Chapter Text
Blitzø had always been good at hiding things.
Not emotions—he was actually pretty shit at that if anyone looked close enough. His anger was loud, his jokes louder, and every ugly feeling in his chest usually came out sharpened into sarcasm before anyone could touch it. But secrets? Secrets were easy.
Secrets were survival.
Secrets were learning how to smile while your world burned down around you.
Secrets were pretending your heart didn’t crack open every time someone walked away.
And Blitzø had a lot of them.
Some were small. Petty. Stupid little things he’d take to the grave out of sheer embarrassment alone. Like the fact he still occasionally listened to old circus records when he got too drunk. Or that he kept every shitty horse figurine anyone had ever given him hidden in boxes under his bed. Or that sometimes, when insomnia clawed at him bad enough, he’d scroll through old photos on his phone until sunrise painted weak orange light through the apartment windows.
But the deepest secrets?
Those belonged to his children.
Most people only knew about Loona.
Hell, most people thought Loona was the only reason Blitzø occasionally acted like a functioning adult at all. The terrifying hellhound receptionist with chronic attitude problems and enough emotional damage to rival his own had become the one part of his personal life Blitz openly acknowledged.
He’d adopted her right before she aged out of the system at seventeen.
One minute he’d walked into that overcrowded hellhound adoption center “just to look,” and the next he was screaming at an employee while Loona stared at him like he was completely insane.
That had been five years ago.
She still looked at him like that sometimes.
Blitz loved her more than anything.
But Loona wasn’t his only kid.
A few people knew about Rogue. Moxxie and Millie had met him several times over the years, though Blitz had always avoided talking about who Rogue’s other father was. As far as anyone outside the family knew, Rogue was simply Blitz’s teenage son.
Solara, however, was different.
No one besides Loona and Rogue knew she even existed.
Blitz preferred it that way.
The fewer people who knew, the safer they were.
At least that’s what he told himself whenever the guilt started digging claws into his chest.
The apartment was unusually quiet tonight.
Too quiet.
Loona was spending the weekend with Bee, which meant there was no screaming from the living room about stolen food or broken chargers. Rogue had gone out hours ago after promising—lying directly to Blitz’s face—that he absolutely would not get arrested tonight. And Solara had finally gone to sleep after demanding three bedtime stories and stealing half of Blitz’s fries.
The silence left too much room to think.
Blitz hated thinking.
Especially lately.
He leaned heavily against the bathroom sink, staring at the pregnancy test in his claws like it might suddenly burst into flames and solve all his problems for him.
Two bright pink lines.
Positive.
Blitz let out a short, strangled laugh.
“Nope.”
The test remained offensively positive.
“No. Absolutely not. Fuck this.”
His reflection looked just as horrified as he felt.
The fluorescent light overhead buzzed faintly, washing the bathroom in sickly yellow-white. It made him look exhausted even by his standards. Dark circles sat beneath his eyes. One of his horns had a chip near the base from a job that went sideways last week. Faint bruises still lingered along his ribs from getting kicked into a dumpster by some asshole bodyguard.
And now this.
Pregnant.
Again.
At thirty-five.
Blitz gripped the sink hard enough his claws scraped porcelain.
He should’ve realized sooner.
The nausea. The exhaustion. The weird emotional bullshit. The fact coffee suddenly tasted disgusting should’ve been the biggest warning sign of all because Blitzø would rather die than willingly stop drinking coffee.
Yesterday he’d almost cried because a commercial had shown a baby duck.
A fucking duck.
“God damn it…”
There was only one possible father.
Which meant Solara was about to get a sibling.
The thought twisted painfully in his chest.
Stolas.
Even thinking his name hurt right now.
Two weeks.
It had been two weeks since everything crashed and burned between them.
Two weeks since the disaster during the Full Moon.
Two weeks since Blitz had finally convinced himself Stolas didn’t actually want him around anymore.
Blitz shut his eyes hard.
Seeing Stolas kiss another demon shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.
Technically Blitz had no right to care. They weren’t together. Never really had been. Their entire relationship started as a transaction—sex in exchange for access to the grimoire.
Simple.
Clean.
Meaningless.
Except somewhere along the way it had stopped being meaningless.
And Blitz, like the complete idiot he was, hadn’t realized until it was already destroying him.
Watching Stolas with another demon had felt like somebody reached into his chest and ripped something apart.
So Blitz did what he always did when things hurt too much.
He buried it.
Worked longer hours. Took more dangerous jobs. Smiled wider. Talked louder.
Pretended he was fine.
Meanwhile he was carrying enough secrets to ruin every relationship he still had left.
A soft knock at the bathroom door nearly made him jump out of his skin.
“Dad?”
Solara’s sleepy voice drifted through the wood.
“You okay?”
Shit.
Blitz immediately shoved the pregnancy test behind his back even though she obviously couldn’t see through doors.
“Yeah!” he shouted, voice cracking halfway through. “Totally! Just takin’ a massive shit!”
A pause.
“You sound like Moxxie did after that horse movie.”
Blitz snorted despite himself.
“Okay first of all, that little possum bitch cried harder than I did, so he’s got no room to judge.”
There was a brief silence from the other side of the door before Solara spoke again, her voice carrying that same unimpressed tone she always got when she thought Blitz was avoiding something.
“You’re deflecting.”
The words hit hard enough that Blitz actually blinked.
“…Excuse me, when did you become a therapist?”
“You do this every time you’re upset. You make jokes and pretend everything’s fine.” Her voice was muffled slightly through the door. “Loona says it’s emotionally unhealthy.”
Blitz barked out a laugh despite the tightness in his chest.
“Wow. Cool. Great. Love that my children are unionizing against me.”
“You didn’t answer me.”
Christ.
Even through a bathroom door she sounded too old for seven.
Blitz scrubbed a hand down his face before glancing toward the pregnancy test still clutched behind his back.
“No one hurt me, baby bird.”
A beat of silence.
“That wasn’t a real answer.”
Sometimes talking to Solara felt less like talking to a child and more like talking to a tiny exhausted adult who happened to like glitter stickers and juice boxes.
Blitz sighed dramatically.
“You are way too smart. It’s creepy.”
“You say that every time I’m right.”
“…Okay wow, now you’re just bullying me in my own bathroom.”
Another pause.
Then quieter:
“You sound sad.”
That hit harder than it should’ve.
Blitz stared at the sink for a long moment, jaw tight.
Solara had always been protective of him in a way that made his chest ache. Most kids her age ran to their parents when they got scared. Solara watched Blitz instead, like she was constantly checking to make sure he was still holding himself together.
If he came home injured from work, she’d hover nearby pretending not to fuss while silently bringing him bandages or water. Once, when she was five, some drunk imp at a convenience store started yelling at Blitz over something stupid.
Solara had immediately launched herself at the guy and scratched at his eyes with her claws hard enough to make him start screaming.
Then things got worse.
Or better.
Depends who was telling the story.
The second the drunk shoved Blitz back, Solara’s tiny feathers had puffed up violently and her eyes started glowing bright gold. Before Blitz could react, dark red magic exploded through the convenience store in a burst of heat and shadow.
The imp turned to stone instantly.
Complete silence filled the store afterward.
Even the cashier looked too terrified to move.
Blitz still remembered staring at the stone statue in horror while Solara clung protectively to his leg breathing hard like an angry little guard dog.
“…Okay,” Blitz had said after a long pause. “That is deeply concerning.”
Then he immediately grabbed Solara and moved.
Panic hit hard and fast.
Blitz destroyed every security camera in the store first. Then he dealt with the witnesses.
The cashier.
Two customers.
A drunk bastard near the freezer aisle who’d seen the entire thing happen.
None of them survived long enough to tell anyone about a half-Goetia child using petrification magic in the middle of public.
By the time Blitz finally carried Solara out into the alley behind the store, his hands were covered in blood and her tiny claws were still trembling against his shirt.
Loona laughed so hard afterward she almost fell off the couch.
“She turned him into lawn decor!” she wheezed while Blitz scrubbed blood from beneath his claws at the kitchen sink for the third time that night. “Oh my Satan, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Solara, meanwhile, had only crossed her arms stubbornly and muttered:
“He touched you.”
Now she stood quietly outside the bathroom door waiting for an answer Blitz didn’t know how to give.
Because the truth was complicated.
The truth was Stolas.
The truth was heartbreak and longing and guilt twisted together so tightly Blitz couldn’t separate them anymore.
The truth was the positive pregnancy test hidden behind his back.
“I’m okay,” he said finally, softer this time.
Silence.
Then:
“You’d tell me if you weren’t okay, right?”
The question almost made his throat close.
Because the truthful answer was no.
Absolutely not.
Blitz would drag himself through broken glass before willingly putting his problems onto his kids.
But Solara sounded so genuinely worried that lying felt cruel.
So instead he settled somewhere painfully in the middle.
“I’m just tired, Sol.”
The concern in her voice eased slightly.
“You should sleep more.”
Blitz snorted.
“Damn, why didn’t I think of that?”
“You’re making jokes again.”
“Because I’m hilarious.”
“You’re avoiding.”
“Because I’m emotionally stunted.”
That actually earned a small laugh from the other side of the door.
Victory.
Blitz leaned his forehead briefly against the cool bathroom mirror and shut his eyes.
God.
She sounded so much older than seven sometimes.
Then again, all his kids grew up too fast.
Loona spent most of her life in the system learning survival before she ever got the chance to just be a teenager.
And Rogue…
Rogue had grown up watching Blitz break apart in tiny quiet ways he thought nobody noticed.
He’d seen the nightmares. The panic attacks. The nights Blitz drank too much and cried when he thought Rogue was asleep. He’d seen him work himself bloody trying to keep a roof over their heads while still somehow smiling for him afterward.
It made Rogue fiercely protective in a way that worried Blitz sometimes.
At fifteen, Rogue acted reckless and chaotic on the surface, but the second someone hurt Blitz, that attitude disappeared fast. Blitz had watched his son nearly start fights over insults that normally wouldn’t even bother him. Once, Rogue punched a grown imp hard enough to crack teeth after overhearing him call Blitz “pathetic.”
And despite Blitz telling him over and over that Fizz never knew about the pregnancy, Rogue still despised his other father for not being there.
Blitz wasn’t entirely sure how to fix that.
Especially now that Fizz had finally become part of his life again without realizing his own son occasionally referred to him as “the clown bitch” in private conversations with Loona.
And Solara…
Solara learned young that Blitz smiled when he was hurting.
That terrified him more than anything else.
“You had a nightmare?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
“The creepy clown one again?”
Solara nodded from where she stood outside the bathroom door, blanket dragging slightly across the floor.
“The one with all the teeth.”
“Oof,” Blitz muttered. “Yeah, that guy’s a dick.”
“He was chasing Rogue this time.”
Something in Blitz’s chest tightened immediately.
Because of course he was.
Rogue had become the center of most of Solara’s fears lately. He snuck out too much, got into fights too easily, and treated personal safety like a fun suggestion instead of an actual concern. The kid came home bruised at least twice a week and laughed it off every single time.
And Solara adored him.
Rogue acted annoyed by her in the same way Loona did—dramatic sighs, sarcastic comments, pretending he absolutely did not care—but Blitz had caught him carrying her to bed after she fell asleep on the couch more times than he could count.
The thought of anything happening to Rogue genuinely scared her.
Honestly?
It scared Blitz too.
Rogue acted fearless in that reckless, self-destructive way Blitz recognized a little too well. He snuck out constantly, started fights he didn’t need to start, and laughed off injuries that absolutely should’ve been seen by a doctor.
Half the time Blitz couldn’t decide if Rogue was trying to prove he was invincible or trying to get himself killed.
Maybe both.
The worst part was knowing exactly where the kid got it from.
“Rogue’s fine,” Blitz said quietly, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
“He got stabbed last month.”
“…Technically grazed.”
“It still counted.”
Fair.
Blitz rubbed tiredly at one eye.
Rogue had walked into the apartment bleeding through his jacket with a split lip and the audacity to say, “It’s not that bad,” while actively dripping blood onto the kitchen floor.
Loona screamed.
Blitz screamed louder.
Solara calmly grabbed the first aid kit before either of them could start throwing things.
The kid was way too used to emergencies for Blitz’s liking.
“He knows how to protect himself,” Blitz said finally.
“So do you and you still almost die all the time.”
Blitz stared blankly at the bathroom door.
“…Okay wow. First of all? Rude.”
“You got shot three weeks ago.”
“It barely hit anything important.”
“You said that while Moxxie was stitching your arm back together.”
“…Why are all my children snitches?”
“Because you’re bad at self-care.”
That one sounded suspiciously like something Loona would say.
Blitz leaned his head back with a long groan.
“Jesus Christ, I’m being emotionally tag-teamed by a seven-year-old.”
“You still didn’t answer me.”
“About what?”
“Why you’re sad.”
The question hung in the air.
Blitz looked down at the positive pregnancy test still hidden behind his back and suddenly felt exhausted down to his bones.
Because how the fuck was he supposed to explain any of this?
Sorry kiddo, your mysterious owl dad who doesn’t know you exist accidentally knocked me up again while our relationship imploded.
Yeah. Great conversation starter.
“I’m not sad,” Blitz lied weakly.
The silence from the other side of the door was so profoundly unimpressed he almost laughed.
“You make that voice when you lie.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“Nope.”
“Dad.”
“Child.”
Another pause.
Then quieter:
“Is it because of the owl guy?”
Blitz froze.
Shit.
Solara shifted outside the door, blanket rustling softly.
“You get weird every time you talk about him.”
Because he’s your father.
The thought hit hard enough Blitz had to grip the sink tighter.
Solara didn’t know the truth.
Not fully.
The only thing she knew about her father was what Blitz had carefully allowed her to know over the years—that he’d been someone Blitz spent one reckless night with years ago. Someone powerful. Wealthy. Dangerous in ways Blitz never fully explained.
Dangerous enough that Solara needed to stay hidden.
Blitz had told her that much early on after she accidentally used magic in front of Rogue as a toddler. He’d explained it the best way he could without completely falling apart.
There were powerful people who might try to take her away if they found out she existed.
And Solara, fiercely protective even at four years old, had immediately accepted that explanation without complaint.
She never asked why her father didn’t come looking for her.
That somehow hurt worse.
Blitz had planned to tell her eventually.
Actually tell her.
Because before everything went to shit with Stolas, Blitz had finally started considering it. He’d thought maybe he could tell Stolas the truth first—tell him about the daughter they accidentally created during one drunken night years before their arrangement ever started.
A night Blitz wasn’t even fully sure Stolas remembered.
The prince had been absolutely shitfaced.
Then Full Moon happened.
Then the screaming and heartbreak and disaster afterward.
And suddenly Blitz couldn’t imagine dropping a secret seven-year-old daughter into the middle of all that wreckage.
So now he was stuck.
Again.