All in Due Time

Chapter 2

Beelzebub knew better than anyone that bad days were inevitable, and he hated it.

The sixth-born has had hundreds, if not thousands, of bad days. Days where the more food he ate, the hungrier he felt. Where it felt as if his stomach was devouring him from the inside out. As if he were being painfully devoured by his own sin. Days where everything happening around him would aggressively chip at his patience, inevitably leading to a complete meltdown over some small, insignificant detail that he would barely remember the next day. On those dark days, the only thing he could feel aside from his gluttonous hunger was guilt. The guilt that came with all of his past mistakes, all the ways he hadn't been good enough.

All the ways he hadn't done enough.

He wanted nothing more than to avoid those days, yet it didn't matter how optimistic he was; eventually, the suffocating darkness would continue to creep upon him.

But no matter how bad they got, Beel knew he would be okay because he always had his brothers to lean back on. From Belphie lying with him and just talking to Mammon sneaking into his room with various treats to eat together. His brothers made those days feel much less dark. Which is why he had vowed to himself to do the same for them, to help them through their dark days.

And Mammon was having a bad day. Or should he say days?

Much to the avatar of gluttony's guilt, he had originally assumed the second eldest's slightly odd behaviour was from nothing more than a bad hangover. From one of his many late summer nights at the casino. And hadn't put much more thought into how quiet the House of Lamentations had become as of late.

It was a state of ignorant bliss that would be shattered with a single look.

From the minute Mammon had walked into the dining room for breakfast, he had been trying to create this visage of wellness and confidence as he ate. Forcibly pushing his shoulders down, trying to keep his eyes from flickering close, all while trying to keep his movements smooth and swift. Really, it did more harm than good. Every single one of his movements became clunky and awkward. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see how forced it was. However, his visage was completely ruined with one look into his eyes.

Eyes were all so damning, Beel noted. It was like looking directly into someone's mind, and what he saw in his blue eyes created a sharp dissonance with Mammon's usual demeanour.

Today his eyes didn't hold the soft yet self-assured look they usually held. Instead, they were filled with nothing but pain and self-loathing. It was a rare look for the avatar of greed, one that Beel hated seeing on his older brother. It became painfully obvious at that moment, that whatever was wrong with Mammon wasn't just a bad hangover.

And Beel was determined to figure out what was wrong with him.

Originally, he had wanted to pull him aside once everyone was done eating. But Mammon had excused himself shortly after they had made eye contact. Almost as if he realized that Beel had seen right through his visage and was trying to escape his younger brother's worried gaze.

So, with new vigour, Beel stalked down the familiar halls of the House of Lamentations the minute breakfast was finished. His feet were moving by muscle memory towards his destination, paying no attention to his surroundings. His mind was filled with a flurry of possibilities of what he could do to help his brother, though he was leaning towards dragging him to Hell's Kitchen. He was sure if he bought him lunch and maybe a few drinks, it would do wonders for Mammon's mood.

Maybe if he bought him enough drinks, he would be loose-lipped enough to just tell Beel what had been bothering him so he could help. His feet only quickened at the thought.