Chapter Text
This day wasn’t going Satan’s way, is it?
First of all, he had Lucifer getting on his ass about how he should be more responsible as a student, as one of the Seven Princes of Hell, and as part of the student council. All because he cursed a teacher to bleat like a goat and sprout warts whenever they spat during a lecture—which in Satan’s opinion was very tame compared to his other curses.
Second of all, he had to deal with the constant mob of demons that has fallen for him, trying to woo or seduce him with gifts, curses, and confessions. He can handle it like any other day but today was especially setting his nerves alight when he caught a demon trying to send a powerful love spell—one that can become especially dangerous if not performed carefully. Satan has tried it himself due to natural curiosity but even he had trouble making it. He naturally perfected it, obviously, though it angered him on how long it took him.
Third of all, he realized that Mammon was able to somehow, somewhat slip into his magically-protected room—that keeps demons like him out, mind you—to rummage around for any sort of treasure. He flipped and tossed books onto the ground after disappointedly finding nothing of value, books that were sensitive with curses and monsters alike that could very well end the three realms.
Sneaky little bastard.
But the most infuriating one of all was when he’d already dealt with all this bullshit for the day, and found out that someone ate his fucking leftovers.
His.
Fucking.
Leftovers.
And it wasn’t just any leftovers, it was the apple pie slice he left for himself the night before. He even marked it as his.
“Satan’s. Do Not Eat.”
He’d been looking forward to it all day. The slice of pie that would make his day a little bit better—the cool, crispy pie that would abate his anger.
But he was pissed the fuck off and he was trying as hard as the Avatar of Wrath to not set the house aflame and everyone in it.
Which was barely.
The clothing line caught fire and the cauldron turned hot as he slammed the refrigerator door shut. He didn’t feel himself shift into his demon form as his tail lashed out onto the wooden table, shattering it into pieces. The contents of the table fell onto the ground, candlesticks snapping on impact.
Not wanting to murder the first person he saw, Satan calmly walked into his room, the candles in the hallway growing dimmer as he passed.
He was careful in shutting his door, making sure that the door locked with its soft click. If anyone tried to open the door they would quickly get the answer that they were not allowed in. Satan took a deep breath as he turned around to see his messy room and let everything loose.
He grabbed his purple, velvet chair and threw it against his wall of books. The chair perfectly shattered, the sound of wood and pages falling onto the floor in a beautiful cacophony.
It still wasn’t enough for him.
His black claws dug into his mattress and tore it away, foam and spring coils flinging into the air. He threw the mattress through the window, the glass shattering onto the first floor. He went after the bed frame, twisting and snapping the metal off with little effort. He dug his teeth into it, chewing and spitting the metal out. He felt something gash against the tissue in his mouth, the taste of copper flooding his tongue. He spat out the contents, bits of tissue, spit, and scrap staining the purple carpet . . . and screamed.
“Fuck! I fucking hate this house! I fucking hate this family! I fucking hate Lucifer! I hate it here!” Satan grabbed his book tower and threw it on the ground, not caring what eerie sounds and figures flitted through the pages. He did the same to the rest of the books that were still standing, pushing them towards the broken windows and onto the littered carpet of his room. He swiped at his desk, knocking over his phone, his potions, and something else that he did not care to notice when he flipped over the table.
He promptly went straight to his closest, pulling and tearing down clothes until everything was in heaps of shreds. Satan abruptly turned around, feverishly trying to find something else to destroy, when he found his reflection in the mirror—which miraculously didn’t break at all. Neon green eyes stared back at him, filled to the brim with bloodlust. His chin had a fresh dribble of blood, most likely from the gash inside of his mouth. His tail was poised, ready to strike at any moment.
Was he . . . crying?
He heard someone laughing, he didn’t know who
but it was loud . . .
taunting . . .
mocking him.
He realized he was laughing at himself.
“Am I seriously throwing a tantrum like some sort of child?” Satan spoke out loud, talking to himself in the mirror. He lowered himself onto the floor, not caring at the glass poking at him, never looking away from himself from the mirror. “You’ve stooped low, Satan. I’m disappointed in you.” Satan made a face of disgust when he heard those words come out of his mouth.
“Ugh, I sound just like Lucifer. How pathetic . . .” He murmured out, looking away from the reflection of himself. He instead turned his gaze onto the messy floor, potions now staining the carpet that can never be removed no matter how much product he used. He looked up to his now bare walls, noticing how much space there really was. He looked back to himself in the mirror, one arm resting on his knee. He stared at himself, letting his thoughts knot into turmoil. He worked twice as hard to earn his place—priding himself on being the most knowledgeable, the one with the most connections, and, quite frankly, got the most interesting summons for the tastiest human souls . . . before.
Keyword: before.
That was before you came along. He was skeptical of you before, wanting to just use you for his own needs. And he did—he tried whenever the opportunity arose. But all of that had changed now. He experienced love with you, something he never thought he could feel in his immortal life.
But all of those sweet thoughts slipped away the longer he stared at himself in the mirror. He saw it morph into something . . . something he was a bit too familiar with. Ruby eyes gazed back into him, judging him for the shadow he was always going to be, no matter what. Satan’s tail lashed out towards the mirror, the glass shattering onto the ground.
“Get out of my mind, you stubborn bitch.” He ran his fingers through his hair until it meet the base of his horns and tugged on them. Coincidentally, they were the same shape as Lucifer’s, just flipped onto its sides.
He was just a cheap carbon copy.
His breaths were coming in short, he felt a swell of panic rise to his chest. It wrapped around his throat, hooking its fangs deep into his flesh until he was choking with fear.
His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest and drop face-first onto the ground.
Bile rose to his throat as panic settled onto his chest. He rapidly scanned his room until he found his overturned trash bin. He got up from the ground when he briefly tripped over his tail. He quickly regained his composure, sprinting towards the bin that—thankfully—still had its bag. He let the contents of his lunch spill through his mouth, the smell instantly attacking his nose.
It smelled absolutely horrible, the 108 Seed Saland coming to bite his ass as he choked on a piece that caught on his throat. He smacked his chest violently until the thing loosened free from his throat. He let everything out until he was dry heaving and shaking.
He slumped onto the floor, feeling the beginning of a headache throb in his brain. He let the cool feeling of the ground soak up the heat radiating off of him when suddenly he saw something shiny reflect onto his eye. He squinted his eyes, trying to figure out where exactly it was coming from. He slowly got up, realizing that it was the new camera that you gifted for him for your anniversary present.
“Shit!”
He scrambled onto his feet, wanting to see how much damage there was. When he picked it up the whole lens fell onto the ground, shattering the glass that was in it. He quickly open the compartments to see if the memory card was ok and—by some dumb luck—that area hasn’t been affected at all. The shutter was busted in, the screen was cracked, and one of the edges was dented in.
“I can fix it,” Satan tentatively said out loud. “I can fix it. It’s not even that bad. Granted, the lenses are completely broken so you’ll need to buy new ones but I can fix it.” He dragged the bin over with his tail but thought against it when he was reminded of the smell. He made a knot with the straps that were attached to the bag and pushed it as far away as he could towards the door. Satan grabbed a screwdriver that was laying around the floor and started fixing it.
A soft knock at the door pulled Satan away from his tinkering with the broken camera.
“Satan? It’s me. Do you mind if I come in? I brought you some apple pie if you want.”
Satan didn’t give them an answer, curious to know what their response would be.
“. . . Or I can always leave it at the door.” The sound of your voice relaxed his stiff shoulders.
“I don’t mind. I’ll unlock the door now.” Satan said as he cleared his throat. He looked over at his destroyed room and figured that it wouldn’t do anything if he started cleaning up. He rose to his feet, moving things out of the way so there would be a small, clear pathway for you to come through. He cracked up the door, not yet wanting you to see the disaster of his room and himself yet.
You jumped when you heard his door creaking up ever the slightest. “Satan! Are you ok?” Your worried eyes looked into his teal ones to find answers but his gaze averted yours.
“Sorry . . . I was going through . . . some things.” He murmured out. He looked down at your hands, finding the apple pie you promised him.
“Thank you for the pie, love. Food would be great right now.” Satan widened the door open, gesturing for you to quickly walk in before shutting the door.
If you had any comments on his room or that awful smell that started to creep in, you didn’t show it. You carefully walked down the clear trail until you found where Satan was sitting in all of this. You noticed the camera that you gave him off to the side being repaired, most likely because Satan must have thrown or dropped it.
Your heart ached just from seeing it all busted. He loves using it on you whenever both of you would go on dates. Satan comfortably sat down on the floor, patting the space next to him. “Here, this should be enough space for you right now.”
You obeyed, pushing away shards of glass and debris to not hurt yourself as you sat on the ground.
A moment of silence stretched on between you two, Satan poking at his apple pie and you looking around his destroyed room.
“You know I’m here for you if you need anything, right love?” You spoke out loud to him, pulling his hand from his lap onto yours. “You have a tendency to bottle things up, just like everyone else in this family.” There was a twinge of pain when you reminded him of his family, not wanting to be reminded of them just yet. “You don’t have to do things alone like you always had. I’m here for you.” You squeezed his hand, reassuring him that you truly mean it.
“I know.” He softly said. “I just really don’t wanna talk about.”
“That’s fine if you don’t wanna talk about it. I’m just letting you know, okay?” You brought the back of his hand to your lips to kiss it, as both of you always done when either of you was stressed.
“. . . Lucifer was worried about you too.” You quietly—almost nervously—brought up. Something inside of him snapped when you brought up his name. “He said that he hasn’t seen you act like this since—”
“Don’t bring up his name. I especially don’t wanna talk about him.” A harsh squeeze on your wrist, one that honestly horrified you. You didn’t think Satan would be this sensitive talking about Lucifer right now.
“It’s just that—we are all worried about you when you came home and heard you screaming through the walls, Lucifer especially. I didn’t know what I should do but he said to let you ride this out but I wasn’t so sure. You had me scared—”
“I told you not to bring up his name, didn’t I?” Satan bit out, the squeeze turning into a vice grip. “How many times do I have to tell your little stupid human brain to shut up!” Tears welled in your eyes, not expecting Satan to yell at you.
“I’m sorry, I just—”
“You just what? Can’t seem to know how to leave people alone when they need it? Can’t seem to stop meddling in someone else’s business? Of course, you went to Lucifer! You probably thought I was going to hurt someone or you!” He felt something snap underneath his hand, the feeling sending pleasurable goosebumps over his body. “You don’t love me, you love some fucked up chicken that calls himself my brother.”
“Satan, you’re hurting me! Stop! ” you yelled out in pain. You fumbled a pact command through your gritted teeth, the pain shooting up your arm in white-hot pain. It was only then Satan saw through the toxic green clouding his vision to realize that he had broken your wrist now hanging limply to the side as a piece of bone stuck out of your skin.
He had hurt you. And it was all his fault.
He was reminded at that horrifying moment that humans are incredibly fragile.
“I’m—I’m so sorry, love. I don’t know what came over me. Let me how bad it is—”
“Don’t touch me,” you screamed out, pulling your broken wrist from his grasp. You cradled it against your chest as you slowly backed away from him, fear completely taking over your features.
“Wait please, let me try to heal you—”
“No! I can’t trust you. Not right now. I’m going to my room now and you will leave me alone. I’ll have Lucifer heal me.” The last sentence stabbed deep in his heart. He walked over towards you but you opened the door with your good hand and shut it gently on his face.
Oh, what has he done to you?