in the chaos of battle. Golden blood streaked her battered form, soaking into the torn remnants of her robes. Her unmasked face was slick with sweat and grime. She didn’t know how long she had been flying, nor how far she had gotten from the battlefield. All she knew was that she had seen the others exorcists lifting Adam’s unconscious body—she hoped he was only unconscious—and retreating through the portal to Heaven. She had tried to follow but hadn’t made it in time.

Her strength gave out just as she crashed through the window of an unfamiliar apartment. The impact rattled through her battered body, sending a fresh jolt of pain up her remaining arm. She barely registered the glass shards scattering around her as she collapsed onto the floor, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

A sound of soft, cautious footsteps made her body tense. A demoness, apparently dressed for bed in green pajamas, entered the room, drawn by the noise. She was a hellhound, her form resembling a retriever with light pink fur and striking red eyes.

Her gaze scanned the room quickly—window, glass, the figure slumped on the floor—before widening in shock. “An exorcist…” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t move closer, but she didn’t retreat either.

Lute forced herself to move, her muscles screaming in protest. Her good hand, slick with her own blood, reached shakily for her dagger. Every motion sent a fresh wave of agony through her body, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through it. Lute’s fingers trembled as she tried to grip her weapon but her arm refused to cooperate. After a few seconds, she let it drop, panting through clenched teeth. She fixed the demoness with a fierce, defensive glare.

“Sharp observation,” she rasped, her voice hoarse with pain and irritation.

Still, the demoness was wary. “Why are you here?”

“I… got separated from my unit,” Lute admitted through ragged breaths. “I was injured. Couldn’t keep up. Figured… I could find shelter somewhere.”

The hellhound hummed in acknowledgment. “I see.”

Silence stretched between them. Lute watched her closely, trying to gauge what the demoness was thinking. Her eyes darted toward the broken window, then back to Lute’s bleeding form. Was she considering calling other enemies?

“You gonna be a good little Hell resident and turn me in?” the angel asked, her tone dry and mocking despite the pain weighing down her body.

The hellhound tilted her head slightly. “No need for that. You’re in pretty rough shape, to put it mildly.”

Lute huffed slightly. She had been prepared to go down fighting, but this demon’s lack of hostility put her on edge. “You’re not just saying that, right?” she muttered. “Not gonna stab me the moment I close my eyes and let my guard down?”

Something shifted in the demoness’ expression. Without warning, she lunged. Lute’s instincts screamed at her to move, but she was too slow, her battered body no match for the hellhound’s quick reflexes. The demoness was on her in a flash, pinning her to the floor. One hand pressed against Lute’s chest, keeping her down, while the other ripped the dagger from her grasp and pressed it against her throat. Lute froze. The cold steel bit into her skin, her pulse hammering against the blade. She was inexorably trapped.

The hellhound leaned in slightly, her crimson eyes burning into hers. “I wouldn’t need you to let your guard down, if I wanted to kill you, exorcist,” she said in a low, quiet voice.

Lute swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t keep the fear from flickering in her eyes. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, just as suddenly, the demoness pulled back, removing the dagger from Lute’s throat.

Lute exhaled sharply, her heart still racing. “Is that supposed to be my cue to relax and trust you now?” she snapped, sarcasm creeping into her voice despite the lingering adrenaline.

“Kinda.”

Lute shot her a wary look but didn’t protest. The immediate threat had passed. Slowly, she pushed herself upright, groaning as her back met the cold wall. Lute sat slumped against it, her breathing shallow and uneven. Golden blood still seeped from the gaping wound where her left arm had once been, staining the floor beneath her. Her eyes flicked back to the demoness, still unsure what to make of her.

The pink-furred hellhound, standing a few feet away, studied her with an unreadable expression. “I don’t know how it works for angels, but a demon in your state would need medical care.” Her voice was calm, almost indifferent, as she wasn’t addressing someone who was actively bleeding out on her floor.

Lute let out a bitter scoff, shifting slightly against the wall. “Medical care? Ha! As if I’d trust a demon to lay a finger on me.”

The hellhound simply shrugged. “Suit yourself. Bleed out ‘til you die, then. Yours wouldn’t be the first corpse I’ve gotten rid of.”

Lute stiffened at that, her sharp gaze locking onto the demoness once more, unnerved. A tense silence stretched between them. Lute was torn, her pride warring with the cold reality of her injuries. She needed help. But from a demon?

After a moment, the hellhound spoke again, this time in a kinder voice. “I was in a similar situation once. I trusted a stranger when I had no other choice.” She hesitated, as if lost in thought.

Lute narrowed her eyes. “And what happened?”

“I found a good friend. A mentor.” A pause. Then, with a smirk, she added, “Not that I’m looking to be a mentor, let alone a friend. But…I really don’t mean you any harm.”

Lute remained silent, studying her carefully. The demoness’ words did sound genuine, but could she be trusted? Everything Lute had been taught screamed no—demons were deceitful, manipulative, and treacherous by nature. And yet… “...Let’s say I believe you,” she said at last, her voice slow and deliberate. “What do you suggest, then, demon?”

The hellhound crossed her arms. “I can sanitize and bandage your wounds. You’ll bleed out otherwise.”

Lute’s jaw tightened, but she knew the truth when she heard it. Finally, with great reluctance, she exhaled a sharp breath. “Fine.”