"Let us know if you need anything!" Charlie's shrill voice echoes down the hall as she and her stupid father finally leave Adam alone. Lucifer flashes a deadpan expression his way before the door shuts behind them.

Fuck, Adam thinks. They're both so fucking insufferable.

That can't be more obvious, but Adam feels better repeating the words in his head. Though even he has to admit, the interaction with Lucifer could've gone a lot worse - namely, Adam could've been further pummeled into mincemeat for hurting the circus king's "~pwecious pwincess~". He's grateful, at least, that he hadn't been hurt further - on the contrary, the clown king seemed pretty adamant on not hurting him, which is… weird.

Is he biding his time for later? Adam can't ever trust him, so it's not a stretch to think Lucifer would wait for a moment later to strike while Adam's guard is down, like the literal snake he is. Yeah, that must be it - he just has to be vigilant and ready for when the inevitable other shoe drops.

Still, now that he's alone, he dares to let himself unclench his muscles. It's exhausting having his metaphorical hackles raised all the time, and he needs a second to relax before he goes fucking insane.

He's never been one to take yoga shit seriously, but there has to be something said for breathing deeply. It's not bad, getting oxygen (or whatever's down here) into his brain and calming his ever-racing mind a little.

As he's taking some deep gulps of air (or whatever), he hears a meow that actually makes him startle, a jolt of surprise speeding up his heart.

Man, he's really fallen far.

The freaky cat sits at the foot of his bed, gawking up at him with its one giant eye.

"Uh… 'sup?" he greets casually, but it just keeps staring. "What the fuck do you want?"

The creepy thing doesn't even blink (wink?). Is it waiting for something?

"C'mere?" he tries, patting his knee to get it to hop up on his lap.

It's not well-known, overshadowed by his numerous accounts of badassery, but Adam is actually pretty fond of animals. He had to name them all, so of course some of the little creatures wormed their ways into his heart (pun intended).

Dogs are his favorite (man's best friend!), mostly because he's had experience with them for most of his existence - all dogs go to Heaven, after all. He'd met so many of the loyal and kind animals over the years, from the almost equine Great Danes to little yappy Chihuahuas.

So many times he'd take a nap up in the clouds, only to find a pile of mutts curled around him, trying to nip at his cassock sleeves or slobbering all over his mask. It was annoying sometimes, yeah, but those things don't have an evil bone in their bodies - and any bad thing they commit on Earth can be traced back to the repulsive intervention of sinners. Those corrupted humans just can't keep their filthy hands off other species, trying to seep their sin into all they touch. Well, Adam made sure, personally, that they weren't to blame for the actions of their owners. If a pitbull eats a toddler, its shitty owner is going to Hell in its place.

Yeah. Loyal almost to a fault - dogs fucking rule. If only all creatures could be like them.

But cats?

Fucking cats are a different story altogether.

Yeah, they're in Heaven too, but Adam's never fucking understood what their deal is. The whole point of animals, from the beginning, is that they were created for him - for humanity. For companionship, meat, clothing, tools… so many different creatures with so many different uses.

So imagine Adam's surprise when he first learned of some civilizations worshiping cats! Of all animals, they choose to glorify the crazy little fuckers that think they're hot shit when they're, in reality, like ten pounds. What kind of backwards nonsense was that?

Since finding that out, he's always been weirded out by the things - who do they think they are, gods?! Do they even know they were created for him?

Now this creature forced to be his "therapy" is obviously not an Earth cat, given its one gigantic eye dead center on its head, but it meows and moves and eerily stares like a normal cat, so it's close enough.

Charlie seems convinced that he'd become buddies with it or whatever, but her confidence carries suspicion. The cat being invited here, unrestricted, grants the princess and her loser dad even more surveillance of Adam - even when they're supposedly giving him "privacy" and staying away themselves. How does he know they're not using this little freak to scout him out while they're not in the room? They can easily keep tabs on him through a camera or something.

His eyes lock on the bright red collar around the cat's neck, particularly the golden tag in the center of it. Adam's not stupid, he's seen all the Spy Kids movies - that's just about the size a small spy camera could be.

"Hey!" he snaps suddenly, causing the cat to mrrp in surprise. "Are you fuckers spying on me through that?" Glaring, he reaches out to grab the collar, but the cat jerks back before he can touch it. The movement jingles the tag, however, showing both sides equally flat and lens-less. There's still magic espionage to rule out, but at least they aren't being obvious about it - and really, the more Adam thinks about it, the more he reasons that there really aren't any heavenly secrets to spill - and it's even less likely that he'd just go talking about it with the cat.

Shoving away that paranoia, he shifts his irritation back towards the creature currently still gawking at him.

"Okay, my bad. Guess you aren't a secret agent or whatever," he grumbles. "But you're also not the fucking boss here. I'm the one who calls the shots in this room, got it?"

When he emphatically points towards it again, the cat gently swipes a paw at his finger, and he reels back in surprise at the fuzzy touch. Granted, Adam doesn't know how to read cats' behavior, but it seemed like that was an attempt at… play?

Fucking weirdo thing…

He withdraws his hand, studying his bandaged palm and dirt-encrusted nails. With a huge sigh, he pushes himself to get off the bed. "Okay. I'm gonna go shower now, and you're gonna do as I say." Narrowing his eyes, he adds lowly, "You… have to listen. Locking the door so that fucking psychopath doesn't break in is the least your owners can do for me." After all they've done to him, he's owed this, right?

…Right?

The thought doesn't stick in his mind with the same confidence he once had. Man, he's really been shaken.

The keycat turns its back on him, padding towards the bathroom and stopping right in front of the door. It then shifts its head and rhythmically swipes a tiny pink tongue over its shoulder, continuing grooming across its chest, legs, and paws. At one point, it sticks a leg up in the air to lick the very end of it, nibbling at the fur around its toes.

"Ew. You're fucking gross." Adam scrunches his face in disgust, not wanting to witness this thing bathe itself any longer.

It's time he cleans up, too - but in like, the normal, not-licking way.

Still trying to keep his distance from the cat, he hobbles over towards the bathroom. Lucifer conjured his chosen clothes before he'd left, and surprisingly, the shrimp kept his word - everything Adam asked for is in the pile. He holds the bundle close as he opens and shuts the door.

Before he turns on the light, he waits for a heartbeat. There's the muffled sound of magic transformation, and a distinct click as the door's locked.

Great, at least it's obedient, Adam thinks, and pauses once more, his hand hovering - shaking - above where the lightswitch is supposed to be.

Can he be sure , though, that it'll be just the normal bathroom as before? How does he know Alastor didn't fuck with it again? He can't know that, and the unknown is frightening. Screwing his eyes shut tightly, he takes another deep breath and rips the band-aid off.

What's the worst that could happen? he asks himself as he flicks on the switch. You've already seen the ugliness.

Light floods the small room quickly and he can see it shine through his eyelids, but he takes a few shaky breaths before cracking them open.

It's… normal. Still a regular bathroom, aside from the lack of mirrors. Thank fucking God.

Letting out a huge sigh of relief, Adam moves towards the tub - although, at first, he instinctively tries to fly over, and his back just protests with pain. This will take a long time to get used to.

His eye catches on something by the edge of the tub - a fucking basket with towels, soaps, and the like. There's even a stupid rubber duck that seems to shriek when Adam squeezes it as tightly as he can. It doesn't take a genius to know that this basket's got Luci-loser's touch all over it, but the clown hammers it all home with a stupid note attached:

Don't forget to wash your first dick, Dickhead!

-Lucifer, King of Hell & Kicker of Angel Butts :)

Ugh. How obnoxious. Adam looks at the soap selected for him, grimacing at the name of the scent: SOAR WITH THE ANGELS. While he would never put it past Lucifer to spite him with something like this, the name seems almost coincidental. He can't imagine Hell having a lot of soap scents that have to do with angels - or, well, soap at all - so the fact that this one is pleasant, with a hint of sandalwood and vanilla, makes it probably the best-smelling thing he can get down here.

Setting his new outfit down, he's eager to shed his dirty clothes. Since he's bare from the waist up, it takes no time at all to wriggle out of his pants, boxers, and socks (where did his original boots go?). Though there's no mirrors in here, it doesn't stop him from catching a glimpse of the bruises around his ankles, bringing back some phantom feelings of being restrained and forced down. Swallowing his unease, he tries to focus instead on starting the water and finally getting to this fucking shower.

Actually, scratch that - a bath would probably be better, as he doesn't want to risk the spray of the showerhead hitting his back. Charlie had mentioned not soaking the wounds too much, but oh well. He'd rather them get wet than torn open with water pressure.

It's a bit difficult to get the hang of faucets and knobs again - heavenly showers don't have that shit. Up there, pressing one button produces the perfect, specific temperature you're looking for. And it's usually only for fun, because angel bodies don't really get dirty in Heaven - but shit, who is Adam to deny the blissful feeling that comes with a warm bath? He could never get tired of those, especially after all those years in the cold on Earth.

Like most things in Hell, even simple running water has to be fucking complicated. Why is it so hard to get the water to stop coming out either scalding hot or blistering cold? Adam sits on the edge of the tub for what feels like forever, finally managing to get it at the slightly colder side of a middle-of-the-road temperature.

He pours the soap into the water and watches the tub fill up slowly, finding himself lost in the swirl of the water. His head seems to thicken with fog, disconnecting him from reality.

The surroundings all disappear, and the water is suddenly the only thing in his world. He wonders how it will feel, to touch something warm and soothing - something that's not meant to hurt him.

How pathetic . All those years of being powerful and strong and safe, and suddenly he's longing for the touch of some fucking bathwater.

But God, it really has gotten that bad for him. Beyond the exhaustion and pain, he just feels… wrong. Like, he has no idea what time it is, where his best friend is (and if she even gives a shit about him anymore), who's still kicking after that battle (on both sides) - and most of all, what's real and what's not. His head is a mess, thoughts endlessly spiraling like a hurricane and unable to really process everything that's happened. Every time he tries to think of the details of his torture, it's like a voice in his head just yells "NO" as loud as it can. But he's constantly thinking about it, even if it's just on the surface level. His body hasn't forgotten, and it reminds him with every wrong twitch he makes. Every step on the ground he has to actively choose to walk sets off alarm bells in his head as to why he's not flying over there.

So even though his mind's avoiding the flashbacks, it's not good enough. He can still feel the effects of what happened.

He snaps out of his trance a moment before the bubbly water overflows, quickly shutting the faucet off. As he bends down to get in, small windows of the soapy pool of water reflect back his marred form, and all he can do is look away. Focusing on a spot on the wall by the sink, he gently eases down into the bath.

The water on his back causes him to flinch at first, but he quickly grows used to the temperature and finds it calming. The warmth envelopes him as he settles in, and it provides an overwhelming level of comfort. Unconsciously, he remembers his wings wrapping around his sides, giving him a sense of security he liked to pretend he didn't need. As cocky as he acts, no one would guess that even he has his insecurities, and the wings became a tether to ground him - something to remind him that, as God's first human, he was fucking perfect. No degenerate like Lucifer would be given huge golden wings like those.

And though it's probably not likely, Adam can't help but wonder if Alastor knew how special the wings were, how much they meant to him. Maybe it had been more than a beast's innate desire to destroy and maim and was specifically calculated to take what Adam treasured most - his sense of self. Taking what made him unique and tearing him down continuously, even after the forced amputation, as the mirrors proved.

It's also unnerving that he can still feel the wings sometimes, his mind and body just unable to let them go. It's probably some sort of phantom limb phenomenon - but the sensation having a technical term doesn't make it any less fucking horrible.

Ever since he woke up and discovered his current state, there've been moments where he swears everything's still normal, his wings opening and expanding and maneuvering around him - but when he goes to flex them, there's only pain. It's a bitter pill of reality constantly being shoved down his throat - another possibly unintended result of that smiling fuck's torture.

Trying to banish any demons in his head (no pun intended), Adam instead shifts his focus to actually starting to clean himself.

Grabbing a nearby washcloth and the soap, he washes along his arms; the slight pull on his shoulders aches, but not too badly, not enough to stop. On the contrary, the feeling of wiping away the blood and dirt from the Extermination is… nice. Pleasant. It's not erasing anything that happened, but removing some of the evidence dirtying his skin is a start. The nice sensation continues as he carefully swipes the cloth around his face and neck.

Seeing hanging strands of his greasy hair in the corner of his eyes, he grimaces and realizes just how dirty his whole body really is.

Luckily, there's shampoo in that basket from Luci-loser. Adam dumps a generous portion onto his head, scrubbing at his scalp next. The feel of his soap-soaked fingers threading through the grease and grime of the fight is practically euphoric, like he's an animal getting head scratches or something. He lets the suds stay in his hair, wanting to really make sure it'll have a chance to really seep in.

Cleaning everything away really is reminiscent of all the nice, long baths he'd take after Exterminations past - a way to wind down after such a busy event. Lute always loved to keep her uniform as bloody and dirty as possible, but Adam's at least tried to keep up with his appearance. Yeah he's a sloppy eater and fighter, but he's not afraid to switch out a messy cassock for a new one if he spills blood or grease on himself. The First Man has to look the part, after all - a shining paragon for all of humanity.

The familiarity of the rhythmic swipes of cloth across his skin and water swirling around him makes it easier for his mind to float away. He pretends it's just like any other Extermination, just with a smaller bathtub than his own.

Yeah… any minute now, Lute will knock on the door and say I've been taking fucking forever, he thinks with a smirk. And we'll go partake in our epic post-Extermination dinner pigout sesh with the rest of the girls.

It's a nice illusion. He closes his eyes and pictures himself rocking out with his Exorcists, singing to his heart's content and lighting up the heavenly skies with his music. Thousands, maybe millions of winners cheer his name with complete adoration.

"Adam! Adam! Adam!"

He gets so lost in that blissful fantasy and the warmth of the water, he nearly drifts off to sleep - until a hypnic jerk startles him back to reality. His eyes snap open as his body twitches uncomfortably, the sharp sting shooting down his spine once again anchoring him to reality.

Damn it all. Can't have shit. Even though he knows it was just a fun daydream, it still hurts to be brought back to such a miserable existence.

As he's reminded of his vulnerability, a split-second of panic makes him hastily gaze around the room - afraid that somehow, that demon had snuck in again. Luckily, it's all in his head, as everything's still well-lit, empty, and mirrorless.

Bitterly, he continues his bath, washing his legs and chest. Eventually, the misshapen lumps where his wings used to be will need to be cleaned; the thought of actually touching those spots makes him want to puke, though, so he shifts his efforts to the rest of his body, scrubbing at his skin until it's raw - and a pale yellow, to match the blood still in his veins.

"Fucking stupid radio cunt…" he growls under his breath, hating that he's still instinctively trying to be quiet. He's not supposed to be quiet about anything! "Goddamn it, a bath should not be this difficult," he hisses to himself. It shouldn't take this much effort just to get clean again!

Suppressing a groan, he buries his face in his hands and sighs. He's saved the worst for last - time to face the music.

Grabbing another nearby washcloth, he dabs soap and water on it, wishing he would stop fucking shaking. It's just his body, right? And wings or no wings, he's still the Dickmaster! He still… has some power in his title as the First Man, doesn't he?

Don't I?

Whether or not that rhetorical question has an answer, he needs to stop fucking around and just get to it. He forces his hand to reach back around his side, washcloth clutched tightly in his fingers, and dabs along the wound. The lump hurts when he touches it, not to mention how gross it feels, but it's not going to get better if it's not cleaned in some way. Without even bracing himself, he continues to pat at it, swallowing back whimpers and trying to regulate his breathing.

The whole process takes way too long, nausea bubbling in his stomach and bile splashing at the back of his throat. The pain isn't as strong as it's been, but that doesn't mean it's not awful. Eventually, he can't take it anymore, and stops after wiping along the second scar. He can't see if he cleaned the wounds completely, but it's good-fucking-enough for now.

Tossing the yellowed cloth away, Adam takes some deep breaths through the pain. Now that the cleaning itself is done, he should actually try to relax - that's what a bath's for, right?

After some careful maneuvering, he's able to get into a more horizontal position on his back, sinking deeper into the water and submerging everything but his nose. He can feel the shampoo rinse out around him and get in his eyes when he opens them underwater, but it's barely irritating. The world's just a blurred mess, the sounds muffled by the swell of water in his ears.

He lifts a hand up into the air, soap-filmed eyes catching the brightness of the bangle around his wrist. Tugging at it just reinforces how snugly it's clasped onto him, whatever magic it emits canceling out however much he had left of his own.

Floating in the water like this, it's almost reminiscent of flying through the clouds. If he closes his eyes again, maybe…

Nah. It'll never feel the same. It'll never be the same.

And it's all just so unfair.

This is like some weird alternate reality - one where he's not an all-powerful archangel, and instead trying to scour away evidence of torture off his skin, flinching at loud or unexpected noises, and relying on a fucking cat to lock his door to feel safe.

Will it always feel like this?

For someone who hates change, he finds himself hoping that his mind will do away with this fucking "battered victim" act soon. He wants to be a man again, not some PMS-y bitch swinging between two extreme emotional states - wallowing in self-pity and hating himself for being such a pussy.

He's acting like anyone would after being mangled like he was, but that's exactly the point - he's not just anyone. He's fucking Adam.

I'm supposed to be above everyone else, so why do I feel so fucking broken?

He remembers Vadge— Vaggie telling him that the first step to getting better is knowing he can, but that's easier said than done. Sure, everything should be easy for him, but… this isn't. The pain he experienced isn't going to disappear from his mind, and the scars will remain both mentally and physically. The sooner he admits that to himself, the sooner he can climb out of his despair - or something like that bullshit. This self-reflecting fuckery is all new to him.

He looks at his outstretched hand, at the waterproof bandages still wrapped around him from Lucifer, and remembers the rows of stitches still embedded in his hellspawn were the ones to sew him back together - even after everything he'd done to them. What does that say about them? About him?

Charlie had said he hadn't deserved to get tortured, and Vaggie echoed that sentiment. Lucifer said it without outright saying it, too. Aren't these people supposed to be evil? He expected them to just laugh at his misfortune along with Alastor, not… not help him. Why would they offer him support and shelter?

Although… it's not lost on Adam that, since the fight, the only people that have been any degree of hospitable to him have angel blood in their veins. Maybe that's what keeps them benevolent enough to spare his life.

Yeah, that makes sense. Sinners have always been the big problem, anyway - not some wayward ex-Exorcist (do the 'ex's cancel out and change it to 'orcist'?), a half-breed princess, and King Fallen Angel Clown himself. The rest of the residents have to be as vicious and wicked as all of the scum down here; hell, whoever "Niffty" is apparently had been the one to bring him down in the first place! Not to mention… Alastor.

Adam thinks back to Lucifer requesting he give the sinners a chance, to consider them as people rather than one evil entity. That short-dicked demon doesn't understand how impossible an ask that is, especially so fresh after the mutilation. The hatred that thrums through Adam's veins is as deep as the motherfucking ocean - and under all his fear, there's a vicious, indignant anger that churns the waves.

He's fine with recovering here for now, tolerating the sinners that aren't Alastor, but they're all still his enemies. Adam can't afford to forget that; no matter what decent gestures they throw his way to prove they aren't monsters, he won't forget the true nature of anyone living down here.

The amount of meaningful conversations he's had today, combined with all this deep thinking right now, makes him downright drained. Damn it, Adam is not built to think so much about shit like this - it was so much easier to just be ignorant, to just do what he's supposed to and celebrate a job well done. He groans underwater, watching bubbles churn out of his mouth to the surface, and attempts to take his mind off things again.

Actively trying to relax usually makes it harder to achieve, but his fatigue lets his attention once again drift away. He lies down in the tub like that for a while, but the moment he catches himself nearly asleep again, he decides to call it quits. Besides, the bath's starting to grow less warm by the minute, and like fuck he's going to sit in a tub of cold water.

Once he releases the drain, he shakily gets to his feet, actively reminding himself that he needs to fucking walk out of the tub. Instinct and muscle memory are both very hard to fight, it turns out, but he manages somehow.

He grabs a towel from the nearby rack and pads it along his body gently, being extra careful around his back. His hair's still dripping, but once his body's dry enough, he stumbles his way over to the sink. After tossing his old clothes into the garbage can, he carefully inspects the new outfit.

For now, he opts to skip the boots and pants, putting on socks and underwear and the giant fucking hoodie. It reaches down to his knees, leaving enough space inside that his wounds barely touch it - and in places where skin does brush the material, it's softer than anything he thought a place like Hell could produce. (Fuck, maybe Lucifer's angelic roots helped make something right for once, even unintentionally…)

It's pretty aesthetically pleasing, too: dark blue like his old battle cassock, a big hood with fabric spikes that resemble his mask's horns, and two long golden strings in the front. What's most pleasantly surprising, however, is the signature "A" emblazoned on the front.

The tiniest of smiles crosses Adam's lips at the sight of his emblem, the touch of familiarity offering some brief comfort.

He hasn't forgotten that Lucifer made this, and like fuck he'll ever thank the snake, but he also doesn't have the energy to be irritated about that right now, and lets himself just be content with fresh clothes.

The hoodie's extremely cozy, too, the warmth making him somehow even more drowsy than he'd been in the bath.

It's pretty fucking obvious, he thinks to himself, that I need to go the fuck to sleep.

His body yearns for rest so fucking badly, and it takes all he has to keep himself upright and standing. Sluggishly, he touches the handle to the door and rasps out a command, "Hey, hellcat! Unlock it!"

There's no response, and panic at being trapped starts to stir in his heart. "W-wait, wait… shit, uh…" He whispers shakily, unable to stop dread from pooling in his stomach. His fists clench at his sides and he swallows hard before saying a little louder, "C-can you, uh, unlock the door?"

He hears a whoosh and light shines from the other side, the lock clicking open. That sense of anxiety dissolves and anger takes its place as he swings open the door.

"Goddammit, why did you fucking leave me hanging there?!" he demands. There's another flash of light as the key transforms back into a cat, and the damned thing just stares up at him again. "Is this fucking funny to you, you stupid furball?!"

Instead of showing any semblance of listening to Adam, the cat just turns around and hops onto his bed. His fucking bed!

"No!" he snarls, stomping up to it. "No, no, fuck no, you are not sleeping there. I told you - you are not the fucking boss, you stupid little…" He quickly picks it up, dropping it onto the floor and waving his hands to shoo it away. Of course, its giant eye isn't even focused on him or what he's saying (for once), and just looks at a random corner of the room for seemingly no goddamn reason at all.

Annoying as it is, he doesn't see the need to hurt the hellcat, so he just takes to gently pushing at it with his foot. "Go on, I don't need you again for tonight. Leave."

He knows these things don't understand commands as well as dogs, nor does he truly know if this is like a real cat, but it's still an animal, isn't it? So it should still have that innate, inner instinct to obey man, right?

One would think. However, the cat ignores him, instead leaping back up onto the bed.

"Shit, no!" he growls, once again yanking it off and depositing it onto the ground - this time closer to the cracked-open front door. It looks back at him and he lets out a defeated sigh, not knowing how to speak this animal's language. "Look, just— you don't like me, I don't like you. We're on the same fucking page there. You did me a favor, but I don't need anything else tonight. You're free to go, and I want to be alone. So… yeah."

After a moment of it just looking at him, it eventually does pad out into the hallway, the tip of its tail brushing the door as it leaves. Adam lets out a breath, taking that as a small victory.

Praise the motherfuckin' master of beasts, Adam the First Man, he thinks, with just a touch of delirium blurring his mind.

With no further annoyances in his presence and every inch of him screaming for sleep, Adam unceremoniously flops down onto the soft surface of his bed. In this reality of deep exhaustion and pain, it's the most comforting presence he's ever felt.

His eyes close immediately, his consciousness gently ebbing away like ocean waves. Just for a moment, things feel… okay. There's a peace that covers him like a blanket, and he lets himself drift off.

Adam's completely lost in that lull as he falls asleep, barely registering the last-second sounds of a soft jingle and another mrrp by his ear.

"Hey… I hope you don't mind my visit."

With a heavy sigh, Charlie clutches the bouquet of flowers closer to her chest and gazes at the mural. It's beautifully crafted, from the smooth and clean brushstrokes to the refined expression on Sir Pentious's painted face. She actually doesn't know who the artist behind this wonderful piece is, but part of her hopes she never finds out - the mystery kind of adds an extra layer of uniqueness to it.

Since the battle, they'd set up this large painting in the courtyard to honor their fallen serpent friend (and his cracked Egg Boiz too). It portrays Pentious in his general uniform, poised and almost regal, with the surrounding eggs in salute.

Charlie's been coming here for the past week or so, visiting once a day if she can. She tries to keep up the care of the flowers and bring in fresh ones when she's able, regarding the site like a grave - and honestly, it's the closest thing they'll ever have for him, as there's nothing left of Sir Pentious's body. The snake demon, his entire ship, and most of his minions were completely obliterated by the massive blast of angelic light, and they'd all witnessed his sacrifice.

And the man who'd killed him is recovering at their hotel.

Though Charlie knows this is the right thing, and has defended her actions against those who want to continue the cruelty, she can't help but feel conflicted when standing before Sir Pentious's memorial. It'd been easier when Adam was unconscious, but now that he seems awake and alert again, there's a nagging guilt that won't stop eating away at Charlie's heart.

She needs to set things straight, even if it's by talking herself through it.

"Pentious, I… I'm sorry," she whispers, setting down the bouquet. His composed expression never changes, obviously, but she can feel the weight of judgment all the same. "I'm sorry that we lost you, that Adam killed you— and now, I-I'm really sorry for taking him in."

A bit of tears blur her vision, but she shakes her head to clear it. She can hear herself ramble, but lets it happen all the same, knowing this is a process of grief that she must go through. "I- I didn't mean that I'm sorry as in, I regret it, but I'm sorry if you're… angry."

Is there somewhere souls go to after the afterlife? Charlie assumes the sinners killed by angelic weapons just… vanish, but she truly doesn't know.

"But… the alternative would be unthinkable," she continues. "If you'd have seen him lying there… I don't think you'd be okay with letting him die like that. I just… I don't know that for sure, and I'm just so sorry for that."

If Pentious is somewhere, she hopes he can see her turmoil over this and grant her peace of mind - but does she even deserve something like that? What kind of monster lets her friend's murderer into her home? More than that, she's giving him shelter and food and actively helping him recover. Isn't that… wrong?

"I've always believed in compassion. I care about my people," Charlie reasons. "I mean, on your first night, you got caught spying for Vox! When he abandoned you, you had no choice but to put yourself at our mercy. But we - I - accepted you. It's nowhere near the same scale of… heinousness, but is it okay to think that this thing with Adam is at least somewhat like that?" Or at least, she hopes it's going to go a similar way. Adam doesn't seem sorry for anything he'd done, and is simply traumatized and in 'survival mode', but he did agree to stay. At least on some level, he understands that Heaven isn't listening, and the Hazbin Hotel is the safest place for him now. Maybe in time he'll be able to look inward for self-improvements.

But for now, he's at their mercy… just like Pentious was in the beginning.

(Again, not even close to the same circumstances, but there are some tiny similarities in the patterns of her guests she can't help but notice.)

Charlie's fists tighten at her sides. "I wish I was actually having this conversation with you," she murmurs.

A dry chuckle sounds from behind her, and Angel saunters his way up to the memorial next to her. "Yeah, sucks, don't it?" he scoffs. "I miss 'im a lot."

Suddenly, Charlie's very grateful she isn't alone, and gives a small smile at her friend. "Me too," she admits. "Did… did you hear any of what I was saying?"

Angel gives her a wry smirk. "All of it, Toots," he snickers. When she frowns, he adds, "Hey, don't worry - I get what ya mean. It's… rough, havin' Adam here after what he did. It sucked havin' to patch up my friend's murderer." He rubs at one set of arms with the other, his expression conflicted.

Charlie opens her mouth to apologize, but he cuts her off and continues, "Ah-ah-ah, but that don't mean I want him gone. Maybe we all ain't as goody-two-shoes as you, but I know me, Husky, Vags, and Niff don't blame ya. That was some sick shit from Al."

Well, at least most of the hotel residents are on the same page about Alastor's post-battle activity .

"I hope Pentious would agree with us on that," the princess murmurs.

Angel smirks. "Oh, no doubt in my mind he would. You know Pents never held a grudge - sure, the guy was missin' a few screws, and he'd sure try to seem all badass and thirsty for a fight, but we all know how mushy he was. He had a good heart deep down - maybe even two, like his dicks." With a bitter laugh, he adds, "...fuck, he didn't deserve ta just get obliterated. He should'a got redeemed way before me - hell, jury's still out on whether or not I even deserve it in the first place."

"Oh, please don't say that," Charlie argues, her heart breaking. "You've made a lot of progress, Angel. And… I don't think I told you this, but we used you as a case study up in Heaven's courthouse, and some of the angels were impressed by your growth. Adam made a list of what someone had to do to get into Heaven, and you managed to check all the boxes."

"Seriously?" Angel snorts. "So what are the hoops ta jump through to get to the pearly gates?"

Rolling her eyes, Charlie spells out the exact expectations Adam had scribbled on that scrap of paper: Act selfless, Don't steal, Stick it to the man.

At those silly stipulations, Angel laughs. "Jeez, what a load'a BS. I guess even they have no idea, huh?"

"Nope. And that's the grand mystery of it all," Charlie says with a dramatic gesture of her arms.

"Well, if that's all it takes, I'd say Pents got all of those done, too. Maybe he's lookin' down on us from up there, eh?" Angel chuckles - and though it's a far cry from what really happened, Charlie has to admit it's a nice thought. She flashes a smile and nods, imagining an angelic version of Sir Pentious, complete with maybe a few winged egg minions following him around.

The two gaze back at the memorial, the air growing more somber once again. Charlie takes a deep breath, knowing the quiet moments are best for airing out truths.

"…Adam's staying for now," she murmurs, both to Angel Dust and the painting of their murdered friend. "He's going to be a guest here - at least until Heaven's willing to talk to us again."

The spider demon doesn't look angry, or even surprised. Charlie must be just as predictable as she thinks she is. "I figured that from the moment you were dead-set on savin' his ass." He kicks the dirt idly. "But what does that mean, exactly?"

"Well, he'll participate in some activities - away from Alastor, obviously. But when he's with everyone else, I'd like… um…"

"Ya want us to be nice?" Angel sneers.

Charlie shakes her head. "After what he did to us, I'm not about to tell anyone how to react to him. But…" she trails off, nervously fidgeting with her hands. "I don't think he should be hurt further."

Angel rolls his eyes. "Well, duh. You think I was schemin' to keep him bound and gagged in my room or somethin'? I would neva!" After a beat, he waggles his eyebrows and adds, "…unless he was into that, I mean~"

With a laugh, Charlie nudges her friend, appreciating the risqué attitude to lighten the mood. "For real, I just want Adam to… exist here. I'm not forcing anyone to be friends - I just want peace." It's all she's ever wanted, really, in every aspect of her life.

"Good luck with that one - not in a place like dis," Angel snickers. "But hey, ya don't gotta worry 'bout me. I know when to behave~"

"I hope so," Charlie giggles, her mind feeling a bit clearer, her heart lighter. She reminds herself that, even without Pentious here, she's nowhere near alone. There are plenty of people in her life that are still relying on her.

Even if Heaven itself doubts her endeavors, Charlie won't give up on trying to help each soul that stays in her hotel, to grant them the chance to improve and see a positive change in themselves.

And yes, every soul.