Over the next several weeks, Michael and Emily settle into life at the hotel. It was easier than Michael expected, finding a place and niche for himself and Emily to fill within the hotel's band of merriment and day-to-day. Emily thrived, her job as the seraphim overseeing joy in Heaven proving to be a significantly transferable skill to the hotel, and Charlie was ecstatic with Emily's eagerness to help and her ideas.

Michael took over (read: started, since apparently no one believed that detailed reporting was pertinent) with the bookkeeping of the hotel, his own record keeping and information sorting responsibilities in Heaven likewise proving to be convenient for the hotel. He spent most of the first few weeks holed up in the hotel's library – really a den, the two bookshelves with a total of forty or so books on the dusty shelves unable to fully convince Michael it was a library – commandeering the space as his office while he worked through the months of backlogged bookkeeping and set up a system for the newcomers in order to keep track of progress and budget.

The system was necessary, as Alastor had kept his word to Charlie and broadcasted nearly nightly the news of Sir Pentious and his ascension to Heaven. It wasn't until the third week that the first new patrons of the hotel started to trickle in. Whether or not they were truly convinced that redemption was possible or just looking for a free and safe place to stay was difficult for Michael to tell, but Charlie turned away no one.

Most of the new patrons arriving at the hotel were ones genuinely seeking some form of solace, so Michael doesn't get involved with the vetting like Vaggie and Alastor do of the new arrivals. For the most part, Lucifer's semi-consistent presence at the hotel keeps at bay any trouble seekers, as no one in their right mind would dare subterfuge the daughter of the King of Hell, especially when he's known to make appearances at the hotel somewhat regularly. Unfortunately, not all the new patrons are as gentle as Sir Pentious or as harmless appearing as Angel Dust. Per Charlie though, 'being creepy' isn't a reason to turn someone away.

Michael runs into said such new patron in the hallway of the hotel one evening, a stack of paper in his hand he needs Charlie to look at and Alastor to explain (why is the hotel subscribed to so many issues of something called a Bayou Banquet, Alastor?) when he turns a corner and is suddenly face-to-face with a tall scorpion demon.

He's taller than Michael, and walks on lithe legs, clothed head to toe in black and red leather. His eyes are a bright orange, set too far apart on a long face. Behind him, the deadly end of a barbed tip tail glints. The scorpion smiles wide, mouth full of yellowed teeth. Michael gives a polite apology for nearly running into him and steps around, continuing his way down the hotel with a grimace. He can feel the scorpion demon's eyes on his back the entire way until he turns for the staircase.

By the end of the fifth week since Emily and Michael's arrival, the hotel has two dozen less available rooms.

"I propose a celebration!" Charlie insists one evening after dinner, clapping her hands together. The original group consisting of Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk, Niffty, and Vaggie plus Michael and Emily sit around the lobby's den of the hotel, fully taking up the available space on the chairs and couch.

"This is the most occupied the hotel has ever been, and I have a feeling it's only going to grow in size!" Charlie continues. "I think we should celebrate the progress we've made, together."

Emily smiles wide and Vaggie gives Charlie a soft look. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well…"

And that's how Michael finds himself hours later with an armful of a lanky spider demon and Emily on his back, half-asleep.

They had debated for a little while on what the crew should do, with the majority vote leaning towards leaving the hotel for the celebration instead of doing something casual around the hotel's own bar. The loudest opinions came from Angel and Niffty, the latter very much wanting to return to the club they had visited the night of leisure with Cherri Bomb. ('Need more for my collection,' Niffty had giggled menacingly. The group didn't comment, and Michael didn't ask.) Charlie agreed that they should head out for a night on the town and that was that.

Angel Dust mostly walks on his own, with Michael just keeping an arm linked under his upper shoulders for support. Husk is on his other side, rolling his eyes with less irritation than Michael previously expected when Angel first stumbled next to them after leaving the club. Cherri, who had also joined the group at Angel's request is on Husk's other side, amused at the antics of the three. Angel tips towards Husk with a laugh and when Husk wraps an arm around his waist to steady him Michael relinquishes his hold, Husk taking the majority of the spider demon's weight.

"Come on, kid," he says gruffly. Angel has an arm over his shoulders and tips his head back with a grin.

"Oh lighten up, old man," he says humorously. "I didn't even have that much, these are happy stumbles!" It's punctuated by him tripping over nothing, Husk's hold on him the only thing keeping him upright.

"Right," Husk says flatly. Cherri laughs loudly and claps a hand on Angel's back.

Charlie and Vaggie are ahead of the group, hand in hand as Charlie swings their arms, humming a chipper tune. Vaggie is doing the majority of the leading, keeping Charlie in a mostly straight line back towards the hotel.

"I love you, Vaggie," Charlie says with a happy sigh, sidling close to the other girl and clasping Vaggie's arm with both hands, head on her shoulder as they walk. It's an interesting position due to the height difference between the girls. Michael catches the profile of Vaggie's smile, who replies back to Charlie in a soft voice he doesn't pick up.

Slightly behind the girls, Alastor walks with Niffty, who has climbed from his arms to wiggle up on a shoulder and then back again, chittering to him about the newest additions to her collection. He smiles the entire time, and if he's annoyed by her constant movement and conversation, he doesn't show it. He hums at appropriate intervals and puts a hand on her back when she teeters too far backward.

Michael makes up the rear of the group and watches with a soft smile. He's a little surprised when Emily speaks up suddenly, not as asleep as he once thought.

"I like them a lot," Emily says quietly. Michael can't see her face, but he can tell she's smiling.

Michael turns his head to glance at her from over his shoulder. "Not a bad bunch, hm?"

There's a comfortable silence between them as they follow, watching the individuals together. It's another moment before Emily speaks again, but this time the smile in her voice is gone. She speaks quietly, for Michael's ears only.

"I thought that this would be harder," she starts, hesitating for a handful of heartbeats before continuing. "Is it…bad that this has been easy?"

Michael knows that she doesn't just mean making friends with Charlie and her band of sinners. While Emily's natural charisma made her Charlie's match for likableness, there were other, less obvious ways that their relocation to Hell had been made easy. The stories and biases that Emily had grown up hearing about Hell, while some were definitely true (Emily finding out Alastor was a literal cannibal led her to give him a significantly wide berth for a week), she found that the majority of sinners were comparable to Heaven's souls, with friends, goals, feelings, and the likes. Granted, some of the goals and aspirations of sinners were indeed terrifying or bloodthirsty, the mass of them definitely earning their ticket to Hell, but otherwise the stories of them being mindless monsters were quickly dispelled after just a few weeks.

When Charlie visited Heaven with the plan to rehabilitate souls, Emily had immediately already seen the righteousness and rightness of the ideal. Coming down to Hell and seeing the hotel and plan in action for herself had just strengthened her resolve. The fact that the Extermination destroyed hundreds of thousands of souls like Angel Dust, Husk, and Cherri Bomb weighed heavily on Emily.

Michael looks thoughtfully at the bunch ahead while he considers Emily's question. "I'll admit, it hasn't been so difficult to acclimate here. Charlie, my brother, and the others have treated us very well," he smiles to himself. Most have made it easy, anyway. He shoots a pointed look at the radio demon's back briefly before continuing. "But…" he trails off, mouth in a line, unsure if he wants to voice his thoughts.

Emily's chin is on his shoulder. She sighs before saying, "I know."

It's been almost a month and a half since Michael and Emily left Heaven, more than enough time for not only their absence to be noticed but their current residency to be discovered. Michael knows that Sera knows where they are, mostly because of the short letter he left for her, but also because Hell is not so separated from Heaven that news of an archangel and seraphim taking positions at the Hazbin Hotel would go unreported. Even if Sera had kept to herself the letter he wrote, all of Heaven must be buzzing with the news of Michael and Emily's departure.

He awaits every day for some sort of message from Heaven.

They are both aware of what the message will be.

Michael jostles Emily literally from her thoughts by bouncing her sharply. She laughs and swats the back of his head lightly.

"You're right, let's not dampen the night with dark thoughts," she says brightly. "I'm gonna go catch up to Charlie and Vaggie."

He lets her down and watches as she jogs to close the short distance between her and the girls, linking an arm through Vaggie's unoccupied side. Cherri joins and the four of them make a line of giggling girls, linked arm in arm.

It makes Michael happy to see them like this, see Emily thriving, glad to have changed the subject and, for now at least, eased her mind from what lies in the future. But what the conversation hinted at has already left damage, and Michael's mood feels hollow suddenly.

He should have left Emily in Heaven, he thinks, not for the first time. He could have told Charlie himself the news about Sir Pentious and just sent messages to Emily about the advances the hotel was making. He understands that she had her own issues with how Heaven was handling things, but sometimes, he wishes he had made a different choice regarding allowing her to accompany him, especially when the days grow in number without word from Heaven. He can only imagine how Sera and the other seraphims are feeling. What his other not-so-fallen brothers are feeling.

Gabriel and Raphael would have noticed immediately Michael's absence. Uriel may or may not be aware even a month and half later, so detached he is from the rest of them with his work. To say he's not surprised he hasn't heard from any of them is an understatement, but he anticipates the silence won't last much longer.

Michael breathes a long sigh through his nose.

"My, what an interesting face you're making!"

Alastor's jovial voice beside him tugs him from his thoughts and he looks over at the radio demon who has fallen into step alongside him. Niffty is gone from his arms, but his smile is ever-present. He walks with a hand behind his back, cane twirling idly in the other.

Alastor deciding that he would accompany the assemblage that night had been more than a small, pleasant surprise to the original group, and his presence definitely brought about interesting proclivities. Angel Dust spent the first hour of the night trying to convince him to do a body shot until Charlie and Vaggie shooed him away, the wickedly charismatic radio demon taking all advances in stride but never straying from comfortably accompanying the group with well-timed quips and assenting hums. He drank neat rye and won every hand in playing cards.

Michael hums in a vague reply and shrugs, hands in his pockets now that Emily has moved on. He looks ahead at the group in front of them and notices Niffty has traded Alastor for a Husk-shaped jungle gym.

"What ever kind of thoughts cause a face like that on an archangel, I wonder?" Alastor asks and Michael looks at him with an eyebrow raised, one corner of his mouth lifting.

"Last week you told me if I so much as breathed in your direction I'd regret it. Do my ears deceive me?" Michael makes a show of cleaning out an ear. "Did you just ask me a question?"

Alastor's smile doesn't change but Michael doesn't imagine the sardonic look. "Well, last week you were a weasel of a snitch to Charlie! This week you're slightly more tolerable."

"You tried to convince a guest to sell you their soul," Michael says flatly, choosing to ignore the weasel bit.

"A consensual transaction," Alastor closes his eyes, waving a hand in the air dismissively. "Believe you me, the prat was getting the higher end of the bargain."

Michael snorts, an ungentlemanly sound and shakes his head.

They walk in a silence that isn't uncomfortable for another block, each of them minding the group in front of them. Their looks keep the riffraff from bothering the girls as they walk through the streets of Hell back to the hotel. Michael likes to think he helps but he knows it's mostly Alastor and his reputation that curbs any potential muggers or the likes.

"Any word from our heavenly neighbors?" Alastor asks casually, his following smile close-lipped, head tilting. On anyone else, it might have looked endearing.

Michael winces internally. Once again, Alastor demonstrates his uncanny ability to find a wound and press.

"No," he answers softly. He doesn't want Emily to overhear.

"Ah, any day now I suspect!" Alastor says cheerfully. Michael makes a noise in the back of his throat like an agreement but otherwise hopes to drop the subject.

Alastor ignores the clue. "You must be worried sick waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. Afterall, we are quite familiar with the punishment of the last angel to disobey Heaven."

Michael knows that the rising wrath he feels is a combination of his worry for Emily and Alastor's annoyingly jocose tone. Michael closes his eyes and breathes evenly through his nose.

A millennium of a cool head and even temper, decimated repeatedly and easily by one mortal soul.

Michael is about to snap at Alastor, the burning behind his eyelids his only hint that the blue of his eyes is bright with ire, when Alastor speaks again.

"But of course," he says quietly, like the radio filter of his voice had been dialed down, "Heaven would be remiss to punish that child."

Michael's eyes fly open, and he turns to look at Alastor fully, anger forgotten. Red eyes meet his, and though Alastor's smile continues to have its characteristic mocking edge, there's a real enough something in his expression that Michael knows Alastor means what he said.

Oh.

Michael gives him a crooked smile, nearly lightheaded from the emotional rollercoaster. "Yes, they would be."

Alastor sniffs, turning his head away. "You, though, I'm sure they are celebrating to be rid of," he continues, brushing off a piece of invisible lint from the head of his cane.

Michael huffs a short laugh. That's more like it.

He doesn't have a chance to reply, as Emily has doubled back and is skipping up to the two. "Michael! We've decided that we would like to stop for ice cream! Can you believe that they have ice cream here?" she excitedly squeals, grabbing his hands and pulling him forward.

He lets her drag him along, unwilling to burst her bubble with a question regarding the ingredients or status of the components of ice cream in Hell. Angel Dust and Cherri are leading the group now, loudly singing a shanty with a bottle shared between them Michael doesn't know where they got. Charlie is clapping along, and Vaggie and Husk have comfortable smiles.

Michael looks back at Alastor, but he's bending down to pick up Niffty who is stumbling up to him. She cups a hand next to her mouth and whispers like it's a conspiracy something Michael doesn't pick up, but Alastor's smile widens, and he hums an affirmation. Niffty grins.

Michael turns his gaze ahead again at the girls, eyebrows coming together as he abruptly registers that in a roundabout way, he'd been comforted by the radio demon. Whether or not Alastor had done it intentionally isn't something he'd bet on by any means, but the fact remains that his mood didn't feel so hollow anymore.

Michael resists another glance back, suddenly feeling too warm.

Perhaps we've all had too much to drink.

The next morning, breakfast is a quiet affair. With most of the group's loudest personalities still sleeping off the prior night's festivities, Michael enjoys a peaceful meal with a much-needed tall cup of coffee.

Emily slides into the seat next to him. She gives the tall mug a wry smile. "As good as Heaven's?"

Michael makes a dejected noise. "No, not even close. I'm afraid you'll have to continue here on your own, as I cannot take a good coffee-less existence."

Emily laughs. "Maybe we can find a good machine here for you."

"Like we found good ice cream last night?" Michael teases.

Emily's face contorts and she brings a hand to her mouth and wraps an arm around her stomach. "I'll never trust Angel Dust and Cherri again."

"I told you not to eat that crap," Vaggie chimes in, having entered the kitchen with a severe bedhead and pajamas, catching the last of their conversation. The three angels exchange good mornings.

Vaggie sighs and throws herself into a chair across from Michael, reaching for the pot of coffee on the table and continues. "Don't worry though, I've been where you're at. I've spent the last few years in Hell finding places that are as comparable to Heaven in terms of goods, so don't lose too much hope." She gives them both a small smile, eye crinkled in mirth. "But you can say goodbye to good pizza. It doesn't exist here."

Emily groans, elbows on the table and head in hands. Michael grimaces and looks over at her.

"We could still go back to Heaven."

Emily's head hits the table with a quiet thud.

The following day, Michael is finishing up the week's bookkeeping in his makeshift office within the hotel's library when there's a knock on the entrance's threshold.

"Come in," he says as a greeting, not looking up.

"Hi there, Michael, uh, sir," Charlie starts slowly, coming into the den with a worried smile.

Michael looks up, turning from the desk with a gentle smile at his brother's daughter. "Michael's fine, Charlie, please." He takes in her expression and his eyebrows come together. "Is something wrong?"

"What?" Charlie exclaims. She raises her hands and waves them. "Oh no, nothing's wrong. I just hope I'm not bothering you."

"Not at all, I'm actually done for today," he answers, closing the book and setting down his pen.

"Oh good, good." Charlie takes a breath and smiles. There's an excited undercurrent of energy about her. "I was wondering if I could show you something?"

Charlie leads Michael away from the den and to the staircase of the hotel, the main one that has roof access. He follows her curiously while she chatters.

"Well, over the last few weeks Vaggie and I have been talking about how hard everyone is working for the hotel and in addition to celebrating the other night we really wanted to do something special for people," Charlie says excitedly. "We put together a dance room for Angel Dust, we decorated Cherri's new room, Emily the art gallery workshop, I gave Alastor one free get-out-of-jail card—"

"You what?"

"Nevermind!" Charlie says quickly. "Anyway, you've just been working so hard with the hotel's bookkeeping, and we really wanted to show that we appreciate you, too…" Charlie trails off when they reach the door to the roof of the hotel. Stepping outside, the red sky is darkening, and a breeze causes a lock of hair to escape her hair tie. She tucks it behind her ear and smiles wide, an arm sweeping to the side. "Ta da!"

Charlie's outstretched arm is motioning towards a wide glass house that hadn't previously been there the last time Michael was on the roof. It sits tucked back on the far end of the hotel's roof, away from the neon sign. The pentagram in the sky reflects off of it at odd angles, throwing rainbow kaleidoscopes on the hotel roof's flooring and across the brick wall of the stair access. It takes a moment for Michael to understand what he's looking at as they approach it, but when it clicks, he gives Charlie a look of surprise.

"A greenhouse?" he asks, bewildered.

Charlie smiles shyly, clasping her hands together at her waist. "Emily said that you had a greenhouse in Heaven that you tended to often. She said you loved it, and well," Charlie smiles so brightly at him. "You gave up so much to be here. I know that this doesn't replace the one you lost, but I hope, I mean," she fumbles, suddenly worried she's overstepped in her assumption that Michael would even want another greenhouse. "You obviously don't have to do anything with it, I was just thinking, y'know maybe you'd want to have another? I actually…don't really know what kind of plants you could have in there, I mean, I know plants grow here but are greenhouse plants different than what's out in the—"

"Charlotte, I love it." Michael interrupts, putting his hands on her shoulders to calm the nervous ramble. He returns her bright smile. "I love it, it's perfect."

Her smile is reassured, and she gives a gusty breath of relief. "Oh, good, I'm glad."

"May I?"

"Please, of course!"

The door to the greenhouse swings open gently, and Michael can't help the feelings of awe and joy that swell in his chest. The space has been replicated almost exactly to match the one he had in Heaven, and he thinks Emily must have described it for Charlie. The space is filled with a serene stillness, wind barricaded by the sturdy glass walls of the house, the only sound the soft echo of their footsteps on the cool flooring. Light streams through the clear glass panels, casting warmth on the barren shelves and empty planters. He can smell the soil from the sacks in the corner. He feels touched that Charlie worked so hard to tailor this gift to him.

He can't help but ask. "How did you do this?"

Charlie smiles. "Well, Dad mostly did it, he's kinda the builder around here. I just filled it with stuff I thought you'd need to start out with."

Michael looks at Charlie for such a long time, still and quiet, that Charlie shifts uncomfortably. "Did I say something?"

Michael turns away from her so she can't see his face anymore and speaks softly. "You didn't ask Emily what my greenhouse in Heaven looked like."

Charlie tilts her head in confusion but before she can answer Michael has turned back to her and puts a hand on her shoulder, smiling wide.

"Charlie, this is the best gift I have ever received, thank you so much. I look forward to taking care of it."

Charlie relaxes under his hand and returns the smile.

"Did you do something for yourself?"

"Huh?"

Michael smiles at her in a way that her dad sometimes does, gentle and affectionate with an air of guidance. "You've worked harder than all of us, Charlie. Did you do something for yourself?"

"Oh! Well, I mean," Charlie starts, flustered. "I don't need anything, and all I want is for the hotel to be successful so—"

She cuts off, Michael's expression never changing from the gentle, knowing smile that she had in fact not done something special for herself.

"There…might be something I'd like to do," Charlie says quietly with a small smile but doesn't offer any more detail. Michael nods and pats her shoulder with an affirmative hum.

"Good," he says. "You deserve it."

Michael hangs back as Charlie takes her leave, happy in her mission of gift giving. Michael watches her go and leans a hip against one of the counters in the greenhouse, arms folding across his chest as he takes in the space, so familiar yet equally as new.

A vision is behind his eyes, one of a younger Lucifer in a greenhouse very similar to this for a lesson in botany.

Too many emotions are threatening to overwhelm him, and he takes quiet breaths through his nose, cataloging the scents in the enclosure to ground himself.

He doesn't know how long he stays.

Lucifer returns back to the hotel much later than usual, the hotel silent without the comings and goings of daytime activities. He leisurely makes his way through the hallways and staircase, whistling quietly to himself, until he reaches the door to his suite. A small, folded piece of paper is attached to the door.

It has no greeting or signature, just two words and a delicately drawn leaf.

Thank you.

AN: (: Please review!