Chapter Text
Vaggie was burning.
Swaddled with a crimson blanket, she inspected the red-tinted ceiling and did her very best to ignore the woman staring with pity at the thermometer in her manicured hands.
“Looks like you still have that fever.”
Her voice was not unkind. That had been the most shocking thing about the past week. Losing her eye hadn't shocked her, being stupid enough to spare a demon hadn't shocked her, Lute turning on her… Well. It was bound to happen eventually.
“Don't worry, you were hurt by an angelic weapon; take all the time you need to get back on your feet.”
The hand brushing cropped white hair out of Vaggie’s face was soft and gentle. Too soft and gentle for the Princess of Hell herself. Too kind.
“I'm so glad I found you in time! Plenty of demons wouldn't have survived something like that.”
Most wouldn't, actually. Vaggie had checked.
“You can stay here as long as you need - I can bring you another blanket, or some water, or both?”
Nothing was silent for long around the Princess; every empty room was filled with words, or a quiet humming if Vaggie was pretending to be asleep. Unexpectedly unlike Adam’s constant annoying blabbering, the woman’s voice was rather soothing. It distracted Vaggie’s racing mind from the screams coming from the street below. Unfortunately, her seemingly genuine concern didn't help Vaggie with her dilemma.
She did not have a fever. Arguably, considering her current location, she was suffering from a much worse condition.
Angels seemed to run hotter than sinners did, given the Princess’ concern every time she checked if Vaggie was feeling better. It had surprised her the first time; Vaggie had just assumed Princess Morningstar would leave her to rot in a bed somewhere. That is, after she had realised the woman thought she was just another sinner. And yet, she had begun to look forward to those frequent visits, despite the feeling tearing through her chest every time she was offered comfort.
Had she killed any of this woman’s friends? Her lovers? Hellborns were off limits during Executions, their Princess most notably so, but until one week ago, no sinners had been safe from the shiny tip of Vaggie’s spear. Repressing the memories was no longer possible when surrounded by carnage she had contributed to, and her hands swam with blood every time she closed her eye.
A warm hand on her cheek startled her out of her thoughts.
“How is your bandage? Does it need to be changed yet?”
Almost absent-mindedly, Vaggie pressed her own grey fingertips to the back of the Princess’ palm, before quickly withdrawing them, blush colouring her cheeks.
“No… I think it's ok. It doesn't really hurt any more anyway.” Vaggie had always healed fast, bouncing back much quicker from her injuries than her sisters. One sister in particular had always hated that, pushing herself out of recovery beds with blood still dripping, attending training sessions with bandaged arms, desperate not to let Vaggie get a win over her. In hindsight, it shouldn't have been surprising it was Lute who finally caught Vaggie slip.
The angel pulled at the careful knots at the back of her head: she supposed it was high time to see how much damage had been done. Working the bandage with her fingers, she winced at the strain of reaching behind her. It was a tiny gesture, one few would have noticed, but the Princess immediately pulled Vaggie’s arms away and reached for the fabric herself.
Yet again, Vaggie found herself wondering what good she could have possibly done to deserve this.
The last of the fabric fell away and she fought the temptation to smooth a hand over her damaged face to feel what was left. Princess Morningstar tilted her head to the side, nervous smile twitching a little, desperately trying to remain positive.
“Well… it's not that bad…” She cringed and trailed off, seeming to realise there was no way she could be optimistic about this one, waiting anxiously to see if Vaggie would be offended. Perhaps it was her turn to be comforting for once.
The angel gently placed her silver hand over the Princess’ white one, which had flopped dejectedly onto the bed.
“Hey, it could be worse. I still have my other eye, right?” Lying in a guest room in the middle of the first ring of Hell, Vaggie dared to crack a smile.
Relief washed over the Princess’ face as she gently squeezed Vaggie’s hand, grounding herself as much as her new…patient? Friend? She hadn't really made it clear what she expected from Vaggie in return. It wasn't as if Vaggie could do much other than killing - the very thing she had been created and raised to do.
Still, as the Princess of Hell held her hand, smiling at her as if Vaggie was someone to be cared for instead of just another damned soul feigning holiness, Vaggie decided she would give the Princess whatever she asked for. If a demon could be kinder to her than angels ever had been, perhaps being an angel had never really been worth it.
Abruptly, the pressure on Vaggie’s hand increased as the Princess’ eyes widened; Vaggie could almost see a cartoonish lightbulb appearing above her blonde head.
“Ohmygosh, I am so sorry I forgot to tell you! I mean- you’ve probably been wondering this whole time, um, I have your spear downstairs! Those are super expensive so I figured you wouldn't want to lose it, you know?”
Her spear? Vaggie assumed her weapon had been left somewhere in the alley she had passed out in, or God forbid, taken by Lute, but it was a comforting thought to know it was safe. Almost as comforting as discovering the Princess had cared enough to grab her only belonging and look after it all this time.
“Thank you, Your Highness. I’m very grateful.” Vaggie’s smile softened into something much more genuine, but the Princess shook her head.
“Oh, there’s no need for all that. Please, just call me Charlie - all of my friends do.” The look in her eyes was so earnestly hopeful that Vaggie found herself wondering if she had very many of those.
“Alright, well in that case, thank you, Charlie.”
If it was possible for a demon to glow with holy light, Charlie would have managed it with how strongly she was beaming.
“It's no trouble, um, is it… Vaggie? Sorry, I couldn't find the right time to ask, and that name was on the handle of the spear…”
She pronounced it differently to how Adam had said it when he came up with it on a drunken afternoon. Vaggie couldn't help but notice how much softer her name sounded when she wasn't being compared to Adam’s ‘favourite thing’ every time she was addressed.
She blinked slowly, letting the burning warmth in her chest flood the rest of her body as she smiled at her new friend.
“Yeah, Vaggie. That’s me.”