Healing
The staff kitchen is buzzing with the usual chaos that their weekly “family” dinners have, though there is the stale undertone of the most recent events. It has been 48 hours since Lucifer brought Stitches back to the hotel, drugged and sedated after the unspeakable had almost happened. Thanks to Angel, Bel was able to make an antidote less than 20 hours later, and then it took an additional 6 hours for it to finally counteract the drug and cleanse it from her body. For the last 12 hours, the small doll demon had been fast asleep, her body recovering from the stress and exhaustion that the drug had put her through.
And it was all Charlie’s fault.
Okay, obviously, she was the only one who thought that, had been reassured by everyone, even Alastor, that it was not her fault. But Stitches wouldn’t have even left that night if they hadn’t fought. She could have even run after her when she left, apologized, and promised to back off! Fuck, she could have prevented her ever ending up in that situation, if she had just put her sister first, not in the selfish way she had been, but in the way Brandi needed her to: just trust her.
Charlie wanted to cry all over again, not that it would do any good. She’s been crying off and on ever since she found out what happened. Because the real knife in her chest was that Stitches had only ever asked Charlie for one thing: trust. Trust in her secret mission, trust that she had a plan, trust that she knew what she wanted, trust that she could handle her future, trust that she would choose Hell over Heaven…
All she wanted was trust.
And Charlie had denied her over and over.
She picked at her lasagna, not particularly hungry. She had been forcing herself to eat, to smile, to continue to keep going because she wasn’t about to take a second of worry from her sister. No sir, not happening, she had been selfish enough! It was time she put her feelings on the back burner for a while and focused solely on fixing what she had broken.
Brandi had trusted her, leaned on her, and bonded with her. From the very first day she arrived in Hell! When she got to Hell, her first thought was to get to the Hazbin Hotel because she trusted Charlie to keep her safe while she adjusted. She had trusted Charlie the first morning enough to allow her to come into the room when she was at her most awkward and vulnerable, covered up only under a sheet, barely awake. She had trusted her memories and stories to Charlie, even before they knew about the isekai stuff. She had trusted Charlie to become her big sister when she got the Magne Mark. She then trusted Charlie to trust her when it came to the new mission and…
Charlie broke the trust.
There was no making excuses, no apologies that would fix this. In the last 48 hours, she replayed every argument that they had had over the last few weeks. Aside from some snarky comments and (well-deserved) harsh comebacks, Stitches had never been the one in the wrong. Every conversation, every bitter fight, Charlie had been the aggressor, the one throwing barbs and stones, at the one person she should be protecting against such attacks. At the time, she may have believed she was doing it for the younger woman’s own good but now… No, she had been selfish.
She could only hope she would be given a chance to-
The door swung open, and everyone turned to it, stilling at the sight. There was Stitches, her hair neatly up in a ponytail, wearing her favorite gray sweatpants and a loose lavender sweater that Alastor had knitted for her. Hovering behind her like a silent bodyguard was Shade in its less substantial form, more like smoke than shadow. There was a smile on her face, and she looked well-rested and content.
As if nothing had happened.
Stitches grinned. “Oh, yum!” she exclaimed, quickly making her way over to her chair. “Lasagna and garlic bread! Looks like I made it just in time.”
No one moved, and Charlie darted her eyes over to her Dad. He looked just as bewildered and concerned as they watched Stitches quickly plate herself a generous helping of the pasta and bread, with Shade pushing green beans onto her plate as well. The doll demon rolled her eyes at it playfully (there were few vegetables that Stitches avoided and green beans were not one of them), before sitting down and digging in, like she hadn’t seen food in days. Which, was not completely true, she had been able to eat a little bit of grits before she passed out for 12 hours to recover.
Lucifer was the first to speak up, clearing his throat with an awkward cough. “Uh, Brandi, sweetheart, you doing okay?”
Stitches looked up quizically, her face devoid of any understanding. She swallowed down the large mouthful of food and chased it with some water before answering. “Yeah, just starving, and this is one of my favorite meals.” She looked down at her plate and laughed. “I probably should slow down though, or I will get a tummy ache, huh?”
“Sis, I think Short King was askin’ ‘bout ya mental health,” Angel prodded gently. “Somethin’ like what happened to ya… I been on the othe’ side o’ Val’s drugs, an’ they ain’t pretty. Not to mention what almost-”
“But the ‘almost’ didn’t happen.” Stitches said it so calmly, so naturally, like they were discussing the pros and cons of fabric samples. It was eerie, knowing what she had been through as if she was pretending it never existed or was dissociating from it to the point she didn’t care. Not apathy, but more like… flippant. “As for the drugs, that shit was awful!” she wrinkled her nose in disgust, her voice taking on more passion. “Like negative a hundred stars on that crap! That shit should be illegal to THINK of making, even here in Pentagram City. There is absolutely zero use for something like that to exist, except for evil intentions by assholes who deserve an angelic bullet in the skull.”
Charlie flinched, but she didn’t speak. She believed all souls deserved a chance at redemption, and that there was good in everyone. But, she had to admit, that whoever was profiting off of a drug like that or used it knowing the effects did, indeed, deserve the worst possible punishment. Even if she wanted to do her usual toning down of the murder talk, she wouldn’t, not here, not now, not to the sister who had every right to feel that way. Not by her, who had so much to make up for.
“I’ll be working on getting that illegal,” Lucifer replied, and it was thick with promise. “I am still working on getting a grasp on all of the… intricate… workings of this realm, but I will be making changes.”
Stitches, sitting next to him, put a reassuring hand on his. “You are doing great, Dad!” she smiled kindly. “You are catching up on 10,000 years of politics and systems, and that takes time. I know you never would have allowed something like that to be legal in any way had you known.”
Lucifer smiled back, sadly, maybe guiltily, but, no less grateful.
“Okay, mature of you, right proud of you,” Husker grunted. “But you aren’t fooling anyone with this ‘I’m fine’ bullshit. So cut the shit and just let us help you through it.”
Stitches leaned back and narrowed her eyes at Husker before looking around the table. There was no anger there, just assessment, as though calculating something. Finally, she gave a resigned sigh, staring at her plate. “Of course, I’m not fine. I never said I was. What happened was scary as fuck, and even if I didn’t have the trauma from my past to consider, I would likely still be heavily fucked up about it.” She looked up at Husker, her expression softer. “I am a fucking wreck, and it’s going to be a difficult road to heal from this shit. I know that, and I have already scheduled therapy with Auntie Bel to resume again, starting tomorrow morning. But -” she smiled around the table “- I have all of you here to support me this time, and we can figure out the rest. I just wanted to feel some normalcy for a bit, and nothing is more normal than Family Dinner night.”
The atmosphere immediately relaxed. The knowledge that she wasn’t masking and avoiding things this time was a huge relief. A year ago, if this had happened… she didn’t even want to imagine. But if all she asked was for them to act like normal outside of needed discussions and therapy time? Then they would be more than happy to give it to her. The kitchen quickly settled back into the comfortable chaos it was always meant to be.
Realizing that Stitches had included her, undeservedly, in her soft smiles and support system, Charlie was finally able to eat.
___________________________________________________________________________
Stitches was back in her bedroom, doodling absently in one of her many sketchbooks, stuck between the urge to sleep or to avoid sleep. On the one hand, her belly was full of lasagna and sleep would come easily enough if she let it. But that was the kicker, wasn’t it, if she would let it. Because with sleep came dreams, and what kind of dreams could one expect after-
A soft knock, two quick raps, a brief pause, then a third.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before answering. She raised her voice enough to be heard through the door, “It’s open, Charlie.”
Charlie walked in, hesitantly, stopping just within view. Stitches would be lying if she claimed that some part of her wasn’t finding satisfaction in her sister’s groveling. She should be contrite after all the bullshit, all the pain, all the… But a larger part, the one that desperately wanted the comfort that only a big sister could manage, the one that never stopped hoping Charlie would come around and get her head out of her ass…
She raised her arms and made grabby hands like a toddler at the tall blonde. “Cuddle me,” she whined, her voice cracking with the longing and the ache from weeks of rejection. Even now, part of her was bracing for a fight, for an insult or a threat. But she wanted her sister, damn it, and it wasn’t until Charlie had started being a bitch that she realized just how much that bond had grown. No one could replace Alexandra, but that was the unique thing about love, wasn’t it?
Always room for one more sibling.
Charlie didn’t hesitate, and the next thing she knew, she was curled up in Charlie’s lap, face buried in her collarbone while Charlie wept into her hair. Stitches smiled through her own tears, the familiar warmth and almost-too-tight squeeze of the Princess’s long limbs grounding her in ways she had desperately needed and been denied in recent times. She wrapped her arms around her sister’s waist, squeezing back just as fiercely, though with less breaking-your-ribs strength, humming softly to soothe the older woman. She might have been the one begging for comfort, but as long as Charlie let her stay right here, she was more than happy to give as much as she received.
Finally, who knew how much time later, Charlie’s sobs lessened to hiccoughs and her grip became more comfortable, less bruising. One of Charlie’s arms supported her back, and the other was combing through her hair at the scalp, the pale hands warm and gentle as she worked through the purple tangles. Stitches felt herself nodding off, basking in the affection and familial love, hoping this lasted until the end of time, because, well fuck, she kinda needed it, okay?
Charlie whispered, “I’m so sorry-”
“-and you are going to stop being a bitch and trust me and not push me into your ideas of who I should be?” Stitches asked, keeping her tone teasing, but firm. Charlie whimpered and nodded emphatically against the top of her head so she could feel it, squeezing her tighter again. “Then, apology accepted,” she huffed out a giggle, “if you don’t break a rib, you anaconda!”
Charlie chuckled and loosened her grip again. “Yeah, I definitely take after Dad in the hug department.”
Stitches rolled her eyes. “Sis, you are basically a copy of Dad in a taller, more feminine body. In my world, there was a fan theory that Dad birthed you because of how much more you looked like him than your mom!”
“I mean…”
Stitches pulled back and stared right into her eyes. “Don’t you dare fuck with me on this, Char. Do not mess with a fucking fangirl theorist!”
Charlie laughed. “Mom carried me and birthed me, I was half-kidding. But Dad had to provide most of the genetic stuff, starting the process in his body before transplanting it into Mom. He has all the plumbing needed since he was created with both sets, not to mention he can shapeshift, but Mom really wanted to experience it, so they made it happen.”
“Soooooo….” Stitches brain was swimming with the information. “You are the result of magical IVF? Or is surrogacy closer in this case? Mm, maybe both, now that I think about it…”
“I am the result of love,” Charlie laughed, “if you need to put a label on it, you over-analyzing buffoon.”
Stitches gave a gasp of mock pearl-clutching. “How DARE you criticize my need to bring logic and order to chaos!” She giggled when Charlie gave her side a gentle pinch in retaliation. “Though, this means that Dad could, theoretically, give us a sibling with Alastor-”
Charlie covered her mouth and hissed. “We are NOT discussing Dad’s sex life anymore tonight, thanks!” She squealed indignantly when Stitches licked her palm, though it removed the hand from her face, so points to Stitches! “But yes,” Charlie confirmed begrudgingly, “it would be possible.”
Stitches grinned in self-satisfaction. Oh, she could hear the Radioapple anti-shippers screaming into their keyboards now. Delicious! Did she think Alastor and Dad would ever actually have kids together like that? Doubtful, but the possibility would now always be there, and if she was writing one of her fanfics back in her world, she would absolutely be dangling that tidbit in front of her readers for the rest of the series. Because, as Alastor liked to say: for the entertainment, my dear!
“About your work tomorrow,” Charlie started, and boy did that pull her from her sadistic author fantasy, “have you thought about maybe calling out?” She immediately started rambling, “Not that I am discouraging you from going, you TOTALLY have my blessing to do what you want to do, not that you need my blessing, absolutely not, but I am just concerned with the drugging and everything and we haven’t made any plans to prevent it happening again, not saying you haven’t already probably thought about that, you probably have, I-”
Stitches put both of her hands over Charlie’s mouth to stop the avalanche and shook her head with a chuckle. “Yep, definitely Dad’s clone, through and through.” Charlie gave her a half-hearted glare, but there was no heat behind it. Even Charlie wasn’t blind to the similarities, and Stitches knew that she was secretly really happy about it. “I understand your concern and actually agree with you. I already messaged my boss at I.M.P. and told them I wouldn’t be there this week. It will give me time to strategize with you guys on how to better protect myself in the future and give me some time to relax and process. I am going to go to Sloth instead for therapy with Auntie Bel those days then come home and catch up on some art projects. Maybe help out around the hotel or something.”
Charlie gently grabbed her wrists and Stitches allowed her to lower her hands from her sister’s face. “Thank you. For taking your mental and physical health seriously. It means a lot to me.” She pulled Stitches back into a hug, and this time, she was more careful with her strength level. Her voice fell to a whisper. “Thank you for forgiving me.”
Stitches giggled quietly, yawning as she snuggled in deeper into the embrace. “What are sisters for?”