#kept Luke's angelic form vague bc I feel like it'll be revealed in canon pretty soon and I don't like being wrong 😔

[solomo-n]

Avert Your Gaze

Characters: MC, Satan, Beelzebub, Luke

Pairing: N/A

Warnings: mild descriptions of violence

Other: SFW, gender neutral MC (they/them), second-person perspective

Word count: 1626

Summary: Cute outing with two of the brothers takes a turn for the worse, until a certain angel steps in to save the day.

You had been fine just a moment ago.

Wandering along the cobblestone streets of the Devildom, the gentle glow of the lanterns above you bathed the path in soft pinks and greens. You were flanked on either side by two of the brothers, Satan and Beelzebub.

Satan had, earlier in the day, asked you to accompany him to try a new café that had just set up shop in town. He had sauntered into the common room, exuding an air of easy confidence as he extended his invitation, hoping to score some alone time with you. Unfortunately for him, Beel had been passing by the doorway and, upon hearing that a new café had opened, took the liberty of inviting himself on your little date.

So, the couple-turned-throuple set out into the early afternoon crowd. Satan, to his credit, had adjusted his plans rather quickly. He calmed his temper with the knowledge that Beel would most certainly be more focused on the pastries than on either of you, so really, his plan was still a go.

Or, at least, it would have been if he hadn’t allowed himself to become so focused on trying to pull Beel away from a restaurant window that he left you alone by the curb.

It had happened fast, too fast for either brother to react once they heard your cry of alarm. Their heads snapped immediately to where you had been standing, only to have to lower their gazes to the damp street. You were lying on your back, hands clutched tight to your side. Their inhuman senses picked up the sharp, metallic scent of blood.

The apparition that struck you was already bounding around a corner, having carried out their gruesome task.

Satan’s vision went red, his casual form fizzles out and is immediately replaced by his demonic counterpart. Before he can leap after the perpetrator, Beel calls out to him, cradling your smaller body close to his chest. Blood now seeps from your clasped fingers, staining your shirt and the street below you a sickening crimson. Satan closes his eyes and forces himself to take several deep breaths, willing his energy to fold back into its former shape.

“It’s bad.” Beel grits, hands holding you tightly against him. “Really bad.”

Satan purses his lips and brushes his fingers lightly against the back of your hand. You flinch away from his touch with a whimper. Your own blood pools around you. That much blood, that fast… Satan knows that Beel is right. It is bad. Really bad.

“If you bring out your wings and fly them back to the house, you can transfuse the blood we keep in storage.” The cogs in Satan’s mind begin to whirl, focus narrowing on the logistics of the plan in a desperate bid to distract himself from how damn fragile you look in Beel’s arms.

Beel makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t know how to do that.” He furrows his brow. “And they’re bleeding so much now, if I move them-“

The two demons halt their argument when another cry rings out behind them. They swivel their heads in unison, which would be hilarious if you had not already fallen unconscious from blood loss.

There, standing under the soft magical lights, is Luke. The parcel of bread and devilmatoes he had been ferrying dropped unceremoniously onto the cobblestone road.  

“What,” he voice wavering, a finger lifted accusingly in their direction, “did you do to them?!” His eyes flit between Satan, Beel, and your lax form betwixt them.

“We didn’t do anything.” Satan snapped, “it was some lower demonic scum. You don't honestly think that we’d hurt them, do you?”

The angel boy’s face scrunched up in anger, opening his mouth to hurl more accusations their way before Beel cut him off.

“Please, help them.” He said, “With your celestial magic. They still teach angels how to heal, don’t they?”

Luke’s jaws snap shut, gaze darting towards your bloodied form. “I… yes I can. Give them to me.” He steps over his parcel, arms outstretched.

Beel carefully maneuvers himself around you, Satan leaning in compliantly to help transfer your supine form into the angel’s arms.

Once he settles your head limply against his shoulder, Luke brushes his trembling fingers against your cheek, soft skin marred with little cuts from your fall. He bites his lip to silence the whimper that threatened to slip out. Sometimes it was easy to forget that you were so much weaker than him.

Luke pauses, your head cradled in his small hands. He shoots a sharp look back at the two demon brothers that had crowded around the two of you expectantly. “Well,” he bites, “avert your gaze!”

Beel turns his back without hesitation. Satan, however, continues to stare upon the kneeling figure with open curiosity. Without looking back, Beelzebub grabs the Avatar of Wrath by the top of his head and turns his face away sharply, forcing his body to follow suit to avoid a broken neck.

“Fucking hell, Beel,” the fourth oldest starts, attempting to swat his brother’s large hand away.

Beel retains his hold and leans in close. “It’s a personal thing.” He states. The look in his eye offers no room for argument.

Satan can feel the urge to continue his struggle bubble up within him, egged on by his sin, but he grits his teeth and forces it back down. He doesn’t understand. He was never an angel. The gap in knowledge, in life experience, grates on his nerves something fierce. For your sake, however, he’ll ignore it.

Satisfied that the two men aren’t watching, Luke returns his attention to your body lying prone on the pavement. His fingers once again brush against your cheek, in the tender way that a child does when holding something fragile, and he closes his eyes.

If you had been conscious, you would’ve described it as rapturous; the light emitting from his blurring form too bright for mortal eyes to bear. Within that white light, Luke’s body shifted, an amalgam of incomprehensible shapes twisting and reforming anew. Two of these shapes stretched backwards, trembling slightly as if it is with effort that they take on the contours of wings, small and cherubic.

His arm (?) reaches out, composed entirely of hard light, and hovers over your stomach. Fingers (?) splay out above your mortal wound, not quite touching. The gentle light of his form extends past his palm (?) and permeates the injury with its warmth. Slowly but surely, the angry red gash in your side begins to mend, flesh stitching together, leaving only smooth skin behind. A miracle.

Seeming satisfied with his work, Luke tilts your head back against his shoulder (?) and passes his light over your slackened face. The scrapes and bruises that you had accrued in your struggle faded from red to purple, to green, to yellow, before vanishing entirely.

Your eyelids began to flutter, color returning to your cheeks as your body caught up to the fact that you were no longer dying. Quickly, Luke tamped out his celestial light, his form shifting and twisting once more before finally settling into his usual vessel.

“Luke…?” You called out, wincing at the weakness of your own voice.

Luke presses his palm against your cheek, hiccuping out your name. “Are you okay? How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? Have you always been this tall?” He bombarded you with questions, fingers pinching and prodding at your face.

Upon hearing your voice, Satan and Beel turned to face you both, the sacrilege of viewing Luke’s holy light no longer a deterrent. Beel helped Luke slowly pull you up into a sitting position while Satan peeled your bloodied shirt back slightly, examining the soft flesh where your wound had once been.

“What happened?” You murmur, hand coming up to press against your forehead.

“You were attacked.” Beel says. “You were too far away, I couldn’t get to you in time. I’m… I’m…” His face contorts, not willing to cry in front of you for fear of upsetting you further.

“Oh. Oh, Beel.” You caress his face softly, rubbing a thumb under his eye though no tears fell. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” You pause. “How am I okay?”

“Luke healed you.” Satan has moved up to inspect your face now, grasping your chin lightly as he turns your face hither and yon.

Your eyes flick over to the young angel who had remained glued to your side despite the two demons that now crowded around you.

He shifts under your gaze. “I…” he squares his shoulders, “I am an angel, you know. And angels have the ability to heal humans. Which is what I did. I healed you.” He leans in closer, scrutinizing your belly. “I did heal you, right?”

You weren’t in any pain, save a mild headache, but you decide to let the young angel have his victory. “Yes, I’m fine now. Thank you, Luke.”

The look of relief that washes over his face would’ve been adorable had the situation not been so dire only moments ago. Satan, finally satisfied that you were, in fact, fine, raises an eyebrow at the boy’s reaction. “What, was that the first time you’ve ever healed someone?”

Hit the nail right on the head, evidently, as the angel releases your arm and reels backwards. He begins to defend himself, stating that he’s only been taking healing lessons for a little over 200 years so of course he’s never been allowed to heal an actual person before.

As Satan continues to gleefully antagonize the angel boy, you smile up at Beel, and he smiles back. Everything was just fine.

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A/N: yooo this is literally the first thing I’ve written since middle school, so I hope it’s enjoyable 😔😔😔