[ WP ] Satan is a single father trying to raise his son , who , in a rebellious phase , is all into peace , love , and harmony .

Lucifer advanced upon Hesperus, who had stolen his fiddle again and was balanced on a tower of carcasses in an abandoned corner of Hell, playing defiantly. *That* music. The harmonies alone put his teeth on edge. 
 
 `` Stop that! I will shove this down your throat next time,'' he said, grabbing the fiddle from Hes's hands. `` How many times must I tell you? Do I have to engrain the message on your forehead for you to remember? I can do that, you know. I will not allow that music here!'' 
 
 Tears sprang into Hes's eyes, to Lucifer's despair and disgust. The kid was just like his mother. So appallingly *human*. One would think his genes would have balanced it out, but apparently not. 
 
 `` I hate you!'' Hes screamed, scrambling down from the pile of bones. 
 
 Lucifer felt a surge of hope. That was more like it. 
 
 `` Great,'' he said, slapping his half-human son on the shoulder. `` Listen, why do n't you go take out all your rage on a few souls? Indulge yourself a little. I've just got some new hooks and cleavers in, real cutting edge stuff - `` 
 
 `` No,'' Hes said. His eyes were wide and terrified, but he stood his ground. `` I want to go play music. On Earth. *My* music. I want to make people happy, give them hope - if you wo n't allow it here, I'll take it somewhere people will appreciate me!'' 
 
 Not this again. Lucifer looked at his son, and saw how *wrong* he was. All soft edges and human kindness. Fifteen years raised in Hell had n't produced even a single hint of demonic power. No bouts of rage and cruelty, no aspirations for power. Nothing to indicate that he was ready to take over the reins from his father when the time came. In fact, he cringed away from violence, frequently bursting into tears or vomiting at the sight of torture. It was embarrassing. 
 
 He did n't know how it was possible. His genes *should* have influenced the boy, but there was nothing. How long could this'peace and love' phase last, anyway? More and more, he regretted stealing Hes from the human hospital all those years ago. 
 
 He could punish the boy. Perhaps tear his fingers apart, that would be amusing. He'd never touch a fiddle after that. But it was so much effort, and would likely only end in the boy's sanity snapping. Hes had never been strong. 
 
 He was just tired of bothering. 
 
 `` Go, then,'' Lucifer said, turning his back on the kid and walking away. `` Go crawl to your mother. You can even take the fiddle. Stay there and rot. You'll see - Earth is far from the paradise of peace you think it is. See how much humans need another worthless musician peddling *love*.'' 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- 
 
 Hes walked up the street, approaching the house slowly as the sun set over Earth. His father had done one thing before tossing him from Hell: he'd at least given him an address. 
 
 He knocked, clutching the fiddle tightly. Would his mother even recognise him? 
 
 A sullen-faced teenager opened the door and looked Hes up and down. `` What?'' 
 
 `` I'm - uhm, looking for Alison Wreath?'' Hes asked, stammering slightly as the human stared at him, expressionless. 
 
 The boy narrowed his hazel eyes - in the dying light of the day, they looked almost yellow. `` Nope, sorry, she does n't live here.'' 
 
 He slammed the door. 
 
 Hes turned and walked away, tears prickling his eyes. All lies - it was just like dad. To give him hope, only to crush it. He probably wanted him to die homeless on the streets, just to prove a point. And then rip him to shreds when he arrived in Hell, again. 
 
 The boy in the house watched from the window as the kid with the fiddle walked away, wondering idly what *that* had been about. 
 
 `` Someone here to see you, mom,'' he said, turning around and grinning at the corpse on the ground. Her eyes bulged out as she stared at him, her mouth still fixed in a scream. 
 
 He sighed, horrified to find himself bored in the silence of the house. He'd killed her to achieve it, he could n't be bored again yet. 
 
 But it was kind of nice not to hear that constant whining in his ear. The same old mysterious waffle, over and over again. The look of reproach and horror in her eyes, the constant tears at what he did. 
 
 *Do n't be like this, sweetie, I gave up everything for you. If you only knew what I did, what I sacrificed. I saved you. I know you're a good kid deep down, do n't be this way... be better... * 
 
 He knew he was probably adopted, but the bitch had refused to reveal anything even as he killed her. He thought it would feel good, but he'd felt nothing. Even that had been boring, like everything in life. 
 
 He glanced out of the window again. The kid with the fiddle had sat down on the street, and was playing quietly to himself. 
 
 He opened the door. He should've asked the boy why he had been looking for his mom. Now that he thought about it, it was the first time he could remember someone knocking on the door, asking for her. It had always been just the two of them, constantly moving house. As if she was paranoid about being followed. He had to start putting together a map of sorts, a list of everyone his mother had known in her life. Someone, somewhere, would know who his dad was. It was the one thing that he was still curious about. 
 
 He had to start asking questions somewhere. A boy with a fiddle was as good as anything. 
 
 -- -- -- 
 Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
