General POV
You cannot get away from consequences.
Everyone knows that in the vague, useless way people know things before those things happen to them. From a distance, consequences are simple. Cause and effect. Action and reaction. Say the wrong thing, and someone stops trusting you. Do the wrong thing, and someone gets hurt. Pretend nothing is wrong for long enough, and eventually the wrongness learns how to speak for itself.
The problem was that consequences did not always arrive loudly.
Sometimes they did not kick down doors or roar through the streets or announce themselves with fire. Sometimes they sat across from you at breakfast, wearing your face in smaller, sharper pieces, asking why now in a voice too tired to be theatrical. Sometimes they looked like a son who had spent his life waiting for his mother to look back, only to become old enough to hate himself for still wanting her to.
And sometimes, consequences looked like a queen trying to be a mother long after the child had stopped believing she knew how.
Gluttony was awake, because Gluttony was always awake. The Ring never really slept, not fully. Even when parties dimmed and fountains stopped flowing and the larger crowds stumbled back to whatever homes, hotels, dens, or gutters they belonged to, the air still hummed with old music and sugared exhaustion. Morning here did not feel like morning. It felt like the party had simply changed clothes.
Somewhere in the quieter edges of Beelzebub's manor, away from the main halls and the constant pulse of staff preparing for the next celebration, Whis had found a place where the noise could only reach him in pieces.
A balcony stretched out from one of the lesser-used corridors, overlooking a section of Gluttony that had been built to look natural and expensive at the same time. Honey-colored stone, wide garden paths, decorative trees trimmed into impossible spirals, and fountains that smelled faintly of citrus and sugar. It was beautiful in the way everything in Bee's home was beautiful: overwhelming, intentional, and just personal enough to remind everyone who owned it.
Whis leaned against the railing with all four arms folded tight, his digitigrade feet planted bare against the polished floor. His claws were not fully out, but every few seconds one would click softly against the stone, betrayed by the tension in his legs. His wings remained folded stiffly against his back, too rigid to look relaxed, while his antennae angled downward in a way that made him seem smaller than he actually was.
His Bub hovered near his shoulder in slow, uneven coils.
Most of it remained gold, because Gluttony was what he was and Gluttony was what this whole Ring breathed into him whether he wanted it or not. But other colors moved through the glow in thin, borrowed threads, picked up from the manor below and the workers passing through the halls and the crowds already gathering for whatever celebration Bee's staff had decided needed preparing before breakfast was even finished. Green slipped through it with the sharp little taste of Greed, all want and calculation from demons counting favors, paychecks, attention, and opportunities. Blue followed softer but colder, Envy leaking from people looking at a palace they would never own, a queen they would never be close to, and a life they thought belonged to someone luckier than them.
Whis hated when the colors showed, not because they were his, but because sometimes they were not, and his body still carried them anyway.
Vortex stood beside him, leaning one hip against the balcony rail with the easy stillness of someone who looked like he could break most demons in half and usually chose not to. He was trying to give Whis room without leaving him alone, which was a harder balance than most people understood. Too close, and Whis would feel cornered. Too far, and he would take it as proof that even concern had limits. Tex kept his arms loose, his voice low, and his tail moving only once in a slow flick behind him, careful enough that the motion felt more like patience than nerves.
Vortex: You don't gotta forgive her today.
Whis did not look at him.
Whis: That is a generous opening.
Vortex glanced at him, then back toward the gardens below.
Vortex: Yeah, well, figured I'd start with something that wasn't bullshit.
Whis's claws clicked once against the polished stone.
Whis: How thoughtful.
Vortex let the sarcasm pass without grabbing onto it. That was one of the reasons Whis tolerated him more than most people. Tex did not treat every sharp comment like a challenge to win. Sometimes he just let Whis have the edge, because taking it away would only make him reach for something sharper.
Vortex: I'm just saying maybe give her a minute before you decide the whole thing's dead.
Whis finally turned his head.
Whis: Give her a minute?
The words came out calm enough at first, which was how Vortex knew he was already in dangerous territory. Whis was loud when he was irritated and sarcastic when he was uncomfortable. Calm usually meant something had moved past the first layer of defense and settled somewhere deeper, where the hurt was old enough to sound reasonable.
Whis: I've given her minutes my entire life, Tex. Hours. Days. Years. I gave her chances when I was a kid waiting by doors. I gave her chances when servants told me she was busy. I gave her chances when the little imp who actually took care of me had to explain why she missed things like I was too stupid to notice. My entire childhood was spent chasing her approval, and now that I'm old enough for most parents in this Hellhole to kick their kids out, now she wants to suddenly act like a mom?
Vortex breathed in slowly through his nose. He did not answer right away, not because he had nothing to say, but because Whis would notice if the words were chosen too easily. A quick answer would sound rehearsed. A perfect answer would sound fake. Tex was not trying to win the argument. He was trying to keep Whis from throwing the entire possibility off the balcony before Bee even got close enough to disappoint him properly.
Vortex: Yeah. That's fucked up.
Whis stared at him.
Vortex looked back.
Vortex: What? It is.
Whis's eyes narrowed slightly, his heart-shaped nose wrinkling in a way that made him look more like Bee than he probably wanted to. His antennae twitched with irritation, but some part of him had clearly expected Tex to defend her harder than that.
Whis: That is your argument?
Vortex: No. That's me not lying to you.
Whis's lower hands tightened around his upper arms.
Whis: Impressive. Continue.
Vortex shifted his weight against the railing, keeping his tone even.
Vortex: Bee screwed up. Bad. I'm not gonna stand here and tell you she didn't just because I care about her.
Whis: Good.
Vortex: But she knows she screwed up.
Whis let out a quiet laugh that did not reach anything past his throat.
Whis: After someone told her.
Vortex: Yeah.
Whis blinked, clearly annoyed by the lack of argument.
Vortex: Yeah, Whis. Someone had to tell her. That sucks. That hurts. I'm not gonna dress that up and pretend it's cute. But she asked. That matters too.
Whis turned back toward the gardens below, watching a pair of workers adjust lights around a fountain as if the world had nothing better to do than prepare for another event. The borrowed colors in his Bub shifted faintly with the movement beneath them, green and blue threading through the gold in restless little veins, but Whis kept his eyes on the fountain instead of the glow. He did not need another reminder that the Ring could crawl under his skin even when he wanted nothing from it.
Whis: It means she had to ask how to care about me.
Vortex's jaw tightened slightly.
Vortex: No. It means she had to ask how not to hurt you worse.
That made Whis go quiet for half a second.
Not long.
But long enough.
Whis: That is not as comforting as you think it is.
Vortex: Didn't say it was comforting.
Whis looked at him again.
Vortex shrugged.
Vortex: Just said it matters.
Whis's ears angled back.
Whis: Sure. It counts. About ten years too late, but who's keeping track, right?
Vortex rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, eyes dropping briefly toward the balcony floor. He had heard versions of this conversation before, though rarely this directly. Whis had spent years pretending resentment was just personality, packaging every wound in enough dry humor that other people could pretend not to notice the blood underneath. Bee had started trying now, clumsy and late and messy in a way that did not magically become less painful just because it was sincere. That meant Whis had to choose whether to reject the attempt immediately or leave room for the possibility that she might keep showing up.
Vortex understood why the first option felt safer.
Vortex: I'm not asking you to make this easy for her.
Whis glanced sideways at him.
Whis: Good, because I have no interest in charity work.
Vortex: I'm asking you not to shut it down before she even gets here.
Whis's jaw tightened. His lower hands gripped his upper arms while his top pair stayed folded over his chest, claws pressing lightly into fabric.
Whis: I already know how it ends.
Vortex: You know how it used to end.
Whis's eyes sharpened.
Vortex did not look away.
Vortex: That's not me saying you're wrong. I'm saying there's a difference.
Whis: There is not enough difference to gamble on.
Vortex: Maybe not.
Whis blinked again, thrown off by the agreement.
Vortex: But you're already hurting, man. Keeping her out doesn't make that hurt smaller. It just keeps everything stuck where it already is.
Whis's wings buzzed once, short and irritated.
Whis: You are getting dangerously close to sounding wise.
Vortex: Don't spread that around. I've got a reputation.
Whis looked away, but the smallest tension near his mouth shifted. Not softened. Not really. But reacted. Vortex took what he could get.
Whis: She gets excited. She makes plans. She realizes this is harder than throwing a party. Then she disappears for a week, or a month, or however long it takes for everyone else to need her more than I do.
Vortex did not have an immediate answer.
That was the worst part.
Whis noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Whis: See? That pause was the answer.
Vortex: No. That pause was me not wanting to bullshit you.
Whis: You are repeating that theme often.
Vortex: Because you keep giving me chances to.
Whis shot him a flat look.
Vortex met it with a small, tired smile, the kind that did not try to make the moment lighter so much as keep it from sinking too fast.
Vortex: Look, I don't know if she'll get it right.
Whis's expression closed further.
Vortex: I don't. And if I told you I did, you'd know I was lying. Bee's Bee. She's loud, she's messy, she panics by throwing glitter at problems, and half the time she thinks a party counts as a conversation.
Whis: Accurate.
Vortex: But I know she cares.
Whis scoffed quietly.
Vortex: I also know that doesn't fix it.
That stopped the scoff from becoming a full argument.
Vortex pushed off the railing and stepped closer, slow enough that Whis had time to move away if he wanted. When Whis did not, Tex placed one hand on his shoulder, firm but not trapping, his thumb giving a small squeeze before stilling.
Vortex: You don't have to suddenly be okay. You don't gotta be happy. You don't even gotta be nice. Just don't turn every attempt into proof she already failed before she even gets the words out.
Whis stared ahead, tense beneath the touch but not rejecting it.
Whis: I know you told her to do something for me.
Vortex winced, but only a little.
Vortex: I told her to stop guessing and start trying.
Whis: Well, she did. Breakfast. Weird hovering. Too much food. A whole lot of cheerful panic. Very educational. It will also be the last time until I move out.
Beelzebub: You're movin' out?!
Whis flinched so hard all four arms jerked away from himself, and before either of them could process it, he had practically launched sideways into Vortex. His wings snapped out halfway, buzzing in alarm, while his claws scraped loudly against the balcony floor.
Whis: AGH, WHAT?!
Beelzebub was hovering above the balcony entrance, wings beating fast enough to blur. Her mohawk was slightly messy, her antennae angled forward in pure alarm, and the look on her face made it painfully obvious she had heard the last possible sentence out of context and chosen to react with the subtlety of a firework exploding inside a closet.
Beelzebub: Move out?! Whisky, who the hell told you you're movin' out? I ain't kicking you out! No fucking way that's happening, baby bee. You live here. This is your home. I mean, okay, technically it's my home, legally and historically and probably spiritually, but you know what I mean.
Whis slowly peeled himself off Vortex, dignity already dead and buried. His ears flattened as he fixed his mother with a glare sharp enough to cut sugar glass.
Whis: Why are you here exactly?
Vortex suddenly found the far garden extremely interesting.
Vortex: I, uh... may have told her where we were.
Whis turned his glare toward him.
Whis: Oh, for Lucifer's sake.
He tried to step past them both, but before his claws could click more than twice against the stone, a glistening wall of honey rose in front of him. It stretched from floor to ceiling in a thick translucent sheet, golden and warm, blocking the exit like a very pretty prison. Whis stopped so abruptly his wings bumped Vortex in the chest.
His Bub stiffened.
The balcony seemed to grow smaller around him.
Beelzebub immediately realized the mistake about half a second after making it. Her ears lowered, and the bright panic in her face shifted into something more cautious, more guilty.
Beelzebub: Wait, wait, don't freak out. I'm not trapping you, okay? I'm just... preventing a dramatic exit.
Whis stared at the honey wall, and for a moment his expression went blank in a way that made Vortex's stomach drop. The wall was not just a wall. Not to Whis. Honey, amber, barriers, things hardening around him when he wanted space. The symbolism practically punched the air out of the balcony.
Whis: Move it.
Bee swallowed.
Beelzebub: I will. Just hear me out first.
Whis's breathing shifted, not quite panic but close enough to make his claws flex. The walls around his heart felt like they were sticking the same way, sweet and suffocating, emotion pressing thick against his throat. He could taste frustration, anger, longing, and the awful, embarrassing hope that had survived every attempt to kill it.
Bee moved closer, slower this time. Her digitigrade feet touched down softly, claws barely clicking against the floor. She reached for his shoulders, then stopped herself halfway, hands hovering uselessly in the air. The old Bee would have grabbed first and asked later. This Bee, whatever version of her was trying to exist now, seemed to remember just in time that touching someone was not the same thing as comforting them.
Beelzebub: Look, Whis, baby, I wanna fix this.
The words sounded too small.
She clearly felt it too, because her wings buzzed uneasily behind her as she searched for something better.
Beelzebub: No, not fix, that sounds like you're a busted speaker or somethin'. I don't mean it like that. I mean... I wanna make it better. I just don't really know how, and that sounds awful when I say it out loud, but it's true, so here we are.
Whis looked at her, then at Vortex.
Whis: Yeah, that really shows how big of a damn she gives if you had to be the one to tell her what to say.
Vortex sighed, stepping between them before Bee's face could fully crumple.
Vortex: She asked me because she cares. Not because she doesn't know how to talk to you.
Whis arched a brow.
Vortex paused.
Vortex: Okay, maybe a little because she doesn't know how to talk to you, but that's not the insult you think it is. It means she wanted to do it right.
Whis: That is somehow worse.
Vortex: It's really not.
Whis looked away, lower arms tightening around his middle. His Bub dimmed toward a darker blue, resentment cooling into something older and more tired. Bee watched the shift like she wanted to reach into the air and hold it in place, as if knowing the color could somehow teach her the right words.
Vortex stepped a little farther into Whis's line of sight, not blocking him, not crowding him, just making it harder for Whis to disappear into the floor instead of the conversation.
Vortex: Buddy, look at her for a second. You don't have to trust this yet. Just listen.
Whis stared at Vortex with open betrayal.
Whis: I hate when you are reasonable.
Vortex: Yeah, I get that a lot.
Whis exhaled through his nose, then turned back toward Bee with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner attending his own hearing.
Whis: Fine. Let's hear this groundbreaking speech.
Bee's confidence, which had been visibly trying to assemble itself out of glitter and panic, immediately collapsed under the pressure of being invited to speak. Her top hands lifted, her lower hands fidgeted with the edge of her outfit, and her antennae twitched so erratically that even Vortex looked nervous.
Vortex: Just say what feels right.
Beelzebub: Tex, I host parties for a living. What feels right usually involves bass, alcohol, and at least one person makin' choices their lawyer will hear about later.
Whis: Inspiring.
Bee pointed at him.
Beelzebub: Do not sass me while I'm emotionally underqualified.
Whis blinked.
Vortex coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.
For the smallest moment, the tension shifted. Not vanished, but shifted. Bee seemed to notice it and took a breath before the moment could die.
Beelzebub: Okay. Okay, I can do this.
She faced Whis properly, shoulders squaring as if she were stepping onto a stage. But this was not a stage. There were no lights, no crowd, no room full of emotions for her to taste and guide. There was only Whis, standing with his wings stiff and his eyes guarded, waiting for her to either prove him wrong or prove him right.
Beelzebub: Whis.
Whis: Yeah?
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Whis waited.
Bee's wings buzzed once, too loud in the quiet.
Beelzebub: I think...
Whis: Do you need encouragement from me as well?
Beelzebub: STOP WITH THE SARCASM!
Whis jerked back, startled, all four hands lifting defensively.
Whis: OKAY. Okay, settle.
Bee immediately winced. Her Bub, which had flashed a sharp yellow with the outburst, softened back into a lava-lamp swirl of gold and restless warmth. She rubbed at her face with one hand and forced herself to breathe.
Beelzebub: Sorry. Shit. Sorry. See? This is what I mean. I'm bad at this.
Whis: I noticed.
Vortex: Whis.
Whis: What? She said it first.
Bee gave a strained laugh, though it sounded more like a bruise than amusement. She looked at him again, and this time something in her changed. Not dramatically. Not perfectly. But the performance thinned. The party host vanished for just a moment, leaving someone older, messier, and much more frightened standing in her place.
Beelzebub: I know I've been a bad mom.
Whis did not freeze.
That would have been easier to read.
Instead, he went quiet in a way that made the balcony feel suddenly more careful around him. His expression did not soften, and his Bub did not flare with some obvious answer for Bee to grab onto. He simply watched her, eyes steady and guarded, as if her words had not wounded him so much as opened a door he had already learned not to walk through too quickly. This was not shock. This was evaluation. This was Whis deciding whether the sentence was honest enough to be worth entertaining, or whether it was just another late attempt at sounding like she understood damage after the damage had already become part of him.
Bee seemed to feel that judgment more than she would have felt an outburst. Her hands lowered to her sides, claws curling lightly against her palms, and for once she did not try to soften the words by turning them into a joke.
Beelzebub: I kept thinking that if you had everything you needed, then that counted. Food, room, safety, money, staff, all the stuff a kid needs to not die in Hell. And that sounds so stupid now, because yeah, great job, Bee, you kept your child alive. Gold star. Mother of the damn century.
Whis's eyes narrowed slightly.
Whis: Staff.
Bee blinked, caught by the single word.
Whis: You keep saying staff like they were furniture.
The sentence landed with less volume than accusation deserved, which made it worse. Vortex's ears shifted, and Bee's face changed in small, uncertain pieces as she realized she had stepped on something she had never bothered to see.
Whis: There was an imp. Small. Easy to ignore. Most people did. Most people still do. He is barely the size of a teacup, and in Hell that usually means people think he exists to be ordered, stepped around, laughed at, or forgotten.
Bee did not speak.
Whis: He knew when I ate. He knew when I slept. He knew when I was pretending not to cry. He knew which doors I waited by and which excuses made me stop asking questions. You call that staff. I call that the closest thing I had to someone staying.
The silence after that was not empty. It was packed full of Bee realizing that she did know the imp's name. That somehow made it worse. Archie had existed in her house for years, small enough for most of Hell to ignore, familiar enough for her to recognize as part of Whis's routine, and she still had not understood that he was not just a servant moving through the background of her son's life.
He had been the background.
Beelzebub: Archie.
Whis looked at her for a long moment, as if hearing the name in her mouth made something in him tighten.
Whis: Yes.
Bee nodded once, and this time she did not say she would thank him, reward him, promote him, or drag him into some grand apology that would turn Archie into another object in her guilt. She only held the name like it had finally become a person instead of a household detail.
Beelzebub: I should've known what he was doing for you.
Whis: Yes.
Beelzebub: I'm sorry.
Whis: That does not fix it.
Beelzebub: I know.
Vortex stayed quiet this time. That was the more canon version of him in a moment like this. He did not rush to patch the silence with a speech, did not force Whis to make Bee feel better, and did not turn himself into the center of the scene. He simply stood close enough to intervene if the pain became too sharp, steady and present in the way he usually was, letting the two of them handle the truth without pretending it was less ugly than it was.
Bee rubbed at her eyes, then dropped her hands and forced herself to keep facing him.
Beelzebub: I thought I could do this better. I thought if I came in sincere enough, if I said the right thing, maybe it would at least start something. But it's harder than I imagined, and I hate that because it should not be hard to apologize to my own kid.
Whis: It is hard because you are not used to consequences landing in your own house.
The sentence cut cleanly.
Bee inhaled.
Vortex's tail stopped moving.
Whis seemed surprised by his own directness, but he did not take it back.
Bee nodded.
Beelzebub: Yeah. Probably.
Whis stared at her.
He had expected defense.
Excuses.
A joke.
Something.
The lack of resistance did more damage to his anger than he wanted it to.
Vortex noticed the opening and gently nudged the moment forward.
Vortex: She's not asking you to pretend none of it happened, Whis. She's asking for a chance to start showing up now.
Whis: You keep saying that like now is not the worst possible time.
Vortex: Why?
Whis's face twisted, the emotion slipping out before he could stop it.
Whis: Because now I am old enough to know better.
That silenced both of them.
The borrowed blue in Whis's Bub deepened again, but the gold beneath it flickered unevenly, soft and dangerous. His voice shook, though he clearly hated that it did.
Whis: When I was little, I could hope without feeling stupid. I could believe she would come because kids are stupid and they believe things because adults tell them to. But now? Now if I let myself think this could work and she leaves again, that is on me. That is me choosing to be stupid.
Bee's expression crumpled.
Whis immediately looked away, angry at himself for giving her anything real.
Beelzebub: Sweet thing...
Whis: Don't.
She stopped.
That, more than anything, made him glance back.
Bee had stopped.
Not pushed through.
Not grabbed.
Not overwhelmed.
Stopped.
Her hands hovered near her chest, claws curled inward like restraining herself required actual physical effort.
Beelzebub: Okay.
Whis did not know what to do with that either.
Vortex exhaled slowly.
For a moment the three of them stood in the strange, heavy quiet of almost-progress. Not healed. Not fixed. But honest enough to be dangerous. Bee seemed to feel it too, because when she spoke again her voice was softer.
Beelzebub: I'll give you time. I'll look at you. I'll listen. I know saying it doesn't prove shit, and I know I should've done all of that before, but I'm saying it because I need you to hear me start somewhere.
Whis's eyes narrowed.
Bee continued before fear could swallow the words.
Beelzebub: I want a relationship with you. Not a public one. Not a cute picture thing. Not a "look at my baby bee" thing. A real one. Even if it's ugly. Even if you hate half of it. Even if you tell me no.
Vortex smiled faintly.
Whis did not.
The silence stretched longer than Bee expected.
Then Whis breathed out.
Whis: Wow.
Bee's ears lifted slightly.
Beelzebub: Wow good?
Whis looked at her, expression guarded and pained in equal measure.
Whis: No. Like, actually wow. You are really giving this a try.
Bee's face softened with cautious hope.
Beelzebub: I am serious, Whis. I'm not backing out. Not this time.
Whis's mouth tightened.
Whis: For others maybe.
Bee frowned.
Beelzebub: What does that mean?
Whis: You are great at not backing out for everyone else.
Bee had no answer.
Whis's claws clicked once against the floor.
Whis: Your people. Your parties. Your businesses. Your charities. Your workers. Your friends. Vortex. Random strangers crying in bathrooms. You show up for them. You always show up for them.
Bee looked down.
Whis's voice lowered.
Whis: That is why it is worse.
Vortex's expression shifted, hurt and understanding arriving together.
Whis: If you were just terrible, it would be easier. If you were Mammon, I could hate you cleanly. But you are not. You are good to everyone. Which means I spent my life watching you be exactly what I needed, just never for me.
Bee's wings went still.
The words did not explode.
They sank.
Vortex looked away, jaw tight.
Bee swallowed hard.
Beelzebub: I don't know how to answer that.
Whis: You do not have to.
Beelzebub: I want to.
Whis shook his head.
Whis: No.
Bee blinked.
Beelzebub: No?
Whis: No.
The word landed plainly.
Not screamed.
Not dramatic.
That made it worse.
Whis stood straighter, all four arms slowly unfolding. His Bub steadied, colors still conflicted but no longer flailing. He looked like someone forcing himself to close a door before the person outside could convince him to leave it open.
Whis: I don't want to try.
Bee stared at him.
Whis: I have every right to be mad. I have every right to refuse. I have every right to decide that your attempt does not require my participation.
Vortex stepped forward.
Vortex: Whis—
Whis did not look at him.
Whis: No, Tex. You wanted me to listen. I listened.
Vortex stopped.
Whis turned back to Bee.
Whis: You apologized. You admitted things. You said you would try. Good. That is good. But I do not owe you the emotional reward of accepting it right now.
Bee looked like she had been slapped.
Not because he was wrong.
Because he was not.
Beelzebub: I know I failed you, but I am willing to start right.
Whis's ears flattened.
Whis: You don't get to decide what right looks like by yourself.
Bee's throat worked.
Beelzebub: Then tell me.
Whis's laugh came out harsher.
Whis: To leave.
The quiet cracked.
Vortex shifted uncomfortably.
Whis's voice rose, not into a roar but into something thinner and more desperate.
Whis: Leave and stop bothering me. That is what I want right now. The best gift you can give me is to leave me the hell alone.
Bee stared at him, hurt flashing hot and bright across her face. Her Bub sparked yellow, then red, then gold, emotions colliding too quickly to settle. For a moment Whis thought she might finally give up. For one awful, hopeful second, he thought she might prove him right and walk away.
Instead, her eyes hardened.
Not cruelly.
Stubbornly.
Beelzebub: No.
Whis stopped, the word catching him sharply enough that his expression went blank for half a breath.
Beelzebub: I'm not leaving you alone. Not like that.
Whis's Bub flared.
Whis: Excuse me?
Bee stepped closer, not touching him, but refusing to shrink.
Beelzebub: You want space? Fine. You want time? Fine. You want to be mad? Be mad. But I am not going to keep pretending that giant wall you built around yourself is the same thing as peace.
Vortex immediately lifted both hands.
Vortex: Okay, let's maybe chill the temperature before the balcony becomes a crime scene.
Whis ignored him.
Whis: The atmosphere here is as thick as honey and hard as amber. It is not going to end until you leave or let me leave.
Bee looked at him for a long moment.
Then she sighed.
It sounded like defeat.
Whis almost relaxed.
Then Bee's mouth curved.
Vortex recognized the expression and immediately looked concerned.
Vortex: Bee.
Beelzebub: Or...
Whis's eyes narrowed.
Beelzebub: Or until I say this.
She lifted off the floor with a loud buzz, wings stirring the air around them as she rose just high enough to look dramatic without needing to grow to full size. Her antennae lifted, her grin returned with all the dangerous energy of someone making a decision that was absolutely not the emotionally mature one.
Whis: Do not.
Beelzebub: As Queen of Gluttony, I am officially ordering you to come to my party tomorrow.
Whis stared.
Vortex closed his eyes.
Bee pointed both upper hands at Whis while her lower hands planted themselves on her hips.
Beelzebub: No backing out. No hiding in your room. No mysterious sudden illness. No "oops I fell through a portal." You are coming, and if you do not show up, the punishment will be...
Her Bub flashed a theatrical crimson, the gold deepening into red syrupy drama.
Beelzebub: Thicker than blood.
The silence that followed was so complete that even the distant fountains seemed embarrassed.
Vortex slowly opened one eye.
Vortex: Was that a reference to that bad horror movie we watched? The bear one?
Bee's grin widened.
Beelzebub: Yeah. Did it sound cool?
Vortex hesitated.
Vortex: It sounded... committed.
Whis looked between them, disbelief overtaking anguish for a brief, merciful second.
Whis: You cannot be serious.
Beelzebub: I can, and I am.
Whis's eyes watered suddenly, and the shift struck the humor dead. Bee's grin vanished as quickly as it had arrived.
Whis looked down, voice weakening into something small enough to make Vortex's chest ache.
Whis: Why now?
Bee lowered back to the floor.
Whis: Why do you have to do this now, when I already gave up?
His claws pressed into his palms.
Whis: Can't you see it will only hurt more if you try now?
Bee's face twisted. She wanted to answer properly. Wanted to say the thing that would make that fear go away. But she did not know how, and because she did not know how, she reached for the only kind of help she understood.
Movement.
Plans.
Noise.
A party.
Beelzebub: Then come tomorrow.
Whis stared at her.
Bee forced brightness into her voice, but it shook at the edges.
Beelzebub: Come tomorrow, and I'll show you it doesn't have to hurt the way you think. You don't gotta dance if you don't want. You don't gotta sing. You don't gotta be happy. Just be there.
Whis looked like he did not know whether to be furious or exhausted.
Whis: I am going to kill someone someday, and it will be your fault.
Vortex: Buddy, you still live with your mom.
Whis: I haven't done anything bad.
A pause.
Whis: Publicly.
Bee made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. It startled all three of them.
Beelzebub: Okay. Great. We are setting the bar real low and still limboing under it. Love that for us.
Whis rubbed at his face with all four hands, wings twitching.
Bee stepped closer again, more carefully this time.
Beelzebub: Listen. I swear on my life I'm gonna start showing up for things. Your things. Not just big stuff. Not just "oh shit, crisis" stuff. Things I missed. Things I don't even know I missed yet.
Whis looked at her through his fingers.
Beelzebub: I'll be there for your first... uh...
She stalled.
Vortex's brows lifted.
Whis slowly lowered his hands.
Beelzebub: First drink.
Whis stared.
Whis: I had mine at twelve.
Bee's face emptied.
Beelzebub: What?
Vortex's ears shot up.
Vortex: You what?
Whis frowned at both of them.
Whis: Why is everyone reacting like that?
Bee's wings buzzed dangerously.
Beelzebub: Because twelve is a number for learnin' fractions and getting bad haircuts, not drinking.
Whis: It was Beelzejuice. I liked the flavor.
Vortex grabbed Whis by the head, gently but urgently, turning his face left and right as if checking for delayed damage from six years ago.
Vortex: You know that stuff is strong, right?
Whis: Not the one from the main fountains. I have had stronger from her reserved storage.
Bee went very still.
Beelzebub: You were the one stealing from my reserved storage?
Whis blinked.
Whis: Stealing feels extreme. I live here.
Bee pointed at him, mouth open, then closed it again with visible effort.
Beelzebub: We are circling back to that. I don't know when, but oh, we are circling back.
Whis: Great. Something to look forward to.
Bee shook herself, trying to return to the point.
Beelzebub: Fine. Not your first drink. I'll be there for your first girlfriend or boyfriend.
Whis's expression flattened.
Whis: I prefer not to indulge in that.
Bee waved a hand.
Beelzebub: They all say that.
Whis: Asexuality is not a scheduling conflict.
Vortex coughed.
Bee paused.
Beelzebub: Okay. Fair. Learning. Love that. Marking that down in the mental file I should've opened years ago.
Whis looked briefly caught off guard by the correction, though he hid it quickly.
Bee continued, scrambling.
Beelzebub: I'll be there for your first movie night with me. Your first actual party that you host. Your first boring royal event where you have to smile at someone and pretend their opinion doesn't make you wanna chew glass.
Vortex: She can teach that one very well.
Bee pointed at him.
Beelzebub: I am a professional.
Whis sighed.
Whis: This is spiraling.
Beelzebub: Baby, everything I do spirals. The trick is making it pretty on the way down.
Despite himself, Vortex smiled.
Whis did not, but some of the sharpness had dulled into exhausted disbelief. Bee saw it. She did not know how to keep it, but she saw it.
Then, because she was still Bee and therefore constitutionally incapable of leaving a moment untouched by chaos, she leaned forward until she and Whis were almost eye to eye.
Beelzebub: And most importantly, I'll be there when you—
Whis's eyes widened.
Whis: Do not finish that sentence.
Beelzebub: —lose your virg—
Whis: OKAY, LOOK AT THE TIME.
He tore himself backward so fast his claws skidded on the marble. Vortex burst into laughter despite himself, covering his mouth when Whis glared at him.
Whis yanked out his phone, frantically swiping through pages.
Whis: It is getting late. The party is tomorrow. You must have things to prepare.
Beelzebub: Oh, I have other people for that.
Whis muttered under his breath as he searched.
Whis: Come on, 666-excuses-dot-hell, give me something useful.
Bee leaned over.
Beelzebub: Are you searching excuses in front of me?
Whis: Yes.
Vortex: Points for honesty.
Whis: Ah. Here. I have to water my...
He squinted.
Whis: Dad?
Vortex gently took the phone from him.
Vortex: Yeah, no.
Whis: That website is badly organized.
Vortex pocketed the phone with the smoothness of someone who had done this before.
Vortex: Come on. It'll be fun. Or it'll be terrible and you'll get to complain about it, which you also enjoy.
Whis: I do not enjoy complaining. I am simply observant in hostile environments.
Bee gasped.
Beelzebub: That is the most you sentence I have ever heard.
Whis: Thank you. I hate it.
Bee grabbed all four of his hands with all four of hers before he could retreat again. This time, unlike the honey wall, she made sure her grip was firm but not trapping. He could pull away if he truly wanted to.
He did not.
He hated that too.
Beelzebub: No, no. You are doing this. It is not gonna be as bad as the time I stole Mammon's gold thingy.
Whis stared.
Whis: What does that have to do with anything?
Bee brightened, grateful for a topic that did not require emotional competence.
Beelzebub: Oh, it was hilarious. He was supposed to make this huge speech in Greed with it in hand because it was his most guarded, most precious, most dramatic little power display, and I yoinked it right before he went onstage.
Vortex chuckled.
Vortex: He cried.
Beelzebub: He screamed. Different thing.
Whis blinked slowly.
Whis: I fail to see how this relates.
Bee squeezed his hands once.
Beelzebub: It means scary things can be funny after.
Whis looked at her.
For a second Bee seemed to realize how inadequate that was.
Her smile softened.
Beelzebub: And if tomorrow sucks, I'll leave with you.
Whis's brows twitched.
Beelzebub: I mean it. You try. If it gets too much, you tell me, and we go. No begging you to stay. No making it about me. No "but the vibe." We leave.
Vortex looked at her, surprised.
Whis studied her face like he expected the loophole to appear if he stared long enough.
Whis: You would leave your own party?
Bee shrugged, trying to make it casual even though the answer mattered more than she wanted to show.
Beelzebub: Sweet thing, I throw parties every day.
Her voice lowered.
Beelzebub: I only got one you.
The words struck quietly.
Whis looked away first.
The gold at the center of his Bub warmed slightly, faint enough that Bee might have missed it if she had not been desperately looking.
He pulled his hands back slowly.
Whis: I am still not agreeing because I trust you.
Bee nodded.
Beelzebub: That's fair.
Whis: I am agreeing because you are abusing royal authority and Vortex stole my phone.
Vortex held up the phone.
Vortex: Teamwork.
Bee grinned.
Beelzebub: Terrible teamwork, but teamwork.
Whis closed his eyes, visibly counting down from something.
Whis: I hate both of you.
Bee's grin softened into something warmer.
Beelzebub: Yeah, yeah. Hate us while we get your hair done.
Whis's eyes snapped open.
Whis: You said tomorrow.
Bee's wings buzzed, bright and eager, the familiar chaos rushing back in now that the emotional cliff had not killed them all.
Beelzebub: The party is tomorrow. Preparation starts now.
Whis: No.
Beelzebub: Yes.
Whis: Absolutely not.
Vortex clapped a hand on Whis's shoulder.
Vortex: Come on, you can't say it's bad if you've never done it.
Whis stared at him.
Whis: I can, and I will. It is horrible already, and I wish to die.
Bee rolled her eyes, though her smile faltered just enough to prove she heard the sentence differently now than she might have yesterday.
Beelzebub: Less dying, more styling. We are gonna make you look cute enough to emotionally devastate a room.
Whis: That sounds like a threat.
Beelzebub: It is a compliment with teeth.
Vortex laughed as Bee looped one arm through his and one through Whis's, careful this time not to drag too hard. She still pulled, because she was Bee and restraint would always be an acquired skill, but there was a new awareness in it. A new hesitation. A tiny space left for Whis to resist.
He did resist.
A little.
Then he let himself be moved.
Not because he forgave her.
Not because he believed her.
Not because anything was fixed.
But because for the first time in longer than he wanted to admit, his mother had asked him to be somewhere, promised to leave if it hurt, and looked like she actually meant it.
That was not enough.
Not yet.
Maybe not for a long time.
But as Bee's wings buzzed brighter and Vortex followed with an encouraging smile, Whis let the two of them guide him back into the glowing halls of Gluttony.
His claws clicked against the marble.
His Bub trailed behind him, still gold at its center, still threaded with borrowed green and blue from the Ring around him, still guarded enough that even Bee could not pretend one party invitation had fixed anything.
But beneath all of that, almost too faint to notice, the gold warmed a little brighter.
Not healed.
Not trusting.
Not safe.
Just present.
And for now, present was more than he had meant to give her.