hazbin-dads

[hazbin-dads]

Check this out! Thank you @thew33p1ngang3l for this awesome pregnant Alastor drawing!

[hazbin-dads]

First off Adam, Lucifer how dare you insult a plushie’s ability to bring joy to everyone, second don't you guys dare insult Alastor for having motherly instinct while he was drugged.

You guys get no plushies.

Lucifer: Hey! I was trying to get him to stop!

Adam: They’re toys dude. If you want a stuffed animal I know how to do taxidermy.

Lucifer: *raises an eyebrow* Why do you know that?

Adam: I’ve been around since the start of Earthly existence. There are very few things that I don’t know.

[hazbin-dads]

* gives Alastor some tea and another plushie*

Alastor: *Doesn’t take the tea but he looks at the plushie. Then he looks around and sees his lamb plush toy and pales*

Adam: Don’t even try to hide it! You sleep with a toy!

Alastor: *embarrassed* No! O-of course not!

Lucifer: You can’t lie Alastor. And it was so cute when you started to mommy it.

Alastor: *mortified* That is utter nonsense! I would never—

Adam: You did and it was cute *pinched Alastor’s cheek* (mockingly) The Wadio Demon sweeps with stiff animals!

Lucifer: Okay enough Adam. We all have our… ‘things’ that we care about.

Adam: Not me. I’m perfect.

Alastor: I’m sure there is something. Just need to find it…

[hazbin-dads]

Adam and Luci pls talk some sense into your deer man hes really in denial

The suite is dim, lamplight soft against the walls. Alastor stirs, groggy but calmer, eyes blinking open. He rubs his temples, disoriented. The door creaks—Lucifer steps in with a tray, Adam following with a scowl.

Lucifer: Awake at last? Here! Something light—soup, crackers, water. *sets the tray down*

Adam: *snorts* Yeah, I’m not wearing the nurse hat, but eat up, Deer Boy, or this is all a waste.

Alastor: *blinks between them, grin pulling at his lips though unsteady* Soup and sympathy, from you two? I *must* be dreaming. Tell me—why would you care if I withered away?

Lucifer: *sitting on the bed, calm, cutting* Because this isn’t only about you. Our son—Abel—is inside you. Trying to return.

Adam: *serious* You’re pregnant, Deer Boy. With our kid. And no creepy smile’s gonna change that.

Alastor: *bursts into wild laughter, stitches straining.* Me? Pregnant? With your son? Ahaha—! *clutches his chest, wincing* How utterly—ridiculous!

Lucifer: *steadies him with a hand, sharp voice low* It isn’t a joke. We saw the light. Abel’s soul is inside you.

Adam: *mutters, grim* As much as I hate saying it… he’s right.

Alastor tries to stand, shadows twitching, but nearly collapses.

Adam hauls him back down, pinning him tight.

Lucifer: *lifts the spoon, velvet steel in his tone* You need strength. Eat.

Alastor: *thrashing* Ahaha! Pinned like a child, spoon-fed like an invalid! What a spectacle!

Adam: *smirks, holding him firm* Call it what you want. You’re not wriggling out. Be a good little baby mama.

The spoon presses to Alastor’s lips. He sputters, swallows despite himself, humiliation burning through his grin.

Lucifer’s gaze lingers low, heavy, his hand drifting over Alastor’s abdomen.

Adam’s grip shifts, his palm pressing flat there too.

Both pause, caught.

Lucifer: *soft, reverent* He’s still there.

Adam: *gruff, wavering but with a softness in his eyes* Warm. Just like before…

Alastor: *trembles. The warmth thrums beneath their hands, undeniable. His voice cracks in spite of him* …warm… *eyes flash wide, grin snapping back, laughter brittle and broken* Ahaha! Don’t mistake delirious mutterings for truth, gentlemen! Parasite, child—such sentimentality!

But he doesn’t push them away. His body leans into Adam’s hold, trembling, while Lucifer’s hand stays firm at his stomach. Their eyes burn with grief and longing—for the son they lost, impossibly inside him now.

[hazbin-dads]

Will you guys tell Alastor what's going on? He deserves to know what’s happening to him right now.

Alastor: *thrashes on the bed, clutching the lamb, mumbling nonsense through clenched teeth. His shadows lash the walls, jerking wildly.*

Adam: *grimacing* not while he is like this… *trying to hold him down* Damnit! He’s gonna snap himself in half like this.

Lucifer: *kneels, pressing a hand to Alastor’s brow* let me try something *Golden light flares as Alastor bucks harder, nearly flinging himself off the mattress.* Enough. It’s time for sleep.

A golden, angelic glow spreads from Lucifer’s hand, subduing the thrashing by degrees until Alastor finally slumps, breath slowing, lamb clutched tight against his chest. The room settles into silence.

Lucifer: *withdraws his hand, flexing his finger*

Adam: *leans against the bedframe, voice sharp* What the fuck was that all about? He nearly broke himself in half!

Lucifer: *arms crossed, voice calm but clipped* That… is called emergence delirium. It can happen sometimes after anesthesia—confusion, agitation, thrashing. The body reacts before the mind fully wakes.

Adam: *frowning, still staring at Alastor* So… he might not even remember it?

Lucifer: *shrugs lightly, eyes still on Alastor* There’s a chance. But it doesn’t make it any less exhausting—or dangerous—for him.

Adam: *grits his teeth, muttering* Damn… poor bastard.

[hazbin-dads]

* places plushies on Alastor’s bed for him*

The door to Alastor’s suite creaks open. Adam strides in, still carrying Alastor, while Lucifer follows close behind, his expression sharp but wary.

Adam: *lays Alastor down on the bed with a grunt* There. Out of harm’s way.

Alastor: *immediately tries to sit up, slurring* No, no—busy, busy! Wires to fix, threads to pull— *Lucifer pushes him gently back down*

Lucifer: *firmly* Rest, Alastor. You’ll tear yourself apart if you keep this up.

Adam: *snorts, shoving him back down when he tries again* Yeah, listen to Devil Daddy for once.

Lucifer: *raises an eyebrow* Devil Daddy? And what does that make you?

Adam: The Awesome and most important Dad!

Alastor: *grins faintly, mumbling* Daddy…? Two daddies… what a scandal… ahaha~… *he sinks back, not yet asleep*

Lucifer: *glares at Adam, wings twitching* I’ll stay. He needs someone competent to watch him.

Adam: *crosses arms, smirking* Hah! Like I’d trust you not to tuck him in with a rubber duck. I’m staying.

Lucifer: *low, venomous* Over my dead body.

Adam: *grins wider* Tempting offer.

Alastor shifts restlessly under the blankets, breath uneven, pupils hazy from the lingering drugs. His hand fumbles beneath his pillow until he pulls out a small, worn plush lamb—brown fabric, stitches uneven, two faded baby-blue ribbons tied to its floppy ears. He hugs it close to his chest, almost protectively.

(Image found on Pinterest)

Alastor: *slurred, soft* Shhh… don’t cry, my baby… papa’s here… I’ll keep you safe…

Lucifer and Adam both freeze, their argument dying instantly. Their eyes flick from the lamb to Alastor, disbelief painting their faces.

Adam: *half whisper, half scoff* …What the hell is this?

Lucifer: *baffled, softer than he intends* A toy…? He’s… cradling it.

Alastor: *presses his cheek into the lamb, humming low, trying to rock it gently like a real infant. His grin falters into something strangely vulnerable* Mine… my baby… won’t let them take you…

Adam: *awkward, reaches down and tugs lightly at the plush* Okay deer boy, c’mon, it’s just a doll.

Alastor’s hands clamp down instantly, grip surprisingly strong even half-asleep. His smile cracks as his eyes brim with tears, static fizzling faintly around him.

Alastor: *voice breaking, trembling* No…! Please… don’t—don’t take my baby—!

Lucifer: *instinctively raises a hand, stopping Adam from tugging further* …Let him keep it.

Adam: *blinks at him, baffled.* The fuck? You serious? He’s crying over a rag doll.

Alastor: *curls tighter around the plush, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks. He clutching the lamb like it’s the only thing keeping him alive*

Lucifer: *folds his arms, leaning against the wall, eyes locked on the scene*

Adam: *lingers at the bedside, shifting uncomfortably, clearly unsettled* …Never thought I’d see a grown ass man like this. Cryin’ over a damn toy. It’s… pathetic.

Lucifer: *flat, but with a strange weight* It’s not pathetic. It’s telling.

Adam: *shoots him a sharp look, frown pulling deeper* The hell’s that supposed to mean?

Lucifer’s gaze flicks to Alastor’s glowing stomach, then away just as quickly. His voice dips quieter, careful, as though saying it too loud would make it real.*

Lucifer: He’s… protecting something. On instinct.

They fall into tense silence, both refusing to voice the conclusion hanging heavy between them. Alastor shifts in the bed, curling tighter around the plush, humming softly as if soothing a real infant. The golden glow from his stomach pulses faintly, undeniable.

Lucifer: Whether you like it or not… it seems Alastor will be our responsibility from now on.

Adam glares at him, but doesn’t argue. His hand twitches at his side like he’s tempted to rip the lamb away again, but one look at Alastor’s trembling smile keeps him still.

[hazbin-dads]

Adam, perhaps a bridal carry? Don't wanna put pressure on his stomach after all.

Adam: *snorts loudly, rolling his eyes* A bridal carry? What do I look like, Prince Charming?

He glances down at Alastor slumped over his shoulder, then at Lucifer, who raises a brow in quiet, pointed disapproval.

Adam mutters a curse under his breath before shifting his grip. With a grunt, he adjusts and scoops Alastor into his arms, cradling him against his chest in an awkward—but surprisingly careful—bridal carry.

Adam: *grumbling, though his smirk betrays him* Fine. But if anyone calls this romantic, I’m dropping him.

Alastor: *half-conscious, blinking sluggishly up at Adam with a crooked grin* My, my~! Didn’t know you fancied me a bride, cher… *his words slur together as his head lolls back against Adam’s shoulder* …better start planning the honeymoon… ha cha cha!

Lucifer: *presses a hand to his face, clearly annoyed* For Hell’s sake… Just get him to bed before he embarrasses himself further.

Adam: *chuckling as he carries Alastor off* Too late for that. Way too late.

[hazbin-dads]

You ok Alastor?

Alastor: *still being carried, still drugged* I'm not gonna write you a love song ~🎶 'Cause you asked for it, 'cause you need one ~🎶

Adam: How the hell does he know a Sara Bareilles song?

Lucifer: How the hell do you do who ‘Sara Bareilles’ is?

[hazbin-dads]

is Alastor still…. Drugged?

Alastor: *grins a little too wide, eyes glassy, voice lilting but slurred* Ahaha! Drrrrugged, you say? Nonsense… I’m—sharp as a tack! Bright as a bulb! Clear as… as… *waves his hand vaguely* …something clear…!

He sways on his feet, trying to bow with a flourish, but nearly topples forward instead.

Adam: *snorts, steps forward, scooping him up without ceremony* Yeah, he’s out of his damn mind. *hefts Alastor over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes* C’mon, Deer Boy. Time to sleep it off before you break your own neck.

Alastor: *muffled against Adam’s back* Unhand me, you overgrown frat boy… I am… perfectly… *yawns* …capable…

Lucifer: Come on, let’s put him to bed. He’ll thank us when he’s sober.

Adam: *grinning crookedly as he starts walking* Hah! Doubtful. But sure.

Alastor: *half-asleep mumbling, incoherent* Hickory Dickory Dock🎶… the mouse went up the the clock🎶… ahaha

[hazbin-dads]

Adam, Lucifer, you two gonna dote on Alastor now? Since he's basically your baby mama?

Adam: Dote? Hah. He’s hardly my responsibility… but I won’t lie, I’ll be keeping an eye on him. Can’t have our little miracle turning himself inside out before it’s even begun.

Lucifer: Doting, you say? *tilts head, eyes softening ever so slightly* I know I have a responsibility but watching over Alastor may prove more… bothersome than I imagined.

[hazbin-dads]

Alastor’s body arches violently, shadows snaking out to ward Rosie back. Glass shatters; static and golden light pulse through his stitches. Then, as suddenly as it began, it collapses—he goes limp.

Hours later, he stirs on the bed. Rosie’s hand steadies him.

Rosie: There you are. Welcome back.

Alastor: *groans, pushes upright, sluggish*

Rosie: Don’t move. Your body isn’t built for this… It isn’t a parasite. It’s… a child. Growing inside you.

Alastor’s eyes widen, but before he can react, his shadows curl around him. He disappears into them.

🏨🦌🏨🦌🏨🦌

Back at the hotel, he emerges from shadow. At the same time, Lucifer and Adam step in from their meeting with Sera, eyes locking onto him.

Alastor: My, my~! What a coincidence, the two of you together…

The sedatives drag at him. Words scatter, hand drifts to his abdomen. Neither notices the subtle shift—yet.

Adam: Careful, Radio Boy. You look about ready to keel over.

Alastor: Need? Oh, no no no. I’ve never needed anyone.

Then the cane slips; he stumbles back into Lucifer’s arms. Dizzy, mumbling nonsense, his abdomen glows faintly golden. Both men freeze, realization dawning.

Lucifer: …It’s him. Our son.

Adam: …Our son? Inside him?

Alastor murmurs, half-asleep, oblivious. The glow pulses like a heartbeat, their child alive inside him. The three remain frozen, caught between awe, disbelief, and a growing, inescapable truth.

[hazbin-dads]

Alastor, what's the verdict? Your dear listeners are chomping at the bit for answers!

Alastor freezes for just a second, grin faltering before he bows stiffly, cane tapping against the floor as he follows. Rosie leads him through a narrow door at the back of the shop, down creaking stairs into a hidden chamber. The air shifts—sterile, metallic, sharp with chemical tangs. A makeshift laboratory, half hospital, half butcher shop. Tables cluttered with instruments, jars, and arcane devices line the walls.

Rosie: *gestures to a chair, tone brooking no argument* Sit.

Alastor obeys, though his laughter crackles nervously, a broken tune leaking into the static hum.

Alastor: No need to treat me like I’m an invalid!

Rosie: *moves closer, her sharp nails brushing his chest where the fabric is stitched haphazardly* This wound reeks of Heaven’s light. *presses harder, her smile never fading though her eyes glint with accusation* And something else.

Alastor: *stiffens, his grin locked too wide as Rosie tilts her head, almost fond but predatory*

Rosie: *lays her palm flat against his stomach—static crackling louder at the contact* Ohhh… now isn’t this interesting. A little stowaway. Not just Heaven’s mark—no, no, something alive. Growing. Feeding. You’ve gone and picked up a parasite, my sweet deer.

Alastor’s laughter bursts too loud, sharp and frantic, echoing against the sterile walls. He tips his head back, cane clattering against the chair, though his eyes flare red, desperate.

Alastor: *shrill cheer* A parasite, you say? How simply delightful! Perhaps I’ll charge rent, hm?

Rosie: *leans closer, smile wickedly sweet, voice hushed like a knife slipping between ribs* Or perhaps it will devour you first.

The static dies for a moment. Just silence. Then Alastor grins again, tighter than ever.

Alastor: Well, then! What happens now, Rosie dear? Shall I be stitched back together again like one of your darling dolls?

Rosie doesn’t turn. She selects a tray of instruments, the metallic clink of steel echoing too loudly in the cramped space. Then, calmly, she retrieves a vial of clear liquid, drawing it into a syringe.

Rosie: *sweetly, as if soothing a child* Now you’ll sit very still, and let me tend to your wounds properly. No more of your sloppy little threads. You’ll have rest, sedation, and a proper hand to see you mended. *her tone hardens slightly as she sets the syringe on a tray* And as for the… extra guest inside you… I’ll see to it. Remove it before it drains you dry.

The static in Alastor’s head spikes. His smile stretches too wide, eyes glowing faintly, laughter bubbling from his throat but dying off just as quick. Then—suddenly—a voice. Not from the room. Not from Rosie. From inside.

Unknown Voice: …please… don’t let her…

Alastor: *shrill, defensive* Ahaha~! Oh, now isn’t this rich! I’ve finally gone mad! Hearing voices, of all things! Delightful!

Unknown Voice: I’m not madness. I’m here. Please… don’t let her kill me.

Alastor freezes. The static fizzles, his grin trembling just slightly as his hand presses against his stomach, almost without meaning to. His eyes flash red, flicking toward Rosie’s back as she lays out her tools with precision.

Alastor: *internally to himself* what… are you?

Unknown Voice: …a baby... your baby…

Alastor: *his grin falters, static humming low in his ears as his fingers curl tight against his abdomen* A… baby? Oh, how utterly absurd! What reason would I have to hear an infant’s voice rattling about in my skull, hmm?

Unknown Voice: *soft, insistent* Because I’m here. Inside. Please… don’t let her—

Before he can get another word out, there’s a sharp prick in his hand. Alastor glances down, eyes narrowing as Rosie deftly slips an IV into his vein. He hadn’t even noticed her at his side. She presses gently on his shoulder, guiding him down onto the bed with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Rosie: *pleasant* There, there Deary. Just lie back. Let the fluids do their work. You’ll feel calmer soon.

She draws a second syringe, flicks it, and injects the clear medication into the line. A cool rush floods his arm, spreading fast through his chest. Midazolam—calm, quiet, heavy.

The static begins to fade. His laugh catches in his throat, replaced by a disorienting clarity. The “voice” doesn’t vanish. It sharpens. Becomes real. And with it, a warmth blooms in his core, radiating outward like a gentle embrace—something he hasn’t felt in a century. Angelic. Loving. Familiar in a way that terrifies him.

Alastor’s eyes widen, flickering crimson light dancing across them as his breath hitches. His hand grips tighter over his stomach, as if he could hold onto the warmth. The world tilts. His grin breaks, trembling, and there are no words left to hide behind.

Rosie doesn’t notice. She’s busy adjusting the line, her hum rising over the room like a lullaby. A mask slips over his mouth, feeding anesthesia into his lungs. His vision blurs. The voice grows distant, the warmth slipping into dreamlike haze.

Unknown Voice: *faint, like an echo* Please don’t forget me…

And then—black. Alastor sinks into unconsciousness, the last thing he feels not pain, not fear, but that impossible warmth clinging to him like a hug he’s too weak to refuse.

Rosie allows herself a quiet sigh, slipping on her gloves with a snap. The instruments gleam under the harsh light, waiting.

She leans over him, fingers brushing over the jagged, self-inflicted stitches crisscrossing his torso. Sloppy, desperate work. Her lips press into a thin smile as she picks up the scalpel, her voice dropping into a sing-song hum.

Rosie: A parasite doesn’t belong in you, Alastor. And I won’t have my investment ruined by a leech draining you from the inside out.

She steadies the blade, lining the first cut along the faint glow she can feel pulsing beneath the skin. But just as the steel touches flesh, the monitors she’s set up begin to whine—shrill, rapid beeps that shouldn’t exist for a demon at all.

Her eyes widen slightly.

The glow intensifies. Not Hell’s usual ember, not infernal red. But gold. Bright. Angelic. It radiates from deep inside Alastor, flaring against her hands like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Rosie recoils, the scalpel clattering to the floor as the pulse of warmth forces her back a step.

Rosie: *hissing under her breath* Impossible…

The air in the room vibrates, the golden glow spilling through the jagged lines of Alastor’s wound. For a fleeting second, it shapes itself—not fully formed, but enough. The outline of something small. Fragile. A child curled in the warmth of his soul. Then, as quickly as it came, the image fades, the glow softening back into silence.

Rosie’s chest rises and falls sharply. Her hands tremble as she grips the edge of the tray, fury and disbelief flashing across her face.

The scalpel lies forgotten on the floor, its shine dulled by the brilliance she just witnessed.

Rosie: How…is this—?

[hazbin-dads]

Well, maybe seeing a doctor might help you get the answers you need to what you're going through.

The static hum trails after Alastor as he excuses himself, cane tapping unevenly against the floor. He leaves the others behind, stepping out into the hazy streets of Pentagram City. His path leads him to Rosie’s Emporium.

Alastor: Knock, Knock Rosie my dear! Alastor’s here!

Rosie: *comes downstairs in shock* Oh Alastor! Don’t you know it’s rude to show up on a lady unannounced?! I have nothing prepared! *snaps her fingers and makes a tea pot and tea cups appear out of thin air*

Alastor: *walks in* Oh please. No need to gussy up for little old me now. I just dropped in to —

Rosie: *eyes narrow, catching sight of his demeanor* Oh goodness Alastor. You don’t look your usual self.

Alastor: *bows low, grin sharp and too wide* My, my~! Ever perceptive. I thought it time to consult my dearest ‘friend’ on a matter of… repairs *he lifts the broken cane, static buzzing faintly around it*

Rosie: *clicks her tongue, gently taking the cane to inspect the crack* Tsk, tsk. You’ve let it go too long. Always so stubborn, aren’t you?

Alastor: *grin faltering, voice dropping just slightly* Stubborn… or perhaps inadequate.

He straightens suddenly, tone sharpening like glass.

Alastor: *mocking cheer, but venom seeps beneath* After all, what good is the “most powerful sinner in Hell” if he can’t even best an angelic brat?

The air in the shop tightens. Rosie’s smile fades into a dangerous curve, her crimson eyes glowing faintly as the warmth in the room sours.

Rosie: *coolly, voice silken steel* Careful, love. You tread a fine line. Power is more than flashy battles and bruised egos. Or have you forgotten who holds your soul?

The static hum flares, Alastor’s grin twitching wider—defensive, desperate, and sharp all at once. He bows low, hat tipping forward, laughter crackling like a broken radio.

Alastor: How could I ever forget? You do keep such delightful reminders.

But when he straightens again, his eyes are a little too red, his grin a little too stiff.

Rosie studies Alastor’s grin for a long, quiet moment. Then, with a snap of her fingers, the cheery atmosphere of her shop shutters—lamps dimming, curtains drawing closed. The candy-sweet warmth twists into something colder, sterner.

Rosie: *voice calm but commanding* Come along, darling. There’s something more than a cracked cane here. I can smell it on you.

[hazbin-dads]

* gives Alastor some water* I know that being the radio demon is essential for your reputation, but your health should come first too.

Alastor: *covers his mouth to see the rainbow and oddly sweet smelling vomit* Well… that’s unusual… *manifests a handkerchief and wipes his mouth* Strange to say my health isn’t on par as usual considering I’m a sinner. Not like we demons have weak constitutions.

He winces as he feels his wound pulse. He opens his shirt in front of a mirror to see that his injury, while significantly healed, was still an open wound.

Alastor: Seems like Lucifer has lost his healing touch. *he looks around his room to find some ointment and bandages and begins to patch himself up* 

[hazbin-dads]

* brings Alastor some blankets, ginger tea, and a plushie* Are you okay?

Alastor: *feeling a pulse within him and accepts the gifts* Thank you for thinking of me. But I’m the Radio Demon and I always come back for the next broadcast!

0.002 seconds later…

Alastor: *holding a bucket and vomiting, only this vomit was literally a rainbow juices*

[hazbin-dads]

Tired song...

[hazbin-dads]

Meanwhile, in another part of the building, Lucifer’s phone buzzes. He opens it to see a summons flashing on the screen: a mandatory meeting with Sera. His eyes narrow, lips pressing into a thin line.

Lucifer: *under his breath, frowning* Always at the worst times…

Adam, witnessing this, stiffens. His gaze flickers between Lucifer and the glowing summon. A slow, calculating smile spreads across his face.

Adam: *quietly, to himself* Well… that’s my chance.

Without hesitation, he starts gathering what he needs. Heaven is calling, and this window might be the only opportunity he’ll get—no matter the risks of leaving the situation behind.

🪽🎸🍎 🪽🎸🍎

Lucifer strides toward the Heaven Embassy, Adam close behind, his movements purposeful and sharp. The sky above shimmers faintly with the boundary magic of the heavenly threshold, the air tinged with a crisp, commanding energy.

Inside, Sera stands at the center of a polished chamber, waiting. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of Adam beside Lucifer.

Sera: *cold, incredulous* Adam? You… *pauses, scanning him carefully* …are a sinner?

Adam: *doesn’t flinch. He plants his feet firmly, voice steady, almost daring* Not for much longer! You can’t deny it—I belong in Heaven.

Sera: *expression hardens, lips pressing into a thin line* You’re a sinner, Adam. That alone disqualifies you. Heaven is not a place for those who have strayed.

Adam: *intensely* Excuse you?! I was nothing but loyal to Heaven! I’m the original man! I’m God’s perfection! And you dare—

Sera: *coldly* You’ve proven that humanity is a mistake Adam.

Adam: *eyes widened, genuinely hurt to hear that*

Lucifer: *surprised himself* Holy fuck…

Sera: The very few humans who have proven themselves to be good and allowed into Heaven has been dwindling for hundreds of years. And in a last ditch effort to help redeem sinners, Heaven has been working in a reincarnation project. But there’s been… a complication. The reincarnation system malfunctioned. Instead of placing a purified soul back into the mortal cycle… one was diverted. *her eyes darken* Abel’s soul.

Lucifer: *voice low, dangerous* …What?

Sera: His essence did not return to Earth as intended. It… anchored itself here. In Hell. Inside a demon.

Adam: *his expression twists—shock, then fury, then horror as the words sink in* You—you put my son in a demon?!

Sera: *coldly correcting* The system placed him. It was not by choice. But his soul is bound. His memories are gone. He exists now… in someone else…

Lucifer: *snarling, stepping closer* You mean to tell me Abel, my son, is trapped in a creature of Hell, without even knowing who he is?

Sera: *unflinching* That is the truth. His presence is faint but undeniable. Some demon is unknowingly carrying Abel’s soul within them. Pregnant with him.

Adam: *his fists tremble at his sides, nails digging into his palms. His voice shakes with something between rage and grief* He’s alive… but not him. He doesn’t even know us.

Lucifer: *bitter laugh, sharp and venomous* Heaven. Always so flawless in its grand designs… until it costs someone else’s child.

Sera: You have every right to be angry. But understand this: Abel will be reborn as a demon if the pregnancy is successful.

Adam: What do you mean “if”?!

Lucifer: It means there is a chance Abel could die. Whether by a miscarriage or… abortion.

Adam: WE CAN’T LET THAT HAPPEN! *turns to Sera* LOOK I KNOW I’M AN ASSHOLE BUT ABEL… *he pauses, trying to calm himself* Abel is a good boy. He doesn’t deserve to be aborted.

Sera: *folds her hands behind her back, voice like steel* And yet, his fate may already be sealed. The host carrying him is unaware of what they carry. If they discover it—or if the strain proves too much—the risk is… considerable.

Lucifer: *eyes narrowing, voice like a blade* You talk as though Abel is just another “test subject.” He is my son. Adam’s son. Not some failed experiment in your little redemption project.

Sera: His soul was diverted. That was not Heaven’s intention. But it is what has happened.

Adam: *slamming a fist against his chest, stepping forward* Then fix it! Pull him out—rip him out of whoever it is and bring him back to us!

Sera: *snaps sharply, eyes flashing* It is not that simple! If we try to extract him prematurely, his soul could shatter. Abel would be lost forever.

The words hang in the air, heavy and final. Lucifer goes still, rage warring with terror in his sharp gaze. Adam staggers back a step, running both hands through his hair, visibly shaken.

Adam: Lost forever… no. No, I won’t accept that.

Lucifer: *after a long silence, voice clipped but burning* Then we make sure the host survives. Whoever they are. Abel will be born.

Sera: *quiet, almost warning* Be cautious. If the demon knows, if Hell knows, the pregnancy could become a target. Abel’s soul would make him… valuable.

Adam: Anyone touches him—anyone tries to take him from us—and I’ll burn every last one of them down.

Lucifer: Then we’re agreed. Abel will live.

Sera says nothing, her expression unreadable. But deep down, even she cannot ignore the resolve of two furious fathers—the weight of their love heavier than any decree Heaven could hand down.