[He isn't really sure if he should speak to Hector in person... he's pretty sure the man would just run if he saw him, at this point. Better to use his phone, which he hasn't actually done before now, and he has to take a moment to figure out how it works. Thankfully, the network seems pretty similar to what The Sphere had.]
Hey... We need to- no, I guess... I want, to talk to you. I'm sorry about- what happened. I should have... I shouldn't have lost my temper, I- I just couldn't watch you starving yourself, and... I guess it doesn't matter. It was stupid. But I want to make it up to you.
[Through the entire message, something can be heard that sounds suspiciously like a dog whining in agony, sounding like it's likely bleeding on the floor. Not that Dodger even seems aware of it.]
[He almost doesn't answer. He thinks for a good like moment about not. He's never hung up on anyone before. He contemplates it.
It just about sounds like an earnest apology. He almost believes it. Besides that it's an apology for murder and boy he's got no idea how to process that. Except "I want to make it up to you" scares the hell out of him.
In the end, it's what Dodger ignores that makes him talk.]
... Is that a dying dog? Tell me that you're not calling me while in the middle of killing something.
[ if the door is unlocked, it's opening without waiting for Hector to answer; if it is, well, then it'll have to wait until it cracks open just enough for -- ]
[ Dodger's head to stick in. ]
[ Except it looks... wrong. His eyes are wide and unmoving, as if frozen in a moment of shock; there's blood all over, splits, cuts, missing teeth... and when his jaw moves, it doesn't match the words at all; it's just the monotonous movement up and down of a puppet. ]
I'm really sorry for beating you to death.
[ ...the obviously phoney high-pitched voice doesn't sound anything like him either. The door cracks open more and ]
[ it's just his head, and someone's arm seems to be going up the hole in his neck where someone's hand is apparently moving his jaw. ]
[ Oh, and behind this macabre nightmare, there's Squalo's grinning face. He looks so damn pleased with himself. ]
[ He really thinks he's cheering Hector up here. ]
[He's never really locked his door. He hasn't seen much point. The demons could get in anyway, if they really wanted to. As could Nekane, probably Squalo if he tried... and Dodger. Dodger could get in any time.
He doesn't know how long he'd been out or gone or whatever is that happens, but he'd woken up back in bed, just as before. The last time it had happened, he'd felt a sting just sharp enough to ache, but somehow it hadn't been as utterly paralyzing as this time. It had taken time to be able to move, and even then hadn't been without noise. He'd had to ball a shirt to bite and had only done as much as the bare minimum. Minus food.
He's feeling a little better by now, certainly more mobile, and he jolts up at the sound of knocking. He doesn't get the chance to ask who it is before Dodger's head pokes in. His breath pulls sharp before he even registers everything wrong. And there's a lot wrong.
His gut churns and he slaps a hand over his mouth as Dodger's moves all wrong. The only reason he's not throwing up is that there's absolutely nothing in him. But his body sure does try.
His other hand clamps over, muffling noise as he scrambles back further until he's hitting the headboard.
He's dead. Oh god, he's dead, Dodger's dead, his head is off and Squalo... Squalo is...
In a panic, he jumps up. He grabs the nearest thing, a lamp off the bedside table and he wields it like a bat.]
The sun is shining, the birds are signing and Nekane desperately wishes for a shotgun to shut everything up.
For a moment they don't remember how they got to...Héctor's suite? Apparently. But it doesn't take long for their memories to catch up with them. Right...Dodger's birthday party. That whole shitshow and the reason why it wasn't just the hangover that hurt. Their throat was killing them, the burns and the probably nasty still-forming bruises from getting choked.
Goddamn it. That had been all sorts of fucked up and everyone there paid for it. And they don't know where to go from here.
Actually they do: curl up on themself and squeeze their eyes shut because everything's too bright and loud and it fucking sucks.
"...Héc...?" It's as best as they can manage to call out for him. With their eyes closed, Nekane had little idea where they were and, more importantly, where he was. Where-?
"Ssshh..." Is the first sound they'll likely hear from him. It's not far off. There's a clink of glasses and then the shift of the bed as he climbs onto it.
He settles on his side, facing them like he did once. He puts one hand between the two of them, not touching, just like back then too. The other hand is pulling a sheet up over both of them, hopefully, to block some light out.
"Don't strain your voice. You've got to let it heal," He tells them. He feels awful. His stomach is not happy with him and neither is his head. But his heart is doing him worse.
"I've got you water but it can wait until you're ready to sit up."
[Ever since his birthday, Dodger has been calling Hector. At least once every few days, he'll call and let it ring for a moment and then hang up. He never seems to try long enough for Hector to actually answer.
There's one night where he calls over and over again, but still keeps cutting it short each time Hector reaches for it. And after that, he doesn't call. He doesn't answer any attempts to call him back, either.]
[He isn't expecting Hector to answer him, but he'll try anyway. It's been weeks, maybe he'll be ready forgive him again. And if not, he can always leave a voice message.]
[The voice, after so long, catches him off guard. He feels a twist in his guts and a flare in his chest, fear, anger, sickness all in a row. He's almost too frozen by the voice to answer.
That was all good and fun at the time but once the potion wore off, Nekane had regrets. Lots and lots of regrets. And an urge to bash their head against a wall. Easily taken care of since they're still in the hotel and after some rapid fire 'therapy' that's enough to make their forehead bleed, they start to wander.
God knows why they ended up in front of Héctor's suite. There's nothing he can really do about this shit now that it's over and done with. Sure, Nekane did agree to telling him about whatever happened regarding Dodger but they're not exactly sure if he wants to hear that they both fucked before he even had lunch.
Well, as long as they don't go into the fucking details, maybe.
So they go in, pick the lock on his room's door to get in and do the mature thing...meaning they hide under his bed, cramming themself in as much as possible even if they know it makes their wings pop out again. And they wait.
Héctor might get back in time to see a pale arm dragging his covers under the bed. Hi.
If he know Nekane had been bashing their own head in, he'd have had words and probably some bit of horror. But there's still something to be said for the unique horror of walking into your own room and seeing a pale hand reach out from underneath, dragging blankets down.
He sucks a sharp breath and goes very still, like if they don't see him, everything will be fine. Then he registers the cracks in the skin. His shoulders slump and he moves to the bed, climbing down to lay flat on the floor.
"So. How long have you been under here and is there an immediate emergency I should know about?"
In Hell it was often hard to keep track of everything, even for someone like Nekane who was good at stalking and keeping track of people's routines. And because of that they can't say they know every single thing that happens to everyone. Like now.
One day Héctor came back and went to his room, and didn't come back out. They would have easily let it pass - sometimes one or both of them needed space and that was that. - but they didn't miss the cut across his face. But it's his expression, or maybe even a lack of one, that gets Nekane's attention faster.
But they don't speak up. There's a sort of aura around Héctor that practically screams leave me the fuck alone. They've had it, they've seen so many people with it. Hell, even John got that way at times. So they leave him alone.
Still when enough days pass in silence, eventually they do shuffle up to his door. Nekane could have easily slipped a few eyes under the door to see how he's doing but that's a stupid idea. So they knock.
He walks back with a cut on his face and blood on his hands, tears lost amongst it all. He walks in and notes the way that the thoughts have gotten quiet. There's no one in his head but him, no one seeing the visions in his skull, the screaming in his ears that's entirely his own.
He walks in. Nekane's there. He walks past them. He doesn't say a word and neither do they. Good. He shuts the door behind him, holing up like he used to do when he was going to settle down and write something. That won't happen this time.
The days pass all the same.
He startles when he hears the knock, and yet, he barely moves beyond that initial jolt. He turns his gaze towards the door and stares at it, as if willing the sound to be some kind of hallucination. He hears Nekane's voice.
It takes a moment for his brain to kick into gear, another moment for him to decide if he wants to answer, and what exactly he even wants that answer to be. He's not numb. He almost wishes he was.
There's something to be said of realizing you need something and then doing it. The minute that Nekane gives into the fact that they need to sleep their body also caves. They make it to their little fort in one of the extra rooms and curl up on the blankets.
They're out for...God knows how long. The nurses had tried to use isolation on them and they just napped then but it hadn't been restful because they knew they still were in danger. Too much what ifs. Nekane thinks they wake up once or twice here because they remember Héctor talking to them, but that's it.
They're tucked in when they wake up again. And someone's with them. Someone that makes this place safe for them.
He'd curled up by their side once he'd tucked them in. Maybe they wouldn't mind. Maybe he'd be out of there before they even woke again. He's still, resting, but not very deeply. He always told them that he could wake easily.
His eyes open to meet theirs, smile pulling faintly. There are still holes around his mouth, lines where the stitches pressed in, but he's not rotted anymore.
"Hey," He says back, voice a quiet rasp. "You okay?"
Even with permission to visit, Dodger still prefers sticking to their video calls. It's less pressure, and feels less like he's imposing on Hector. But he wants to see the man, in person. He waits until Hector's alone in his room before teleporting in, appearing in a burst of sparks and sitting on Hector's bed. His guitar case is strapped to his back, and he's wearing a playful grin on his face.
"Hey, amigo~" Coming from Dodger, this definitely seems like he's up to something. "You're not busy, right? I gotta talk to you about something."
With that and a yelp, Héctor just about falls out of the chair he was sitting in. Evidently his voice is back to normal after being muted and the obly sign left are the hole scars left by the threads.
"Dios mio, Dodger. Was nearly busy having a heart attack."
He pushes up from the chair setting the pen and paper he was writing on into the desk. He walks over, setting in the bed.
This is 10% making a point and 90% pure stupidity but when Nekane took up Héctor's challenge of a no-powers prank war...well, they're going all in.
They resolve themself to a few rules though. Namely not messing with Héctor's photo, guitar, or his food. The latter two could be replaced but fuck making him go to Lucifer for anything and Nekane's not enough of a jackass to put their amusement above possibly setting him back from the progress he's made so far regarding food.
Everything else is fair game though. So once Héctor dips outside for any reason, Nekane goes about stuffing his mattress with as many rubber chickens as they can get their hands on.
It'll make one hell of a noise once he sits down on his bed.
The announcement of Nekane's first point is the howling of chickens that sound surprisingly like the screams of the damned beyond the gates, Héctor's own undignified shriek, a thump, a wheeze, and several more rounds screaming chickens as Héctor tests the things.
What weird product of Hell were these? Where did Nekane get them? All he knows for certain is that the game is on.
The next day, Nekane will find just about everything they use with regularity glued down. The coffee container, the mugs, the spoons to stir it with. Everything just where Nekane would leave it, only stuck in place.
Probably the first sign that something is off, is the fact that Dodger seeks Hector out at a reasonable hour. It's only about 7 PM. Of course, he still isn't obeying the rules of personal space. He's teleporting directly into the house, but he's polite enough to stop outside of the door to Hector's room and knock.
Indeed, 7PM isn't the worst time. It's not his favorite time (rather close to when he wants to sing for his daughter in his nightly ritual of keeping sanity) but it's not the worst. Still, he doesn't think too much of it.
He gets up and makes his way to the door of his room, some small bit of control rather than calling out and having Dodger teleport right in. He opens it up and takes Dodger in, looking for injuries or worse.
He, himself, is sporting a fair few. Cuts, scrapes, scratches, and one wing is looking a little more limp than the other, but most of it's on his face in scabs and bruises that have eased their swelling somewhat in exchange for colors.
[it's the next day before Garrett is capable of reaching out to anyone. After he's had a cry, freaked out with Trevelyan, healed himself over and over again. the cleaning crew came to scrub up blood and vomit, and he slept in a pile of dogs that all now refuse to leave his sight.
but he reaches out as soon as he's able. Ring ring, motherfucker.]
It's hell when they wake up. It still feels like Dodger's hands are in their guts, rummaging around and crushing the eyes within. To escape it, Nekane rolls over and goes back to sleep...or maybe they pass out again. Who knows?
They stay like that for days, even when the pain of revival finally fades away. They don't hear or see anything but that's mostly because they choose not to. Not going out to eat or see Héctor, although they can't say if he peeks into their room at any point. Nekane's far too out of it to really care.
(Knowing what they want to say and actually putting it into practice is a bitch.)
But eventually they slip out of their room and into the bathroom with an armful of different clothing they 'borrowed' from the hotel's basement at some point. They run a hot bath and strip. Looking at their reflection in the mirror nearly brings up a wave of nausea but they power through it to sink into the water. And then they take soap and a cloth, and scrub at their skin until it's bright red. As if they can wash away the new scars all over their body.
It's not enough. It's never going to be enough. The laugh that slips past their lips is more then a little hysterical. At least they keep the volume down.
Nekane doesn't pull on their usual suit once they convince themself that they're as clean as they're going to get. Just a grey hoodie and loose jeans, and they don't bother with socks. Fuck it. But Nekane carefully hangs up the suit in their room before grabbing their blankets and dragging it all to the living room couch, where they bury themself and turn on the tv at low volume.
They're dozing whenever Héctor comes around, watching some shitty comedy movie. Nekane has the hood of their hoodie pulled up but it's easy enough to see their face and the fact that they're not actually watching the tv right now.
They're thinking. If that's bad or not...well, it usually is. They know their own mind well, after all.
In that first day, he couldn't have moved if he wanted to. The second day is still agonizing. He doesn't even know if they're here with him. He doesn't know where they are. The thought makes him panic so bad he's sick. More than once.
But then he can move. He walks like a ghost through his own house. He opens the door. They're there. They're here. He shuts the door again.
He makes food for them both that neither of them eat. He stays in his room. He sleeps. He thinks about talking to them. He doesn't. At one point he leaves, taking that old bat and, with a scream of utter rage, he smashes it against the first abandoned building he finds, breaking everything and screaming until there's nothing left and his knuckles bleed, before heading home. He goes through all his cigarettes.
He should've been there. Nekane would have hated it. But if he'd been there, they wouldn't have been alone. He can't stop thinking it.
Then, finally, he hears the shower run. He gets up, checks his face and regrets it when he sees the angry dead-eyed man in the mirror, but moves along. When they settle in the living room he takes breaths, steels himself, and comes with two glasses of water. He sets one down in front of them.
You, my prized guest, have made it twelve months in your journey towards redemption. I know that there have been bumps along the way and we haven't always seen eye to eye, but I do wish to show my gratitude. Together, we will all leave Hell one day.
I have handpicked gifts specifically for you to commemorate this anniversary. I do hope you enjoy them.
A photograph of his child, in an elegant frame.
An offer to be sent back to any point of time he wishes when his sins list has been cleared.
The offer to bring home up to two fellow sinners, provided they've cleared their lists as well.
Again, I thank you for all of your help in making Hell what it is today.
[He's given up on Hector actually talking to him, but he's still been texting every few days. Telling him what he ate for breakfast. Sending him a picture of Crusher (taken from Dodger's window while Crusher walks around behind Garrett). Cracking a joke every once in a while because he has no one else to tell it to.
And this is just another one of those texts.]
lucky hell doesnt play our memories back all the time. that happened at the last place i wound up. i never talk about the sphere huh. compared to that shithole hell is pretty nice.
[This is followed by another stalker picture of Crusher, close enough that Crusher clearly realizes Dodger is around and his tail is a blur, ears back, probably whining.]
[He's just about turned off his phone. He rarely gets texts from anyone else. He doesn't check the network. Hawke visits. Nekane is here. But he doesn't turn it off, just in case.
Most texts bring new waves of fury. Some set off that cold apathy that teeters into numbness. He prefers that to pitying.
One day he finds yet another text, follow by a buffoonish image of Crusher. That stupid dog, so in love with Dodger, not knowing-- no. Crusher knows perfectly well. Not caring is the word. Crusher has nothing to lose but his life.
He puts the phone down, walks away. He completes a few tasks here and there. He picks the phone up again, puts it down.
He texts on the fourth round of that. The third round involves breaking things.]
You're not supposed to talk about other realities. It makes you bleed. But maybe if you were reminded more often
[He cuts himself off. There's another long span of time.]
The first two days after Héctor's departure from Hell, and his confession, Nekane had laid in bed. They had run after him but they couldn't out-pace his wings. Not with their broken ones. Their voice couldn't reach him. And like that, Héctor vanished from their life.
But not their memory. His last words still echoed in their head and so they laid down for two fucking days to fight with their own head about it. The memories were second hand but they couldn't forget the feeling of someone professing his love for them while cutting them open. Or Delilah. Even if they admitted they still loved her, it was a love they wished they could physically rip out of themself and toss into the lava.
Still...those two days pass and Nekane gets out of bed. They make themself something to eat and watch tv. Like they thought, they expect to hear questions and the surprised noise when they tell him just how much money people get for doing stupid shit on tv. Instead there's silence. But they refuse to let it be the same kind of silence they had in the aftermath of what happened with Dodger.
"Fuck it!" They throw up their hands for good measures too. And they go take a bubble bath. Fresh from that, they go into Héctor's room.
The photographs are there, along with his guitar. Nekane only takes two things out with them - the photo of him and his family and the guitar. They think he was the happiest when he talked about his family, so it helps. It's too cold outside so they set up in the living room with a small book of their own and a pen. The photo goes on the table too and Nekane sets themself up with the guitar, stripping off their gloves.
"...you said I could decide if I hate or love you," They tell the photo. "I don't have the answer yet. It'll probably take fucking years because I'm me. But I promised I'll never forget you and I never will. I hope you're happy, wherever you are."
And they hope their words can reach him across worlds.
"From the moon...I'll send a letter back to you..." They strum the guitar thoughtfully, remembering the melody and hoping one day they'll be just as good as he was. "Pfft...well, I've got time, don't I?"
It won't be perfect. It'll be a song born of someone stubborn to the core. But neither of them were perfect.
And that's always been fine with the both of them. As long as they are who they are, it'll be perfect then.
It's another beautiful leadup into Christmas. There's attacking snowmen, Hell's usual emotional bullshit and everyone getting herded into hotel eventually. With a lot of grumbling. When they both moved out into the 'burbs, Nekane had tried to avoid going back to the hotel except for 'groceries' and the link unless forced. And now it feels weird to be back here.
And they know that Héctor is probably just as ""thrilled"" as they are about it, too.
Nekane naturally gravitates to the library but there's slim pickings as people keep running off with the books. Eventually they just give up and put their head against the table and groan in pure fucking boredom.
"We gotta find something to do before I throw myself out the goddamn window and let the snowmen eat me."
Héctor isn't far. He probably wouldn't have been to begin with but said emotional bullshit has him, at various points, draped over the chair and their shoulders, sitting on the floor beside said chair, and/or hanging off their sleeve like a lost child.
"I hate this month," He mutters. For even out of Hell, this month is his death's anniversary and only the second month in his annual post Día de Muertos failure slumps where he exists only as a miserable lump in empty shacks or alleyways. "I wanna go to our home."
He grips them, forcing himself up and using them to boost himself. It's just as much an effort to keep them still.
"Okay. No jumping out the window. We're making home. You remember that room we found before, last time it was cold?"
Like many, Nekane and Héctor have to listen to the list of bullshit the new 'ruler of hell' has to say. Before he's even finished, Nekane immediately vetoes moving back to the hotel. Fuck that. Not until they're given absolutely no choice and then some.
But the comments relating to the sex demons has them raising an eyebrow. The first video did have Nekane feeling bad for Lucifer, Lilth and her children. Nekane didn't like any of them - for a good reason in the children's case - but they're not a sadist and it's obvious that he was taking joy in what he's inflicted on them. But--
They still giggle a little. "Well, at least that's some bullshit we can avoid."
Score one for being a couple that are physically incompatible.
That giggling comment has his own sort of giggling bubbling out and spilling over. He leans into their shoulder, letting them support his weight along as he laughs.
"Can you imagine?" He wipes away a tear that isn't there. "Like being served an empty plate in a restaurant! I'm not sure you would even change." Because he certainly doesn't want to engage in any of that.
He shakes his head and gets up.
"Serves them right. It'd be like trying to encourage nec--" A knock at the front door has him cutting off. He looks to it in disbelief. "No. It can't be that fast." There's another, more urgent knock. "Oh for crying out loud."
He makes his way to the front door and swings it open. Lo and behold, what should he find? The succubi and incubi, of course, looking almost pitiful enough to pity. He doesn't want to make them suffer anymore. That urge left him when his attempts to destroy the club led to them invading the hotel and taking who they could, God's suburb, and the insanity the month after as punishment, but most of all, when it upset Lillith who reminded him that these were her children. Still, he doesn't like them and he can't help being a little amused that, at long last, they had no power over him.
As if sensing his smugness-- which, truthfully, isn't hard with his crossed arms and the look on his face-- they quickly (whine) insist, "It was ordered."
"You have to feed us!"
"You can't just say no."
He looks unimpressed. "How about, 'it's impossible' or, 'try somewhere else', then? Either way, you're not welcome in our house."
"You can't tell us--!" A demon starts, furious, only to be cut off by another. One who's a little more aware of the desperation behind their slow starvation.
"We'll be outside, by the bedroom. But you still have to try. It was ordered," The second demon says, a little calmly but still firm.
With a great sigh, he throws up his hands. "I'm shutting the door. I'll go to the bedroom with my partner but I'm telling you, this isn't happening."
He gives no more warning before doing just that and turning to Nekane. That amused grin keeps trying to twitch back into place.
[Garrett is currently holding a very large bone over his head, trying in earnest to keep it away from Ox and Blue's greedy mouths. It is, upon further inspection, a human femur. Behind him, a black French bulldog (Max) is chasing a disembodied skeletal foot around the room.]
[Normally, given Hawke's trepidation with seeing him, at all, ever, he'd stick to text. But, at the moment, he neither has the focus nor calm to fuss with technology and switch out of the video Garrett has started. Thus, a face full of panicked and frazzled skeleton.]
Gracias a dios! You found it! I've been-- ay!
[The yelp comes in perfect time that the little bulldog nips at the hopping heal.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
audio // @dodger
Hey... We need to- no, I guess... I want, to talk to you. I'm sorry about- what happened. I should have... I shouldn't have lost my temper, I- I just couldn't watch you starving yourself, and... I guess it doesn't matter. It was stupid. But I want to make it up to you.
[Through the entire message, something can be heard that sounds suspiciously like a dog whining in agony, sounding like it's likely bleeding on the floor. Not that Dodger even seems aware of it.]
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It just about sounds like an earnest apology. He almost believes it. Besides that it's an apology for murder and boy he's got no idea how to process that. Except "I want to make it up to you" scares the hell out of him.
In the end, it's what Dodger ignores that makes him talk.]
... Is that a dying dog? Tell me that you're not calling me while in the middle of killing something.
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action // a few days after Dodger murders Hector // cw: gore
[ if the door is unlocked, it's opening without waiting for Hector to answer; if it is, well, then it'll have to wait until it cracks open just enough for -- ]
[ Dodger's head to stick in. ]
[ Except it looks... wrong. His eyes are wide and unmoving, as if frozen in a moment of shock; there's blood all over, splits, cuts, missing teeth... and when his jaw moves, it doesn't match the words at all; it's just the monotonous movement up and down of a puppet. ]
I'm really sorry for beating you to death.
[ ...the obviously phoney high-pitched voice doesn't sound anything like him either. The door cracks open more and ]
[ it's just his head, and someone's arm seems to be going up the hole in his neck where someone's hand is apparently moving his jaw. ]
[ Oh, and behind this macabre nightmare, there's Squalo's grinning face. He looks so damn pleased with himself. ]
[ He really thinks he's cheering Hector up here. ]
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He doesn't know how long he'd been out or gone or whatever is that happens, but he'd woken up back in bed, just as before. The last time it had happened, he'd felt a sting just sharp enough to ache, but somehow it hadn't been as utterly paralyzing as this time. It had taken time to be able to move, and even then hadn't been without noise. He'd had to ball a shirt to bite and had only done as much as the bare minimum. Minus food.
He's feeling a little better by now, certainly more mobile, and he jolts up at the sound of knocking. He doesn't get the chance to ask who it is before Dodger's head pokes in. His breath pulls sharp before he even registers everything wrong. And there's a lot wrong.
His gut churns and he slaps a hand over his mouth as Dodger's moves all wrong. The only reason he's not throwing up is that there's absolutely nothing in him. But his body sure does try.
His other hand clamps over, muffling noise as he scrambles back further until he's hitting the headboard.
He's dead. Oh god, he's dead, Dodger's dead, his head is off and Squalo... Squalo is...
In a panic, he jumps up. He grabs the nearest thing, a lamp off the bedside table and he wields it like a bat.]
QU- ¿QUE DEMONIOS?
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after dodger's birthday party terribleness
For a moment they don't remember how they got to...Héctor's suite? Apparently. But it doesn't take long for their memories to catch up with them. Right...Dodger's birthday party. That whole shitshow and the reason why it wasn't just the hangover that hurt. Their throat was killing them, the burns and the probably nasty still-forming bruises from getting choked.
Goddamn it. That had been all sorts of fucked up and everyone there paid for it. And they don't know where to go from here.
Actually they do: curl up on themself and squeeze their eyes shut because everything's too bright and loud and it fucking sucks.
"...Héc...?" It's as best as they can manage to call out for him. With their eyes closed, Nekane had little idea where they were and, more importantly, where he was. Where-?
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He settles on his side, facing them like he did once. He puts one hand between the two of them, not touching, just like back then too. The other hand is pulling a sheet up over both of them, hopefully, to block some light out.
"Don't strain your voice. You've got to let it heal," He tells them. He feels awful. His stomach is not happy with him and neither is his head. But his heart is doing him worse.
"I've got you water but it can wait until you're ready to sit up."
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cw: noncon discussion
cw for abuse
cw for abuse
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[not here]
There's one night where he calls over and over again, but still keeps cutting it short each time Hector reaches for it. And after that, he doesn't call. He doesn't answer any attempts to call him back, either.]
@dodger // audio
I made my decision. Let's talk.
audio
But he swallows and takes a breath.]
I'm listening.
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sometime after nekane and dodger's family friendly bounding
God knows why they ended up in front of Héctor's suite. There's nothing he can really do about this shit now that it's over and done with. Sure, Nekane did agree to telling him about whatever happened regarding Dodger but they're not exactly sure if he wants to hear that they both fucked before he even had lunch.
Well, as long as they don't go into the fucking details, maybe.
So they go in, pick the lock on his room's door to get in and do the mature thing...meaning they hide under his bed, cramming themself in as much as possible even if they know it makes their wings pop out again. And they wait.
Héctor might get back in time to see a pale arm dragging his covers under the bed. Hi.
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He sucks a sharp breath and goes very still, like if they don't see him, everything will be fine. Then he registers the cracks in the skin. His shoulders slump and he moves to the bed, climbing down to lay flat on the floor.
"So. How long have you been under here and is there an immediate emergency I should know about?"
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sometime after the log with dodger and squalo
One day Héctor came back and went to his room, and didn't come back out. They would have easily let it pass - sometimes one or both of them needed space and that was that. - but they didn't miss the cut across his face. But it's his expression, or maybe even a lack of one, that gets Nekane's attention faster.
But they don't speak up. There's a sort of aura around Héctor that practically screams leave me the fuck alone. They've had it, they've seen so many people with it. Hell, even John got that way at times. So they leave him alone.
Still when enough days pass in silence, eventually they do shuffle up to his door. Nekane could have easily slipped a few eyes under the door to see how he's doing but that's a stupid idea. So they knock.
"Héctor? Can I come in?"
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He walks in. Nekane's there. He walks past them. He doesn't say a word and neither do they. Good. He shuts the door behind him, holing up like he used to do when he was going to settle down and write something. That won't happen this time.
The days pass all the same.
He startles when he hears the knock, and yet, he barely moves beyond that initial jolt. He turns his gaze towards the door and stares at it, as if willing the sound to be some kind of hallucination. He hears Nekane's voice.
It takes a moment for his brain to kick into gear, another moment for him to decide if he wants to answer, and what exactly he even wants that answer to be. He's not numb. He almost wishes he was.
"Si," He croaks, barely above a whisper.
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sometime after the hospital event
They're out for...God knows how long. The nurses had tried to use isolation on them and they just napped then but it hadn't been restful because they knew they still were in danger. Too much what ifs. Nekane thinks they wake up once or twice here because they remember Héctor talking to them, but that's it.
They're tucked in when they wake up again. And someone's with them. Someone that makes this place safe for them.
"...hi, Héctor."
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His eyes open to meet theirs, smile pulling faintly. There are still holes around his mouth, lines where the stitches pressed in, but he's not rotted anymore.
"Hey," He says back, voice a quiet rasp. "You okay?"
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cw: suicide talk
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action;
"Hey, amigo~" Coming from Dodger, this definitely seems like he's up to something. "You're not busy, right? I gotta talk to you about something."
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With that and a yelp, Héctor just about falls out of the chair he was sitting in. Evidently his voice is back to normal after being muted and the obly sign left are the hole scars left by the threads.
"Dios mio, Dodger. Was nearly busy having a heart attack."
He pushes up from the chair setting the pen and paper he was writing on into the desk. He walks over, setting in the bed.
"Alright. What are you up to."
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the prank war of '20
They resolve themself to a few rules though. Namely not messing with Héctor's photo, guitar, or his food. The latter two could be replaced but fuck making him go to Lucifer for anything and Nekane's not enough of a jackass to put their amusement above possibly setting him back from the progress he's made so far regarding food.
Everything else is fair game though. So once Héctor dips outside for any reason, Nekane goes about stuffing his mattress with as many rubber chickens as they can get their hands on.
It'll make one hell of a noise once he sits down on his bed.
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What weird product of Hell were these? Where did Nekane get them? All he knows for certain is that the game is on.
The next day, Nekane will find just about everything they use with regularity glued down. The coffee container, the mugs, the spoons to stir it with. Everything just where Nekane would leave it, only stuck in place.
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action;
"Hec, you in there?"
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He gets up and makes his way to the door of his room, some small bit of control rather than calling out and having Dodger teleport right in. He opens it up and takes Dodger in, looking for injuries or worse.
He, himself, is sporting a fair few. Cuts, scrapes, scratches, and one wing is looking a little more limp than the other, but most of it's on his face in scabs and bruises that have eased their swelling somewhat in exchange for colors.
He asks, "Everything alright, amigo?"
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text // @dodger
please
i'm sorry.
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audio
but he reaches out as soon as he's able. Ring ring, motherfucker.]
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Garrett? Is that you?
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They stay like that for days, even when the pain of revival finally fades away. They don't hear or see anything but that's mostly because they choose not to. Not going out to eat or see Héctor, although they can't say if he peeks into their room at any point. Nekane's far too out of it to really care.
(Knowing what they want to say and actually putting it into practice is a bitch.)
But eventually they slip out of their room and into the bathroom with an armful of different clothing they 'borrowed' from the hotel's basement at some point. They run a hot bath and strip. Looking at their reflection in the mirror nearly brings up a wave of nausea but they power through it to sink into the water. And then they take soap and a cloth, and scrub at their skin until it's bright red. As if they can wash away the new scars all over their body.
It's not enough. It's never going to be enough. The laugh that slips past their lips is more then a little hysterical. At least they keep the volume down.
Nekane doesn't pull on their usual suit once they convince themself that they're as clean as they're going to get. Just a grey hoodie and loose jeans, and they don't bother with socks. Fuck it. But Nekane carefully hangs up the suit in their room before grabbing their blankets and dragging it all to the living room couch, where they bury themself and turn on the tv at low volume.
They're dozing whenever Héctor comes around, watching some shitty comedy movie. Nekane has the hood of their hoodie pulled up but it's easy enough to see their face and the fact that they're not actually watching the tv right now.
They're thinking. If that's bad or not...well, it usually is. They know their own mind well, after all.
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But then he can move. He walks like a ghost through his own house. He opens the door. They're there. They're here. He shuts the door again.
He makes food for them both that neither of them eat. He stays in his room. He sleeps. He thinks about talking to them. He doesn't. At one point he leaves, taking that old bat and, with a scream of utter rage, he smashes it against the first abandoned building he finds, breaking everything and screaming until there's nothing left and his knuckles bleed, before heading home. He goes through all his cigarettes.
He should've been there. Nekane would have hated it. But if he'd been there, they wouldn't have been alone. He can't stop thinking it.
Then, finally, he hears the shower run. He gets up, checks his face and regrets it when he sees the angry dead-eyed man in the mirror, but moves along. When they settle in the living room he takes breaths, steels himself, and comes with two glasses of water. He sets one down in front of them.
"Hey," he says. He sits by them, a gap between.
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cw: victim blaming/sexual assault/suicidal idealization
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You, my prized guest, have made it twelve months in your journey towards redemption. I know that there have been bumps along the way and we haven't always seen eye to eye, but I do wish to show my gratitude. Together, we will all leave Hell one day.
I have handpicked gifts specifically for you to commemorate this anniversary. I do hope you enjoy them.
Again, I thank you for all of your help in making Hell what it is today.
Yours,
Lucifer
text // @dodger
And this is just another one of those texts.]
lucky hell doesnt play our memories back all the time. that happened at the last place i wound up.
i never talk about the sphere huh. compared to that shithole hell is pretty nice.
[This is followed by another stalker picture of Crusher, close enough that Crusher clearly realizes Dodger is around and his tail is a blur, ears back, probably whining.]
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Most texts bring new waves of fury. Some set off that cold apathy that teeters into numbness. He prefers that to pitying.
One day he finds yet another text, follow by a buffoonish image of Crusher. That stupid dog, so in love with Dodger, not knowing-- no. Crusher knows perfectly well. Not caring is the word. Crusher has nothing to lose but his life.
He puts the phone down, walks away. He completes a few tasks here and there. He picks the phone up again, puts it down.
He texts on the fourth round of that. The third round involves breaking things.]
You're not supposed to talk about other realities.
It makes you bleed.
But maybe if you were reminded more often
[He cuts himself off. There's another long span of time.]
How long are you going to do this?
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two days after Héctor's departure
But not their memory. His last words still echoed in their head and so they laid down for two fucking days to fight with their own head about it. The memories were second hand but they couldn't forget the feeling of someone professing his love for them while cutting them open. Or Delilah. Even if they admitted they still loved her, it was a love they wished they could physically rip out of themself and toss into the lava.
Still...those two days pass and Nekane gets out of bed. They make themself something to eat and watch tv. Like they thought, they expect to hear questions and the surprised noise when they tell him just how much money people get for doing stupid shit on tv. Instead there's silence. But they refuse to let it be the same kind of silence they had in the aftermath of what happened with Dodger.
"Fuck it!" They throw up their hands for good measures too. And they go take a bubble bath. Fresh from that, they go into Héctor's room.
The photographs are there, along with his guitar. Nekane only takes two things out with them - the photo of him and his family and the guitar. They think he was the happiest when he talked about his family, so it helps. It's too cold outside so they set up in the living room with a small book of their own and a pen. The photo goes on the table too and Nekane sets themself up with the guitar, stripping off their gloves.
"...you said I could decide if I hate or love you," They tell the photo. "I don't have the answer yet. It'll probably take fucking years because I'm me. But I promised I'll never forget you and I never will. I hope you're happy, wherever you are."
And they hope their words can reach him across worlds.
"From the moon...I'll send a letter back to you..." They strum the guitar thoughtfully, remembering the melody and hoping one day they'll be just as good as he was. "Pfft...well, I've got time, don't I?"
It won't be perfect. It'll be a song born of someone stubborn to the core. But neither of them were perfect.
And that's always been fine with the both of them. As long as they are who they are, it'll be perfect then.
december 10th
And they know that Héctor is probably just as ""thrilled"" as they are about it, too.
Nekane naturally gravitates to the library but there's slim pickings as people keep running off with the books. Eventually they just give up and put their head against the table and groan in pure fucking boredom.
"We gotta find something to do before I throw myself out the goddamn window and let the snowmen eat me."
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"I hate this month," He mutters. For even out of Hell, this month is his death's anniversary and only the second month in his annual post Día de Muertos failure slumps where he exists only as a miserable lump in empty shacks or alleyways. "I wanna go to our home."
He grips them, forcing himself up and using them to boost himself. It's just as much an effort to keep them still.
"Okay. No jumping out the window. We're making home. You remember that room we found before, last time it was cold?"
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text; christmas morning
[no they haven't spoken since Héctor's return, who cares it's fine.]
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Just dead. Not living. But, yes. Well, some do. Most, I would say.
[He's beating around the bush.]
Are you celebrating? Feliz Navidad, if you are.
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Feb 10th / CW: eventually NSFW, stupidity
But the comments relating to the sex demons has them raising an eyebrow. The first video did have Nekane feeling bad for Lucifer, Lilth and her children. Nekane didn't like any of them - for a good reason in the children's case - but they're not a sadist and it's obvious that he was taking joy in what he's inflicted on them. But--
They still giggle a little. "Well, at least that's some bullshit we can avoid."
Score one for being a couple that are physically incompatible.
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"Can you imagine?" He wipes away a tear that isn't there. "Like being served an empty plate in a restaurant! I'm not sure you would even change." Because he certainly doesn't want to engage in any of that.
He shakes his head and gets up.
"Serves them right. It'd be like trying to encourage nec--" A knock at the front door has him cutting off. He looks to it in disbelief. "No. It can't be that fast." There's another, more urgent knock. "Oh for crying out loud."
He makes his way to the front door and swings it open. Lo and behold, what should he find? The succubi and incubi, of course, looking almost pitiful enough to pity. He doesn't want to make them suffer anymore. That urge left him when his attempts to destroy the club led to them invading the hotel and taking who they could, God's suburb, and the insanity the month after as punishment, but most of all, when it upset Lillith who reminded him that these were her children. Still, he doesn't like them and he can't help being a little amused that, at long last, they had no power over him.
As if sensing his smugness-- which, truthfully, isn't hard with his crossed arms and the look on his face-- they quickly (whine) insist, "It was ordered."
"You have to feed us!"
"You can't just say no."
He looks unimpressed. "How about, 'it's impossible' or, 'try somewhere else', then? Either way, you're not welcome in our house."
"You can't tell us--!" A demon starts, furious, only to be cut off by another. One who's a little more aware of the desperation behind their slow starvation.
"We'll be outside, by the bedroom. But you still have to try. It was ordered," The second demon says, a little calmly but still firm.
With a great sigh, he throws up his hands. "I'm shutting the door. I'll go to the bedroom with my partner but I'm telling you, this isn't happening."
He gives no more warning before doing just that and turning to Nekane. That amused grin keeps trying to twitch back into place.
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video
Héctor. Are you missing anything?
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Gracias a dios! You found it! I've been-- ay!
[The yelp comes in perfect time that the little bulldog nips at the hopping heal.]
I've been looking everywhere!
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voice; un: notursavior
But, uh...remember when you had wings?
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... It's been... a while for that, but yeah, I remember. What about it?
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