Chapter Text
Why the TV in the lobby was still set to that awful news show, Vaggie wasn’t sure. Ever since their fiasco of an ‘interview,’ hearing Katie Killjoy’s voice activated her Fight or Flight instinct, and she’d never been one for flight. “What’s going on?” she asked hesitantly as she got downstairs and found the rest of the hotel’s staff congregated around the TV.
“Eh, the usual,” Angel Dust said with a shrug. “Some psycho pissed off a buncha high-up demons and now he’s gettin’ his ass kicked.”
“He’s holdin’ his own pretty well, if ya ask me,” Husk added, leaning on the bar as he gazed idly up at the screen. “Obviously knows what he’s doin’.”
“Hush!” Alastor hissed, waving a hand at them. “I’m trying to listen.”
Vaggie turned her attention to the TV, where she saw one of the bloodiest battlefields she’d ever encountered. Somewhere in the wasteland outside Pentagram City, the ground was littered with the bodies of too many demons to count. And in the center stood a gore-covered figure with a dagger in one hand and a flame-dripping gladius in the other.
Wait, a flaming sword? That was a distinctly heavenly instrument, and it was no secret. As far as Vaggie knew, she hadn’t run into many other fallen angels, but it wasn’t an impossibility. After all, there were only so many reasons a person would take on that many demons at once.
“In the name of God and defense of His kingdom, I’ll destroy every last one of you!” the central figure barked, swinging his sword at yet another attacker. How 666 News had gotten their cameras out so quickly was still a mystery, but as they zoomed in on the speaker, Vaggie realized with wide-eyed shock that she recognized him.
Her old commanding officer didn’t look exactly as she remembered. He was still tall and solid, still slim and graceful, still fierce and stern. But his once-warm ochre skin had been dulled; the green and brown of his irises had overtaken the entirety of his eyes; his halo had shattered into jagged, uneven horns; and his crimson curls had turned to red-hot fire dancing on his scalp. Still, there was no mistaking his sharp facial features, his self-assured voice, or his unyielding hatred for demons.
“Michael?” she muttered, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. An archangel killing demons wasn’t such a strange sight—but what in God’s name was he doing in Hell? Why did he look like…that? The Michael she had known years ago was too devout to ever be in danger of falling, yet he was too familiar to be anyone else.
“You know him?” Charlie asked quietly, and Vaggie stiffened as she realized she’d said his name out loud. None of the others knew about her nature or her history in Heaven, and she wanted it to stay that way, so it was probably best she keep this to herself.
“I’m not sure. Maybe, but…I don’t know.” She did know. The longer she looked at the images on the screen in front of her, the more certainly she knew that this demon was once a saint, an archangel of the Lord, Commander of the Guardian Corps, leader of the heavenly hosts. And although he had always been a capable soldier, she knew that if he tried to fight every demon in Hell at once, he was going to get himself killed. “I need to help him.”
“You’re going to investigate?” Alastor asked, interjecting himself easily into their conversation. With a visibly-eager grin, he went on, “Let me go with you, my dear. I wouldn’t want to see you in any danger.”
“I think I can handle it myself,” she grumbled, though she wasn’t really sure at all. That was a lot of demons Michael was taking on.
“But on the off chance you can’t, why take the risk? I insist: I’ll come along just to be sure you’re safe.” Already, the Radio Demon was headed for the door, gesturing for her to follow. “Come on, I’d prefer to get there before he dies if you don’t mind.”
“You better be careful!” Angel called after him. “I’m gonna be pissed if you come back all beat up like last time.”
“I’ll be fine, cher, don’t worry,” Alastor said offhandedly, not slowing for a moment.
“Are you sure about this?” Charlie took Vaggie’s hands before she could go, lowering her voice a little. “It looks bad out there. Do you want me to come too?”
“No,” Vaggie answered immediately, then cleared her throat and tried again. “No, corazón, I’ll be fine. We’ll be back in an hour or two, okay?” She kissed Charlie’s cheek and offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile before striding out the door with Alastor on her heels. Of all the people who could’ve offered to help. Michael was not going to be pleased with his presence, and she didn’t look forward to mediating a fight between the two of them.
“So who is this awfully religious fellow?” Alastor asked as they made their way quickly out of town and toward the area where the broadcast had come from. Vaggie could only hope the cameras would be gone by the time they got there; she didn’t like the idea of this conversation being shown to all of Pentagram City. “You do know him, yes? It certainly sounded that way.”
“We’ll see,” she answered reservedly. “I thought I recognized him. Maybe I was wrong.”
“Oh, but when are you ever?” he chuckled. “It sounds more like you just don’t want to tell me. I’ll find out sooner or later, you know.”
Yes, that was exactly what she was afraid of. She would just have to delay it as long as she could.
By the time they reached the wasteland that had become Michael’s killing grounds, he was looking much worse for wear—but still standing, still fighting, refusing to surrender. Of course. They could hardly move across the ground without stepping over a hundred demon corpses.
“Who else?” Michael shouted, his voice hoarse and shredding. Still, he wiped away the blood that dripped down his temple and into his eyes, baring his teeth at the crowd of demons still surrounding him. “Have you not learned your lesson? Do you not know when you’re outmatched? ‘Everyone that is proud in heart is an abomination to the Lord; though they join hands, they shall not go unpunished.’” She cringed slightly at the quoted scripture, but it only solidified her belief of who he was.
“Quite an interesting mindset for a demon to have,” Alastor mused, idly twirling his staff through his fingers and watching with relish as another wave of attackers fell on the lone fallen angel. Vaggie couldn’t stand by and watch it happen. She rushed into the fray with her own blades drawn, cutting down every imp and demon on her way to the center of the fight. Even though she tried to suppress it, some deep, instinctual part of her reveled in bloodshed and the knowledge that she was seeing sinners punished for their misdeeds. No! Concentrate! Michael is the reason you’re here!
Yet even when she reached him, he didn’t seem to recognize her, too blinded by battle fever and the red haze in his eyes. “Stay away from me, she-devil!” he snarled, swiping at her as she approached, forcing her to jump back. “One step closer and I’ll end you just like the rest of this fucking scum.”
“Michael, wait!” she cried, dodging again as he lunged at her. Then they were both beset by more attackers and had to defend themselves. Damn it! There was no way they could talk in the middle of all this. Noticing Alastor simply standing by at a distance from the fray, Vaggie called out to him, “Are you going to help or not?”
“I’m not sure which side I’m on, dear,” he explained, cupping his hands over his mouth so his voice would reach her. “Should I be subduing them”—he indicated the demons pouring in from all sides—“or him?” He nodded toward Michael.
“Them!” she shouted back without hesitation. “Just take care of them so we can talk!”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” With a snap of Alastor’s fingers, void-black tentacles snaked in from nowhere to gather up the last of the offending demons and crush them without ceremony. What few were left outside the carnage saw that and turned tail to flee. For once, Vaggie was grateful to have the Radio Demon on her side—but it didn’t stop Michael from seeing her as a target.
“You sinners are all the same,” he said, flipping his dagger over to reverse his grip and adjusting his stance amidst the mess of corpses below. He was still dressed in an archangel’s white leather armor, but it was tattered and torn, hardly as immaculate as expected. “It’s no wonder you’d work together against me. Disgusting.”
“Michael, look at me!” Even as he attacked again, Vaggie held up her spear to block his blades and tried to meet his eyes. “You know me!”
“Liar!” He swung his sword at her legs, and she sprang backward again. She caught another blow with her spear, then another, shoving him back so she could try to catch her breath.
How the hell am I supposed to get through to him if he won’t listen? She had completely forgotten about Alastor, and since no one else bothered trying to attack them, it was just her and Michael, like another sparring session in Heaven. Too familiar. Too real. She recognized the rhythm of his attacks, the way he’d look for openings and which ones he preferred to take.
‘Ah-ah-ah, keep your guard up, Vagatha!’ Michael’s voice came back to her from a hundred years ago, a thousand, so distant but still so clear. His smile as he tripped her up and then helped her back to her feet, pleased with her progress. ‘That was better than last time. You’re still improving.’
God, how could he have wound up here? She had come to find things in Hell that were important to her, things she couldn’t imagine living without, but she still wouldn’t have wished this fate on any other angel. For the briefest moment, he slipped on the blood-slick ground beneath his feet, and Vaggie lunged by instinct, expecting him to dodge. He didn’t. Instead, her spearhead went straight through his shoulder, and he stiffened before grabbing onto its shaft to keep her from pulling it back. To her surprise, he let out a caustic laugh.
“You’re good. I’ll give you that,” he said with a dark, lopsided grin, displaying fangs he’d definitely never had in Heaven. “You matched me blow for blow. I’d almost think… I’d…” His smile slowly faded, his eyes clearing as he blinked them rapidly and seemed to see her for the first time. His brows unfurrowed, and the flames that burned in place of his hair quickly cooled back into the fiery red-orange curls she recognized. In a shockingly weak voice, he managed, “Vagatha?”
“Yes!” She carefully released her spear and took a step back, holding up both hands in surrender. “I told you. You know me.”
“I didn’t think… But how…?” With some effort and a muffled grunt of pain, he yanked the spear out of his shoulder and tossed it to the ground. When he staggered back, Vaggie rushed forward to steady him and wound up falling to her knees along with him. His hands grasped her arms with a grip like an iron vice as he insisted, “You fell. If you’re here, then…” His mottled, earth-colored eyes shone with tears as they drifted up toward the red-tinted sky. She’d never seen him look so lost, so utterly disarmed. “Oh, God help me.”
Michael collapsed against her shoulder and held her tight, shaking, practically hyperventilating. All she knew to do was to wrap her arms around him and sit by in silent solidarity. She remembered this feeling: the pain, the betrayal, the shame and dread that came with falling from grace. From here, she could see that the back of his shirt was ripped open, and the skin underneath was torn and bleeding, like— Like They tore his wings off when They cast him out. What could he possibly have done to deserve this? And how the hell had he been fighting so hard when he had to be in unbearable pain?
“Michael,” she started softly, “what happened? What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know,” he growled, jerking away from her to shove his fingers through his own hair and grasp it tightly. “I don’t know! The last thing I remember is going home from a visit to Earth, and then…this.” He gestured vaguely around with one hand, despair and confusion visible on his face even as he refused to let his tears fall. Then as quickly as it had appeared, his dejection vanished to be replaced with the righteous anger that usually characterized him. “But I’m sure that bastard Lucifer is to blame. I don’t know how he did it or why, but I’d bet anything that he’s the one who brought me here.”
If she were dealing with any other angel, even most archangels, Vaggie would’ve been skeptical and assumed this was just a standard fall due to a moral or faith-based failing. But Michael? He was one of the most devoted servants of the Lord Vaggie had ever worked with; it was all but impossible to imagine him betraying his fellow angels or their Creator. There had to be something else going on.
“Look, it’s not safe for you to be out here on your own,” she told him, trying to take immediate action rather than standing around speculating. “As soon as someone realizes who you are and word gets around, you’re going to have a huge target on your back.” His hatred for demons—and habit of killing them whenever he encountered them on Earth—would mean there were plenty of people in Hell who wanted him dead.
“Let them come,” Michael snarled. He was too much of a natural soldier to back down from a challenge like that. “I’ll scour this entire pit if I have to. I’m going to find Lucifer, and I’ll kill every fucking demon that gets in my—”
“Will you just cool it for a minute?” she snapped, and he seemed shocked by her sharp tone. A lot’s changed since the last time we saw each other. “Be practical. There are way too many demons down here for you to take on all by yourself, especially in your condition. At least come back with us and get some rest before you go off on your big crusade.”
“‘Us’?”
“I do hate to interrupt,” Alastor called, picking his way over the sea of carnage toward them, “but if you two have finished your little spat, we should probably be going.”
“Stay back, demon.” In a split-second, Michael had grabbed up his sword and was on his feet again, putting himself between Vaggie and Alastor. Unsurprisingly, the Radio Demon just looked amused by his reaction.
“It’s funny the way you sling that word, ‘demon,’ like it’s an insult,” he pointed out, stopping just out of range of Michael’s blade. “Do you know where you are, my friend? Do you know what you are?”
“I do, beyond a shadow of a doubt. And I know you’d better not call me ‘friend’ again if you want to keep all your limbs.”
“You two must know each other, dear,” Alastor said, glancing at Vaggie. “A relative of yours, maybe? The resemblance is absolutely uncanny.”
“‘Dear’?” Michael turned slightly toward her without taking his eyes off Alastor. “You know this degenerate?”
Unfortunately. And if he was this hostile toward Alastor on sight, she could only imagine how bad it would be when she introduced him to Charlie. Pushing to her feet, she brushed herself off and explained, “Michael, this is Alastor. We’re…working together, for now. And I don’t think he’s going to attack you, so you can relax.”
“Attack him? I would never. Why, he’s the most promising candidate the hotel has had yet.” Of course Alastor would see this as nothing but an opportunity for more entertainment.
“What hotel? Will you speak sense?”
“I’ll explain on the way,” Vaggie said. “Alastor, can you go back and let Charlie know we’re coming? Ask Niffty to get a room ready too.”
“Consider it done.” With one last curious glance at Michael and a deep nod, the Radio Demon swept away with his shadows. Once he was gone, the former archangel relaxed somewhat and sheathed his blades, though it was obvious from his guarded posture that he wasn’t totally at ease.
They started back toward the city, and Vaggie explained the Hazbin’s mission. Not surprisingly, Michael laughed at the idea of demons finding redemption. “It’s good of you to offer them that chance,” he said, “but I doubt they’ll make the most of it. Most of them probably don’t deserve it. It shouldn’t surprise me you would bring an idea like that with you.”
“Actually, it was my girlfriend’s idea.” And Vaggie’s faith lay more in Charlie than in the hotel itself.
“Oh? Was she an angel too?” he asked, glancing down at her thoughtfully.
“Uh, not exactly,” she answered with a nervous laugh. “Listen. I know this is all really weird and you feel like you don’t belong here. I mean, I get it. I want to help you figure out what’s going on, but we can’t do that if you’re bent on attacking every demon you see. The hotel is kind of full of them. I need you to promise me you won’t hurt anyone under our roof.”
Michael’s mouth twisted into a reluctant grimace. Finally, begrudgingly, he agreed, “You have my word. Unless one of them comes after me first; then all bets are off.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that.” Having his assurance that he wouldn’t hurt anyone did make her feel better about having him around.
“I’m…grateful to have found you, Vagatha,” he went on, walking at her side with his spine straight and hands folded behind his back. Even though his wings were missing, he still carried himself with just as much weight. “Or grateful that you found me. You know I have a hard time of checking my temper around them.”
“Us,” Vaggie corrected, and his frown tugged downward harder. It had taken her a while, but she’d come to terms with the fact that she was a demon now. Meeting Charlie had proven that they weren’t all awful, that they could be as good as they chose, so she no longer thought of the word as being patently negative. Michael, on the other hand, would probably have a harder time getting to that point.
“Right. My point was just that I appreciate you coming for me. I very likely wouldn’t have survived all that otherwise.”
“Don’t mention it.” And don’t thank me just yet. When they reached the hotel’s front doors, she finally made the decision to warn him about Charlie and stopped him outside. “Before you go in, there’s something you need to know about the hotel’s, uh, owner.”
“Your girlfriend, right?” he asked with the slightest smirk on the edge of his lips. “I am curious about her. Don’t worry, I’m thinking clearly at this point; the only demon I have any interest in pursuing is Lucifer.”
“Well, the thing is—”
Before she could get to her explanation, the door opened behind her. “Vaggie!” Charlie was in front of her in seconds, taking her hands, looking over her bloodstained form to check her for injuries. “Are you okay? We saw part of the fight before the cameras cut out, and there were so many of them I was afraid you might get hurt. But you’re okay. Right?”
“I’m fine, hon,” Vaggie assured her, squeezing her hands gently in the hopes they would stop shaking. “Just a little tired. And, uh, I brought a friend.”
Michael was standing stock-still, staring at Charlie with wide, unblinking eyes. So much for giving him some warning.
“Oh, right! Alastor mentioned that. It’s Michael, right? I’m Charlie.” She offered him one of her usual friendly smiles and her hand, but he recoiled like it was a venomous snake.
“This…” he started, his voice low and horror-stricken. “This is your hotel’s owner? The one you’re involved with? His child?” He looked at Vaggie like this was a personal offense, like her being with Charlie was some kind of treason. That was the reaction she’d been afraid of. It was a well-known fact among the heavenly hosts that no angel hated Lucifer more than Michael did, because no angel had been closer to him before his infamous betrayal. And if the rumors Vaggie had heard from her older fellows were trustworthy, the two of them had been very close.
“Um, do you know my dad?” Although she tried to maintain it, Charlie’s smile was quickly fading, as if his accusatory tone was making her feel guilty for being who she was.
“Know him!” Michael barked out a dry laugh. “I knew him once, yes. Or I thought I did. Vagatha, you can’t expect me to stay here. I can’t possibly.”
“Lucifer has nothing to do with the hotel,” Vaggie argued quickly, hurrying to block his path as he turned to leave. Behind him, she saw Charlie wince at the sight of his injured back. “He won’t be here. You won’t have to see him until you’re ready.”
“But she’ll be here.” He jerked a thumb back at Charlie, who shrank a little. “And every time I look at her, I’ll see him.”
“Whatever Lucifer did to you, she had nothing to do with it.” Hoping it would reach him, she took a page from his (that is, Their) book and recited, “‘The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father: the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him.’ She’s a good person, Michael. I wouldn’t be with her if I didn’t genuinely believe that.”
“That doesn’t change what she is. I appreciate your help, but I’ll—”
As he tried to walk past her, she summoned her spear again and shoved him back. “Will you stop being so fucking stubborn? You’re already hurt. You need somewhere safe to stay while you recover. If you go off on your own again, you’re going to get torn limb from limb.”
His shock quickly shifted to irritation as he listened. “Thank you for your concern,” he answered coolly, “but I can take care of myself. Now let me pass.”
“No! You’re being an idiot. I’ll knock you out and drag your ass inside if I have to.”
Michael’s hand lingered on his sword, but he didn’t draw it. “Stand down, Vagatha.”
“I don’t take orders from you anymore, and I’m not going to watch you walk away when I know I could’ve helped,” she shot back. “I might be the only person down here who cares whether you live or die. Are you smart enough to see the value in that, or have I been overestimating you all these years?” Challenging him like this was a gamble, and she knew it.
He kept his gaze fixed steadily on her for several agonizing seconds, long fingers drumming along the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword. Finally, he let out a sigh and shook his head. “I think you’ve found your voice since leaving us.”
“I had some help.” She stole a glance at her girlfriend, who was beaming at her conviction. Sometimes tough love was the only tool for the job. Seeing that Michael was still undecided, Vaggie tried again in earnest, “Just stay long enough to heal up. I can help you figure out what happened in the meantime.”
He threw up his hands, probably tired of idle argument, and conceded, “Fine. I think it must be His will that we found each other at all, so I would be wrong to work against it.”
“Thank you,” she sighed in relief.
“That being said,” he went on, raising an eyebrow at her, “don’t think you could so easily knock me out and drag me anywhere.”
“I’m glad you didn’t make me,” Vaggie confessed as they headed inside.
As expected, Niffty already had a room prepared, and Michael locked himself inside without bothering to meet the rest of the hotel’s population. He couldn’t avoid them forever, but Vaggie felt she’d pushed him enough for one day, so she didn’t argue.
“I’m sorry,” she told Charlie once they had a minute alone. “I should’ve warned you before I brought him here. This is going to be hard for him to get used to, but I really think he’ll lighten up some once he does.”
“Don’t worry about it. He needs help, and that’s what we’re here for,” Charlie reminded her. “I’m glad you brought him! And hey, maybe he’ll have some fun stories to tell about you as an angel.”
“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t get your hopes up about that.” Heaven doesn’t really bother with ‘fun.’