Chapter Text
Mammon repressed a sob as he sank underneath the covers of his bed. It had been yet another long, tiring day filled with its usual insults, bullying, and disappointment from others. It was almost as if he couldn’t do a single damn thing right.
Eggshells. He was constantly walking on eggshells. It was unfair how nobody else seemed to face the same level of punishment he had to endure on the daily.
When Belphie or Satan tried to prank Lucifer? A four hour (minimum) lecture.
When Beel ate all of the food in the fridge? A stern warning not to do it again; maybe even getting grounded for the weekend.
Asmo sneaking out a few nights ago? Maybe he would get hung for an hour or two.
But when Mammon tried to do anything, no matter how small, no matter how insignificant...
You’re scum of the three realms, you know that?
I’m severely disappointed in you, Mammon.
I hate you so much.
Of course, in those moments, Mammon swallowed every insult and remark tossed his way. Nobody was allowed to see his weakness. Nobody. He didn’t need pity from a single one of his brothers, especially Lucifer.
Not that he was likely to get any in the first place.
Today was a close one. He had almost cried at dinner when Asmo called him a “waste of space,” but managed to laugh off and deflect the insult before anyone else could agree (which they were about to; he could feel it coming).
The tears, though delayed, had finally arrived. They dripped down Mammon’s cheeks, despite his attempts to palm away the droplets.
“Dammit... dammit.”
Cursing under his breath, Mammon shot up out of bed and tossed his blankets aside.
“It ain’t fair! Ain’t fair at all!” Anger was beginning to boil in his stomach, although Mammon couldn’t tell whether it was supposed to be for himself or his brothers.
Kicking through a pile of dirty laundry, Mammon made a beeline towards his coffee table.
Scattered coins, crumpled receipts, and hastily scribbled I.O.U.s littered the table until Mammon swept everything onto the floor. The only item remaining was the box cutter he used to open up a few packages earlier that day.
The shiny glint of the blade called out to his feral instincts of greed, and he cradled the object close to his chest. He eyed the metal closely, its power almost alluring.
Flipping the blade downwards, Mammon swiftly stabbed the sharp end into his forearm.
... And then he came to his senses.
Mammon stared down at his wound with wide eyes, unsure if he had done this to himself or if something had possessed him.
Pain throbbed through his entire arm, and adrenaline pumped through his entire body. The wound, which had been numb for the past few seconds, was finally stirring to life as Mammon realized what he had done to himself.
His ears were ringing, and somebody was screaming.
Is that me?
The world was spinning, stars were popping in and out of his vision, and every time he blinked, the color red would fizzle to life like a volcano.
Bodies were shuffling around him, and somebody was gripping his arm⎼who was it?
“Sleep, Mammon.”
A voice, somehow soothing, whispered through the thick wall of noise; Satan? Eyelids growing heavy, Mammon became unable to stay awake for a single second longer.
X
“How long does the sleeping spell last?”
“It should be wearing off soon. It was only supposed to last a few hours while we figured out what was happening.”
As if on cue, the sound of Satan’s voice brought Mammon out of his temporary slumber.
The light was excruciatingly bright, and it stung his eyes so much that he opted to keep them closed for a couple minutes longer.
When Mammon finally did fully open his eyes, he found he was back in bed. You, and all six of his brothers were hovering around him, though his memory was cloaked in fog.
What...?
He tried to sit up, but cringed as a spike of pain shot up his arm.
His right arm, which was now wrapped tightly in white bandages, reminded him of what he had done. The scene flickered to life in his mind, like an old film covered in dust, and although it had only happened the night before it felt like a bad, forgotten dream.
Mammon fell back into the den of pillows, resigning the task to try and get out of bed. He couldn’t look anyone in the eyes, not after what he did.
The ceiling seemed to be the safest choice.
You ushered the rest of the brothers out of Mammon’s room; perhaps he was overwhelmed by the deafening silence that was lurking over everybody’s head. Nobody knew what to say, or how to address what had happened.
“I’d like some alone time with him,” you said, and shut the door behind Lucifer, the last to leave the room.
You thought you would know what to say now that you two were alone, but any and all words had escaped your brain.
Your head scrambled for something to say, anything! Your dear friend literally stabbed a box cutter into his arm! Something was definitely wrong, and you had neglected to catch it in time. Were you really a good friend?
“Mammon, I⎼”
“Ya don’t have to worry about THE Great Mammon...” Mammon’s voice lacked its usual enthusiasm, but either way you weren’t convinced.
“Mammon...” you lowered your voice, almost to a whisper. It was the tone of voice you always used with him when you were trying to be serious.
Cue the waterworks.
“Why would you do that to yourself? We were all so worried⎼”
“Don’t lump yourself in with the rest of ‘em. I know they wouldn’t care.”
“I’m sorry I teased you. I thought...” You trailed off, though there was no excuse. You thought he was fine, but you should have known better. You knew he was pretty sensitive to begin with, even if your teasing was mild compared to the rest of the brothers, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, just⎼just don’t do this again. Please.”
You cradled his arm gently, the sight of the wound (although covered) sending your stomach into a fit.
“Everyone was so worried.” You ignored what he said a second ago, instead opting to bury your tearful face into his hand. “What if you had hit a vein?”
Mammon shrugged.
You sniffled, lifting your head so that snot didn’t drip onto his palm.
“I don’t⎼I don’t know what I would have done if I had⎼If you⎼I-If...” you couldn’t even speak it aloud. The mere possibility of losing him⎼even the thought ⎼it was too much for you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you squeaked.
“Ya shouldn’t get all worked up over me... Don’t even know why I did it.”
His remark did nothing to soothe your sadness, even if he was being unusually, brutally honest with himself at the moment. At least somewhat.
You made a vow to yourself that you would pay more attention. That you would learn when the teasing got to be too much. That you would put an end to all of his brothers’ insults.
Leaning forward, you pressed your lips into his for a quick kiss.
“I love you, Mammon. I don’t want to see you hurt like this.”
When Mammon said nothing⎼just stared up at you with his big ol’ eyes, you continued.
“Please, talk to me. Talk to me if you feel bad. I can help. We can all help. Me, your brothers, anyone.”
X
The next night, as Mammon slipped under the covers of his bed, he found he had to sleep on the opposite side to avoid irritating his healing arm.
Your words, although he wouldn’t admit it directly, helped him. He kept them on repeat in his head throughout the evening until he finally drifted to sleep.