Disclaimer: I don't own Helluva Boss

Title: Oh, but I'm not bitter, I'm just tired

Summary: Mammon has a bad dream about losing Bon Bon.

...

People who don't know shit about blood think it flows like water. It doesn't. It's grimy and grubby like molasses, clinging to his outfit like an adoring fan with a blade. Mammon is as old as Hell itself, and that means his blood comes out black and sluggish, dripping to the cobblestone in pathetic dribbles that will dry and crumble in minutes. He's not worried about being stabbed. Just makes him a bit whoozy, is all. He'll be on his feet in a few hours.

The same can't be said of the sobbing infant in the bastard's arms.

"C'mon, mate. Ye can't tell me yer hankerin' to kill an ankle biter." Mammon holds out his hands in silent prayer, pleading. "Give 'er over."

The exorcist looks at him like gum under his heel. They always do. Greed's not usually a target during the yearly exterminations, but it's not exactly a far drive from Pride, neither. The angel plucks a delicate feather from Bonbon's wing, holding it to the reddish light. Bonbon shrieks and he winces. "Since when do your kind interbreed?"

"She's not mine," Mammon lies. Lies because Bonbon is not biologically his, not his daughter and barely even his niece, and that's just good business sense. Sins can't have kids- it always ends up the same. "Children are a gift from the Lord. They are a reward from Him." Sizzling blackness leaves Mammon's maw as he speaks the old Psalm, burning his tongue. Holy words aren't for Sins either.

"A gift," the angel muses, smiling sharp teeth. They really did look the same as imps. "Yes, I suppose it is. I don't often get to hurt you monsters."

Dainty claws close in around Bonbon's head. The baby screams, muffled.

"Don't," pleads Mammon. "I'll- I'll give ya anything. Ye want money?" What angel would want dirty money? "How about my heart? I'll rip it out for ya. It'll make fer a good piece over your fireplace."

"It'll just grow back," he dismisses. "But she won't."

It's a gentle flick of his wrist.

Snap.


"FUCK," Mammon cries, almost falling out of his cobweb sling. Bags of money are wrapped in bundles around him as he wobbles out of the hammock. Snagging a cigar to puff away the anxiety, Mammon fell into a bulky office chair and immediately called up his cameras. "FUCK!" he repeated, seeing the fuzz. They'd gotten all up his ass about those, hadn't they?

Snagging his cane, Mammon felt the familiar pull as he telelported. He hadn't bothered to check the time, but it was dark in Bonbon's nursery when he appeared. He waddled over to the crib and felt a deep relief to see the baby snoozing inside. He reached down to gently touch her neck, feeling the pulse. She shifted but didn't stir.

Fucking Heaven. Fucking angels. Fuck 'em all. If there was anything like fairness in this world, there wouldn't be infants in Hell.

Carefully, he unfurled her working wing, counting each and every feather. To be plucked in Hell was almost a worse fate then death. Chronic pain, endless nightmares, loss of motion. He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy. And Mammom was far from above wishing shitty things to happen to his enemies.

"Mamm?"

Mammon startled, bells jingling. Fizzarolli was in the doorway with a cup of coffee and a concerned look on his face. Mammon wondered just how long he'd stood at the crib for coffee to be made and Fizz to put his cap and prosthetics on. "Fizzy?"

"You made the baby monitor lose its shit," he explained, leaning on the doorway. "What're you doing here?"

He looked back at the sleeping Bonbon, slowly tucking her wing back to position. "Jus' making sure yew don't put any toys in 'er crib. Great way to suffocate a baby, that."

"Uh-huh," Fizz said, deadpan. "Why don'tcha come get some coffee, Mammon?"

"Yeah, alright." Coffee would do him good. Mammon grabbed his cane- when he had tossed it aside?- and shuffled out the door.


Ozzie was surprisingly cheerful as he bustled about the kitchen. Mammon had learned young that mixing Fizzarolli and cooking was a great way to lose a perfectly good frying pan, and that didn't seem to be changing as he hopped up across from Mammon at the table. Asmodeus was flipping pancakes and eggs with dexterous hands, the sizzle comforting.

It was only two in the morning, but Mammon slugged his coffee like it was vodka. He knew there was no going back to sleep after a bout like that. "Can I smoke? I'm gonna smoke." He pulled out a second cigar.

"You're paying for the cleaning," Asmodeus happily chimed in behind him.

"Fuck it," he decided, and lit up regardless. "Bonnie's sleeping through the night now?"

"Thank Hell," Fizzarolli said, looking relieved. "I was thiiiiiisssssss close to quitting my job." He held his hand up and touched the two robotic fingers together. "Ozzie promised to kill me if I got a wild hair up my ass and wanted a second baby."

"Ye could always adopt an older one," Mammon advised, taking a puff. A perfect smoke ring floated off to places unknown. "They could care fer the littler one. Free childcare!"

"Mamm, that's child labor," Fizzarolli said, firmly but gently.

"It's Hell, Fizzy! We're allowed."

Asmodeus came over with plates of pancakes, eggs, and sausage, setting them out with a chipper grin. He smiled so saccharinely at Mammon he knew the Sin was going to kill him later. "Lovely night for a late dinner, isn't it?"

"It's brekky," Mammon argued.

"It's my house you broke into. I make the rules. And I say it's dinner." Ozzie nuzzled Fizzarolli with a chuckle before slipping into his own seat. "What's got your clown suit in a twist before working hours, Mammon?"

"Jus' wanted to see my niece," he lied. "She's gettin' right big, ain't she? Gonna be a big bastard like her papa."

Asmodeus' smile went lopsided. "She's so big already! It feels like yesterday I could cradle her between two fingers." He sighed, forlorn. "The teen years are gonna kick my ass."

Mammon managed a smile at that, toothy and broken. He'd never felt like he belonged in a place like this; a lovely kitchen for two lovebirds and their beautiful child. A Sin couldn't have that. Even if Asmodeus seemed to think otherwise.

And maybe, deep down, Mammon believed him. Maybe that was why he was working so hard to avoid his nightmares becoming reality. Maybe he just wanted to see what a succubus-imp hybrid looked like when it was raised by an imp and a Sin. Maybe he loved them. Maybe he knew damn well he did. But Mammon knew that wasn't his place, knew it wasn't his home, and knew it would never be his family.

But it was too much to say such things. Greed covets. If Asmodeus and Fizzarolli found it in their hearts to free up some space for him, Mammon would want more and more, and it would consume them both. Mammon knew that. He knew Asmodeus knew it, too. This was the best he'd ever get from either of them- for their own safety.

Maybe he loved them enough to be okay with that.

He snickered. "So, Ozzie, yer lookin' fine and refreshed. Didja even sleep tonight, or was it a paddywhackin' session?"

Ozzie's smile didn't waver. "Froggy, be a dear and get the broom, would you? I'm going to chase out a spider."

"Hey! I haven't even finished my eggs yet."

"Eggs aren't for perverts!"

Mammon clutched his plate protectively, cigar sticking out from his lips. "It's an honest question!"

"I'll kill you."

"And mess up these carpets? Fer shame, Ozzie."

Maybe he could be okay with just this.

Author's Note: For a friend! I was really excited to explore Mammon's mind for this bad boy. Call me a Psychonaut, because I went hog wild!

-Mandaree1