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This night was a normal Friday night in Devildom. The only light were the lanterns in the streets, the sky, pitch black, had no clouds. A distant bass from a club could be heard, the sent of cheap alcohol hung thick in the air.
"Another round!" Mammon exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the table. On his face was stretched a wide grin that spelled trouble, he smelled like alcholol.
"You're already on your fourth round, Goldie! You won't be able to walk back to the House of Lamentation later." Thirteen drawled, looking at the drunk demon with a slighly tipsy smirk. She played a bit with her drink a bit, finding Mammon's state amusing.
"Fourth?" Mephistopheles scoffed, smoothing down his immaculate coat as he sat among the chaos of half-empty bottles. His green eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "It's his seventh at least. Not that anyone expect less from the 'Great Mammon'."
Mammon waved him off, already finishing another drink with reckless enthusiasm. The liquid burned down his throat, his cheeks flushing warm. "Restraint is forrrrr losers! The world's greatest demon deserves a night off!" He exclaimed, slurring a bit his words.
"You mean the world's greatest liability." Mephistopheles muttered, but the corners of his mouth curled into a slight smile.
Thirteen leaned back, arms crossed, looking at Mephistopheles while still keeping an eye on her drunk friend. "I'm calling it now, he's gonna try to fight somebody, cry or pass out before the end of tonight, maybe even do all three!"
Mammon shot her a glare, his unfocused eyes and hiccup betraying his attempt at seeming less drunk. "Ya don't- don't know nothin'! I'm the best at- at-" He slammed his empty glass on the counter again, trailing off.
The bartender gave the trio a wary glare but kept pouring, after all, cutting off a demon of Mammon's rank would be asking for death, he was already slipping from tipsy to dangerous, it's better not to risk it. And that's when chaos started going down. Mammon stood up too fast, stumbling into the table beside theirs, and sent a tray of flaming cocktails flying. Thirteen cackled. Mephistopheles groaned. Mammon blinked blearily at the mess and slurred,
“...See? Perfectly fine."
The spilled cocktails hissed as their flames licked the floor, quickly snuffed out by the bartender’s spell. A few demons at nearby tables muttered in annoyance, but Mammon just stood there swaying, trying to look steady. His hands fumbled with his jacket pocket like he’d meant to do that all along.
“Mammon,” Mephistopheles sharply said, crossing his arms. “Sit down before you disgrace yourself any further.”
Mammon barked out a laugh, far too loud for comfort, the sound cracking at the edges. “Disgrace? Ha! That’s all I ever do, ain’t it? Mess up, screw up, let everybody down—” He cut himself off with a hiccup, his cocky grin wobbling.
Thirteen tilted her head, her smirk faltering just a fraction of a second. “Hey, Goldie, you’re getting too real. Don’t start crying in your drink, that’s no fun.” She half heartedly teased, trying to light up the mood.
But Mammon was already tumbling forward, gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Lucifer don’t even look at me without thinkin’ I’m trouble. ‘Mammon, don’t touch this, don’t break that, don’t gamble away the rent.’” He mocked the words in a rough, bitter imitation, voice cracking. “Like I don’t already know I’m the family screw-up…”
For a heartbeat, silence settled over the table. Even the background noise of the bar seemed to fade.
Mephistopheles’s usual cocky expression softened. “You’re drunk.”
Mammon’s laugh cracked again, this time closer to a sob. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, wiping the tears away before they could fall. “I’m drunk ‘cause it’s the only time it don’t hurt so much. Only time I can forget that no matter what I do, I’ll never—never be enough.”
Thirteen shifted uncomfortably, tossing back the rest of her drink to mask the way her expression flickered. “You’re pathetic, you know that?” she muttered, though it sounded more to hide her growing concern for her friend. But Mammon didn’t hear her he was already stumbling to his feet again, weaving toward the door, muttering about “needing air” as though it could wash away the ache carved into his chest. And when the door slammed behind him, the laughter and neon glow of the bar carried on as if nothing had happened, leaving Mephistopheles and Thirteen feeling concerned for their drunk friend.
The Devildom air bit him like a cold shower, sharp with sulfur and mist. Mammon stumbled into the street, his boots splashing into puddles. His breath came ragged, more from the weight in his heart than the alcohol clouding his mind.
“Pathetic,” he muttered to himself, stumbling against a lamp post glowing a sickly green. His reflection in the glass storefront nearby looked warped, tired. “Second-born, huh? More like second-best. Second to everyone.” His voice cracked, breaking into a choked laugh.
The streets were mostly quiet at this hour, save for the occasional carriage rattling past. Mammon barely noticed the figure approaching until a hand settled gently on his shoulder.
“Mammon?”
The voice was soft, but it carried enough warmth to cut through the haze. He turned, blinking blearily, and found Simeon, lantern in hand, his light blue eyes seeming dark like the deep sea under the night sky.
For a moment, Mammon’s usual cocky behavior flared up. “Heh, what’s a holy man like you doin’ out here in the gutter? You come t’ laugh at me too?”
Simeon didn’t flinch, de didn’t scold. His eyes were steady, kind. “No. I came because I was worried. I simply saw that you seemed distressed.”
Mammon’s throat felt tight. The words twisted like a knife. He felt the need to laugh it off, shove Simeon away, stagger back into the shadows where no one could see how broken he felt, but the angel’s gaze pinned him in place.
“...Nobody worries ‘bout me,” he slurred, his voice breaking. “Not really. I’m just... the- the idiot brother. The greedy one. Nothin’ but trouble. Lucifer… the others… they’d all be better off without me draggin’ ‘em down.”
The admission slipped out before he could stop it, raw and jagged as glass. Simeon’s grip on his shoulder tightened, grounding. “You’re wrong.” Mammon’s head snapped up, eyes glassy and red. Simeon’s voice was quiet but unwavering. “You’re loved, Mammon. Even when you can’t see it yourself.”
The second-born shook his head violently, the motion making him stumble. Simeon caught him before he fell, holding him steady as the first real sob broke free from Mammon’s throat. And as the rain started pouring, Mammon clung to him, not because Simeon was an angel, not because he had the answers, but because in that moment, Simeon didn’t see the scoundrel or the failure.
He just saw Mammon. The nice Mammon. The Mammon that cared. The Mammon that was hurt but kept going.
The sobs came in uneven bursts, torn from Mammon’s throat as if he’d been holding them back for centuries. His hands fisted in Simeon’s robes, trembling, while the rain slicked his white hair against his forehead.
“I’m worthless,” Mammon gasped out, words slurred but painfully clear. “All I do is screw up, get yelled at, get punished. I try, Simeon, I try, but nothin’ I do’s ever enough. Everyone laughs, everyone looks at me like I’m… like I’m nothin’ but a joke.”
His voice cracked on the last word. Simeon listened, silent, letting the storm of Mammon’s grief batter against him. Only when Mammon’s sobs faltered into ragged breathing did he speak.
“You’re not worthless.” His voice was soft but firm, the kind of gentleness that left no room for doubt. “I’ve seen you, Mammon. The way you protect your brothers without thinking. The way you throw yourself into danger to keep the people you love safe. That is not nothing. That is everything.”
Mammon shook his head, refusing to believe it. “Lucifer hates me. He- he only ever sees me as a burden. And the others… they just put up with me ‘cause they gotta. If I was gone…” His voice broke again, thin and fragile. “If I was gone, nobody’d miss me.”
Simeon’s heart clenched. He cupped Mammon’s face, tilting it up so their eyes met. The angel’s expression was steady, though his own chest ached with the weight of Mammon’s despair.
“You’re wrong,” Simeon whispered. “They would miss you more than you can imagine. You’re their brother, their light, even if they can’t always say it. And as for me… I would miss you. Because the world would be dimmer without you in it.”
For a moment, Mammon could only stare at him, searching his face for the lie. But Simeon didn’t lie. Simeon couldn’t lie. It's against his principles.
The truth in those words cracked something open inside him, and Mammon broke all over again, this time collapsing fully against Simeon’s chest. The angel wrapped his arms around him, holding the trembling demon close, letting him cry without shame.
The rain poured harder, soaking them both to the skin, but Simeon didn’t care. He rested his chin lightly on top of Mammon’s head, his voice low and steady as he murmured, “You’re not alone. Not tonight. Not ever.” And for the first time in a long while, Mammon let himself believe it, just a little.
By the time Mammon’s tears slowed, his whole body sagged with exhaustion. His grip on Simeon’s robes loosened, leaving behind damp wrinkles and the faint smell of alcohol. Simeon brushed a wet strand of silver hair from Mammon’s forehead. “Come,” he said gently. “You shouldn’t be out here in the rain like this. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”
Mammon muttered something incoherent, his pride trying to claw its way back even through the fog of liquor. “I don’t… need babysittin’…” But the words carried no fire. When Simeon guided his arm over his shoulder, Mammon leaned against him without resistance.
The walk to Purgatory Hall was quiet, the rain softening to a steady drizzle. Mammon stumbled more than once, but Simeon kept him upright with patient steadiness. By the time they reached the door, Mammon’s head pressed heavily against Simeon’s shoulder, his pride and stubborness long since burned out.
Inside, the air was warm, scented faintly with tea and lavender. Simeon helped Mammon onto the couch, fetching a towel to warp over his shoulders. The demon blinked, eyes glassy and red. “You didn’t have to…” Mammon murmured, voice hoarse. “You don’t even like me.”
Simeon knelt in front of him, meeting his gaze. “That isn’t true. I like you, Mammon. Very much. You wear your pain under a mask of mischief, but that doesn’t make you any less deserving of kindness.”
Mammon swallowed hard, his lower lip trembling. “…I don’t deserve it.” He said, unsure if he was trying to convice Simeon or himself.
“Maybe not,” Simeon said softly, Mammon’s eyes widened at the honesty. But then Simeon added, “None of us deserve grace, Mammon. That’s why it’s called grace. It’s given, not earned. And tonight, I want to give it to you.”
The words undid him. Mammon’s shoulders shook again, but this time the sobs were quieter, softer, more like a release than a collapse. Simeon stayed there, steady and grounding, until Mammon finally drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep against the cushions.
Simeon tucked a blanket around him, brushing his hair back with a tenderness that no one else ever saw. “Rest well, Mammon,” he whispered. “When you wake, the world will still need you. And so will I.”
With that, he dimmed the lanternlight and sat next to the demon, keeping quiet to make sure he'll be okay, ready to be there if Mammon needed him again.
The next morning, Mammon woke to the low hum of birdsong outside Purgatory Hall’s windows, his head pounding in time with his heartbeat. His mouth was dry, his body heavy, and for a moment he didn’t remember how he’d gotten here. The faint smell of tea and lavender reached him first. Then, the sensation of something warm and steady against his side.
He cracked an eye open. Simeon was sitting on the couch beside him, half-leaning against the armrest, his head tilted gently where he’d dozed off. One of his arms was still draped around Mammon’s shoulders, as if he’d refused to let go even in sleep.
Mammon’s chest tightened. A blush crept over his cheeks, though whether it was from the hangover or something else, he couldn’t tell. He shifted slightly, trying not to wake the angel. But Simeon stirred anyway, blue eyes blinking open with serene clarity. “Good morning,” he said softly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be holding the Avatar of Greed like this.
Mammon immediately looked away, mumbling, “Uh… mornin’…” His voice was hoarse, scratchy. “Guess I, uh, made a fool of myself last night, huh?”
Simeon’s expression didn’t falter, not even a shadow of judgment in his gaze. “You were honest. That isn’t foolish.”
Mammon fidgeted under the blanket, his usual cocky facade nowhere to be found. “Ya didn’t have to stay. But… thanks.” His voice cracked slightly on the word, and he clenched his jaw to steady it.
Simeon smiled faintly, squeezing Mammon’s shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me. Sometimes, even the strongest masks need to be set down. And when they do, it helps to know someone is there to catch you.”
Before Mammon could think of a response, a voice squeaked from the doorway.
“Wha?! What’s this?!”
Both of them looked up to see Luke frozen in place, clutching his stuffed bear, eyes wide with shock. Behind him, Solomon peered over his shoulder, brows raised, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips.
“Now this is a strange sight.” Solomon said smoothly. “The great Mammon, snuggled up with the sweet Simeon. My, my.”
“Snuggled?!” Mammon yelped, sitting up at a speed record, face burning red. “Oi, don’t go spreadin’ weird rumors!”
Luke stomped into the room, cheeks puffed out in indignation. “Why’s he here anyway?!" He paused, noticing Mammon's still red eyes. "Mammon, did you… did you cry or something?!” He asked, confused.
“Wha- NO! I didn’t!” Mammon sputtered, flustered beyond belief.
Simeon just chuckled softly, getting up with the same calm dignity as always. “He was having a difficult night, so I offered him shelter and stayed with him. That’s all.” He gave Mammon a reassuring glance before adding, “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Mammon groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “This is so embarrassin’…”
But beneath the mortification and the hangover, a tiny part of him felt lighter. Safer. Almost… cherished.
And Simeon’s quiet presence by his side lingered like the memory of sunlight after a storm.