Chapter Text
Now, Emily hated swearing. Well, that wasn’t true. Emily didn’t really hate anything— she had wondered, more than once, if she could even hate. Hate was a strong word, one that Emily had feared when she was smaller. She had a… great dislike for swearing. Yes, that’s it.
That didn’t mean she didn’t hear it often, though. Winners were given the choice if they wanted to curse or not, when they were welcomed into Heaven— if they wanted all cursing to be censored, they were allowed that too. They were also allowed to change their choice, every year when the census would come through and take a poll on how people were feeling about their lives in Heaven. It was a great system.
Seraphim like her and Sera weren’t allowed to have the censor, which made sense; why would they want to censor the Winners’ words? Angels were also usually told not to curse too much, as it gave a bad impression for some newcomers who were still clinging to their earthly beliefs on how Heaven was going to be like. Emily had tried to curse, once or twice, back when she was new and just a little Putto. Words had felt like jewels back then, large and strange yet beautiful and wonderful as they fell out of her mouth. Cursing, however…
Those words had made her nose scrunch up in distaste, crumbling around her teeth like dirt and moss. They crunched and splintered, and Emily had been afraid that they had torn at the soft tissue of her cheeks, leading her to run to a mirror and check if her mouth was bleeding. It hadn’t been, but that plus the feeling of her heart racing, so fast she could feel it in her ears, and the warm flush bleeding across her face as she saw Sera holding back laughter led to her never wanting to swear, not once. It was her personal rule, a philosophy she never broke.
Going to Hell (how terrible that sounded!) changed that.
Now, curse words sounded close to normal to her. Husk, Vaggi, and even Charlie swore often, like it was second nature. One time, during a sleepy day at the hotel, Emily tried to count the amount of times everyone cursed in a one-hour period. She had lost count about fifteen minutes in, the streak broken by a flustered Husk having to deal with a too-drunk patron throwing bottles all over the place. If she had to guess, she would say she heard at least over one hundred unique ways to call someone a dummy just by Husk alone!
So, yes. Emily had a great dislike for swearing. However, all of that was close to being thrown out the window the more she heard about this Valentino.
She doesn’t really remember when she learned about what had happened to Angel Dust. She had been somewhere between asleep and awake, hopped up on all the ambrosia Sera had pushed into her mouth before Abel gently reminded her that too much could mess with Emily’s head. From how Emily had been feeling, all loopy and heavy and stiff yet loose, her eyes blinking at two different speeds, she had been pretty sure her head was already messed with permanently. Sera had backed off, her hands trembling— then Emily blinked and Charlie was there, her face stained with tears.
“Charlie!” Emily gasped, trying to push herself up on her hands before Charlie moved in a blur of motion, her hands gently pushing back on Emily’s shoulders. Trying to get her to lay down again, Emily knew, but she was here in Heaven again and Emily had to show her where Sir Pentious was, he was doing so well in Heaven and making so many new friends!
“I already saw him,” Charlie told her. “I’m here to see how you’re doing, Emmy.”
“I’m good,” Emily told her, quick and a little jumbled. It sounded more like ‘mm’goofdh.’
“Looks like you got a good dose of ambrosia,” Vaggi said, because she was there too, leaning over Charlie’s shoulder and inspecting Emily’s wing splint. “You really messed up your wing.”
Charlie hissed her name in what Emily assumed was a warning, but at the time she had been so interested in what Vaggi meant that she was trying to twist around, looking at her left wing. Or, rather— what was left of it.
It was covered in bandages, strung up above Emily’s head so that she could still lay down on her back without her wing whining in protest. Her feathers were singed, some bald spots pickled with goose pimples and rash from the harsh light. Charlie tried to get her to look away, sounding horrified and scared, but Emily wasn’t afraid at all— merely curious, trying to understand the new reality she had been given.
“Is it that bad?” She asked.
“No,” Charlie said quickly.
“Kinda,” Vaggi countered. “I talked to Sera. She says you’ll have to take some flight therapy.”
“Flight therapy?”
“Yep.” Vaggi sat on the armrest of the chair Charlie was sitting in, wrapping one arm around the Princess. Emily cooed at the sight. “I don’t think it’ll be a lot, just a few weeks. Sir Pentious is also working on a wing prosthetic for you.”
“Sir Pentious!” Emily cheered. “Charlie, he’s doing so good in Heaven. You should go say hi to him!”
“We already did, Emily,” Charlie giggled, and the conversation turned to Sir Pentious, Baxter, Husk, Cherri and Niffty until visiting hours were over. Charlie promised she and Vaggi would come back the next day, and Emily called good-bye and tell everyone I say hi before she remembered a name that hadn’t been mentioned, a hole that ached whenever Emily prodded it.
“Wait!” She called. “What about Angel Dust?”
— — —
That was all Emily remembered from her time in the hospital. She doesn’t remember being told what happened— just that she had asked about Angel Dust, fallen asleep after a while, and woke up with tear-sticky cheeks and a new, smoldering ember of ambition in her gut. It was a while still before she was something close to all better again, Vaggi’s warning of flight therapy coming to fruition— though it was mostly Emily flying with the baby Putti and teaching them flight safety along with some other teachers.
“Good job, Clara!” Emily called, a wide-eyed Putto huffing and puffing and fluttering her wings above her head. “You’re doing it!”
“Miss Emily, how do I land?!”
“Remember what we said!” Emily stood, the weight of her wing splint causing her to wobble. “Breathe in, breathe out, and slo-o-owly come down!” She began to clap her hands in a rhythm, the beat the Putti were meant to follow as they began descending from the air. “One, two, one two, one and—”
Clara landed in a mess of cloud fluff, feathers, and ringlets with an ‘oof!’ Before she could begin to cry, Emily scooped her up, cheering and celebrating. She successfully staved off Clara’s tears, sent her on her way, and went on to the next Putto. This, for three weeks.
Then her own flight therapy, which was… fine. Really, though, she enjoyed the lessons! One could even say the time flew by, hehehe—
“I’m spending too much time with you,” Emily teased Sir Pentious, crossing her arms and sticking her nose high in the air. “You have me saying silly puns!”
“To the contrary, dear Emily,” Sir Pentious said, his screwdriver squeaking quietly as he worked on Emily’s prosthetic. “You are merely finding the joy in wordplay and diction!”
Emily hmph’ed, kicking her feet as Sir Pentious’s lab fell quiet. Her nose wrinkled as she felt the apparatus grow tighter, her back straightening in an attempt to relieve the discomfort. Sir Pentious muttered an apology, tightening the next screw. This one made her face screw up more, and a breath burst out of her lungs before she could stop it.
“Sorry!” Sir Pentious’s hands shot away from her wing, the screwdriver clanging onto the floor. “Am I hurting you? Do you need a break—”
“No, no!” Emily shook her head, turning to face the serpent. “I’m just- just thinking. You can keep going. Tell me about the hotel!”
Sir Pentious’s eyes were large as he looked at her, his hands still up in surrender. She smiled, taking his hands in hers.
“I’m fine, Sir Pentious, really.”
“Are– are you sure?”
“Very sure. Tell me about the hotel.”
Sir Pentious drew his hands away from hers, picking up the screwdriver. Emily faced away from him again, pressing her lips together tightly.
“I’ve really told you everything,” he said, finding another screw to tighten. “My EggBois, Cherri, my death— is there anything you want to know?”
“Hmm,” Emily hummed, drumming her fingers against her chin. “Tell me about… Angel Dust.”
“Angel Dust? Ha!” Sir Pentious’s hands drew away from her wing yet again, his laugh filling all corners of his lab. “What would someone like you want to know about him?”
“Everything!” Emily giggled. “I mean, he’s kinda the first one I learned about, when Charlie came up here the first time. He’s the spidery-looking one, right?”
“Yes, he is.” Sir Pentious went back to her wing, beginning to regale all he knew about Angel Dust— his pranks, his vices, his first action in getting Sir Pentious’s road to redemption started. Emily listened intently, making mental notes of everything.
— — —
“No, Emily,” Sera said, her voice large and terrible but so, so sad. “I won’t allow you—”
“Why not?!” Emily begged, her hands knotted. Sera turned away from her, looking outside the window down at the central park area, where little Putti were playing. Emily joined beside her, looking desperately up at her turned away cheek. “He’s in danger, Sera, he’s being brainwashed!”
“We cannot save those who do not want to be saved, Emily.” Sera’s hand skated gently on the glass, tracing the filigree. “Charlie’s hotel only works for those who put in effort.”
“But he was! Remember when we first saw him? He was doing Good! Charlie told me how close he was to redeeming himself, and now we just let him leave?” Emily took a chance and grabbed Sera’s sleeve, folding to her knees. “Sera, please. I won’t push— I’ll just ask him if he’s happy, I’ll help—”
“Aemilia,” Sera warned. Emily’s mouth shut with a click of her teeth. “I know you want to help. You are frightened of what could happen to him— I am too.” Sera knelt, cupping Emily’s hands in her own. “But you do not know him. He would not react any better to you if you confronted him, than he did to the ones who do know him.”
“But he’s so close,” Emily begged. “If I could just—”
“No.” Sera stood, pulling Emily up with her. “You are still too fragile.”
“I’m not fra—”
“If you do this,” Sera’s voice boomed, “you won’t be with Charlie, or Vaggi, or Husk— it will be just you and him in that– that place.” Sera’s eyes glimmered as she bent to be face-to-face with Emily. “Promise me you won’t go. Please, Emily. You are too– you are an Angel of the Lord our God. You are our Joy-Maker, Peace-Maker. We cannot lose you.” Emily looked away, her nose stinging.
“Fine.”
— — —
Emily didn’t say ‘I promise’ now, did she?
She knew Sera had a point— that was the worst part. She never really spoke to Angel Dust, besides immediately after destroying the weapon that Lucifer was stuck in. He had been there, one of the people cheering and celebrating, when he had looked over to Emily. His smile had faded just a little as he knocked his knuckles into Charlie’s shoulder, who had run over to Vaggi to kiss her.
(“Hey,” he said. “Is that Emily?”
“Yeah,” Charlie replied, breathless. Emily could only see the briefest glimpse of her love-struck expression before Charlie had whirled around, her smile dropping— “Shit, Emily!” — as she, Vaggi, and Angel all ran to Emily’s side as Emily crumpled to her knees, the pain of her wing sapping her strength.
“We won,” Emily wheezed, Charlie begging Vaggi to find her father. “Charlie, we– we won, right?”
“Yeah,” Charlie soothed her, gently pulling her to lean against her body more comfortably. “We won, Emily. All because of you.”
“Shit, toots,” Angel piped in, inspecting her wing. “Your wing is all sorts of fucked up. Charlie, she’s bleeding.”
Charlie replied with a flurry of curses, asking Angel to undo the skirt portion of her outfit; Angel snarked back something about taking him out to dinner, but did as Charlie asked and pressed the fabric against Emily’s—)
Well. Emily didn’t need to remember that far. She had been there, after all. The main character, even! So, yeah, she and Angel Dust never really spoke, per se, but if nothing else, she just needed to know if he was okay. It wasn’t fair for him to help her and for her to do nothing. If she were a demon and she helped an Angel, she would be pretty miffed too!
Besides, Sera was just being over-protective again. Her wing was fine; she was taking longer and longer flights every day, and she didn’t see a need for anything more than gentle wing-flaps when she would visit Angel Dust. It wasn’t like he was trapped in a bull ring full of crazed, horned bovine, right?
Well, Emily didn’t really know. Everyone was being very secretive about where Angel Dust was being hidden; shivers ran up Emily’s back as the image of Angel Dust, cramped in a corner of a cold, mildewy cell with moldy crusts of bread and dirty water, filled her mind. The poor thing probably didn’t even have a window!
So, a few nights after Sera and hers argument (?) Emily packed a bag, grabbed a gift basket and a blanket, and envisioned Angel Dust in her mind. After a few seconds (these portals were getting easier and easier! Yay!) she poked her head through, into a… room covered in pink velvet.
The smell hit her immediately after, something heady and thick that hit the back of her throat and made her head ache. It was dizzying, and Emily quickly pulled her head out to breathe in the cool, crisp air of her own room before she stepped fully through the portal, letting it fizzle shut behind her.
What she saw… confused her.
Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see past the haze of smoke, and her nose found air beyond the overwhelming scent she looked around, feeling rooted to the spot she was in. The room was spacious, filled to the brim with soft looking pillows, couches, and blankets. The baby yellow blanket she was holding didn’t match at all, and from the amount of fabric she could see, it was dwarfed by every other blanket in the room. She still placed it on a table, making sure that the tag that read ‘you’re SEW cool!’ was visible. She kept her hold on the gift basket, eyes roving to see any hint of white fluff attached to a head or an arm.
The room was empty, but Emily hesitated to open the door— she knew generally what Angel Dust did for a living, but Emily obviously had never really had actions to match with what people said he did. Sex wasn’t taboo in Heaven for the Winners, but Sera and the other Angels all had other things to talk about and do, so Emily never really… understood it.
Maybe this wasn’t Angel’s room? It didn’t match up exactly with how everyone described Angel’s living situation… maybe this was that– what was his name?-- Valentino’s room. At that thought, Emily snatched the blanket back up, brushing away anything that stuck to the fibres. In her humble opinion, Valentino didn’t deserve such a lovely blanket with such a sweet message.
But still, the world outside of the door frightened her. New visions, abstract depictions of how she heard others whisper about sex began to form in her mind, overwhelming and scary. She knew there were cameras; were they everywhere? Was she–
Was she being watched?
Paranoid fingers creeped up Emily’s neck, her wings ruffling and taking up more space, curving in a sort of protective shell around her. She held the blanket and gift basket close to her chest, tucking her nose into the blanket to escape the smell, even just a little bit. Something sharp and similar to ozone still clung to the blanket, the smell of home soothing her. Maybe she should just portal home. Clearly Angel wasn’t here, at least not now. She hesitated to leave, especially after all the fuss it took to get here— but why wasn’t he here? Was he somewhere below her, in a mildewy cell? Was there a sort of anti-Angel technology surrounding his place of capture, and Emily was standing right above him?! Maybe she should start looking for trapdoors—
“Fuck off, Val!”
Emily shrieked, diving behind one of the larger couches in fright. She hurriedly covered herself with one of the large blankets, gagging at the stench. The plastic surrounding the gift basket crinkled maliciously, Emily biting back the urge to shush it as she sat it beside her, muffling herself with the blanket. She flinched as the door slammed open, the shouting growing louder and closer.
“I’m taking a five!”
“You’ve spent the last five minutes bitching at me, Putito,” a different voice hissed, deep and unfamiliar. Emily cowered closer in on herself, shutting her eyes and trying to stay as still as possible. A glass shattered; the voice continued. “I don’t have all night to babysit you. I’ve got people with tighter holes than you lining up to take your job–”
“I just need fifteen minutes,” the first voice begged, and Emily’s ears pricked up– Angel Dust! So this was his room! At least she had gotten that right—
“I’m getting sick of this, Anthony,” the second voice broke her thoughts, a distressed grunt leaving Angel Dust— or, Anthony?
“Please, Val.” Angel Dust sounded weaker than before, his voice lower, tired. “I’ve been workin’ all night, just give me a break. I’ll make it up to you, ten– twenty-fold.”
Emily finally took the initiative to cover her ears, plugging her fingers as deeply as she could into the canals. The voices went from clear to muffled, merely vibrations. Only once the door slammed shut did Emily feel brave enough to unplug her ears, straining to hear anything beyond the heavy breathing from Angel Dust.
“Fucks’ sake,” he groaned, cut off by a fwump of a body against fabric. “Fucks sake.”
… Better late than never, right?
Emily popped up from behind the couch, her wings pushing the heavy curtain off from her head. She affixed a big smile on her face, cheek-hurtingly so.
“Hello!!” She sang, fluttering over the couch and to where Angel Dust was, currently screeching and falling off the couch.
“What the FUCK are you—”
“Hi my name’s Emily but you already knew that, I’m the Angel you met– or really, helped– during the big kerfuffle a few weeks ago, hahaha intense, right?!” Emily shoved her gift basket and blanket towards him, scrambling away to where she first dropped in through her portal. “I just wanted to pop in and say hi, and that guy was Valentino, isn’t he? What a– a tool!”
“Stop screeching–”
“Anyways, thank you for saving me! You’re Angel Dust right? Isn’t that funny, we both have ‘angel’ somewhere in our description because I’m an Angel but they call you Angel isn’t that funny? I said that twice! You’re probably busy so I’m just gonna go–”
“Wait–”
“I already have a portal open so I’m gonna head out but I’ll come back because you said ‘wait’, okay, by-y-y-ye!!”
Emily fell back through her portal and onto her bed, gasping for air. The gentle hum of cicadas and wind slammed into her like a wave, ozone and pine tree needles replacing the nauseating heft of the smell of Angel Dust’s room. Cool air tickled her warm cheeks. Her wing prosthetic, having warmed from the air before, seized and ached.
Emily lay still, staring up at her ceiling. A fist clung to the front of her dress, trying to quell the rapid beating of her heart.
An urge rose within her— something strong, influenced by all of her new friends at the hotel. A phrase. A word.
“Lord, forgive me,” Emily whispered. “But… fuck.”