[I don't know how to trust you. You can't even trust yourself.
He's heard that before. These are old excuses, and Janet never stood for them. He's glad that at least this isn't a fight, that they're just talking, but he doesn't really want to talk. He wants to reach out and touch Hector's back, or kiss him again, or... more. Because his body is the only thing that seems to make up for his personality, and the only positive thing he knows how to give is intimacy.]
You don't have to trust me, you know. I've got plenty of friends, back home and here, that I wouldn't turn my back on for a second.
[He takes a deep breath, and it comes out in a hollow laugh.]
Fuck, though... I never had to apologize to someone I killed before. Ivar - my boyfriend - I killed him a couple months back and we never talked about it. Like it never happened. I guess he figured we were even, since he killed me too.
[It was never awkward to bring it up until just now. He can't help feeling like every word out of his mouth is just making it worse, but he doesn't know how to change his strategy either. It's all uncharted territory.]
[He frowns. No surprise or argument there that there's people Dodger doesn't trust.
The second confession makes him wince. Before he might have asked; Doesn't that feel terrible? He understands better now.]
I don't know Ivar, or anything about him. So I'm just going to say this based on you and general people; he's messed up. You're both messed up. And that's comfortable for you.
You're apologizing but you have nothing to back it up. Take it from me, I apologize way too much, and eventually it's just words. Not to be on the nose but if you want to say sorry it's got to mean something. Repentance. Which is why I'm not sorry about biting your hand.
[He spares it the briefest glance. He feels guilty. Not that much.]
If this place were Earth you wouldn't get a second chance for killing me. That would be it. So you have to be uncomfortable here. You're going to try harder, if not for the first time in your life.
You're going to promise me, if you ever get that mad again, you're going to leave. Do your magic poofing and don't even finish the conversation. You're never going to get involved in any food or drink with me. Ever. You're going to tell me the truth where it matters. You're going to try.
If that sounds impossible or like it's not worth the time, there's your answer. But if you can tough it out enough then I can try to trust you.
[Killing Ivar hadn't felt like anything. It had just been another fight that he lost, but he'd been glad to take the bastard with him. There are other deaths he's caused that meant more. None of them ached the way that Hector's death had. None of them had driven him to hurting himself quite as hard.
He glances down at his hand. There's still a dark line across the older scars, marking where he was bitten.]
I don't blame you for biting me. You shouldn't be sorry.
[He listens to the rest though, quietly puffing his cigarette and finally stealing a glance at the other man. Only a glance, which he regrets, because he can't stand the sight of him. Every time he looks at him, his heart drops. And even after Hector's done speaking, he's stuck contemplating it silently.]
I don't make promises I can't keep, Hector. It's the only line I draw - I follow through whatever I say, because I fucking hate people who don't.
[He's stalling, speaking slowly while he tries to sort out his thoughts.]
But... I promise I'll leave if you tell me to. I promise I won't touch your food or drinks. And I promise I won't lie to you... but sometimes you're better off without the truth. Knowing too much can change you into someone you don't want to be. So if I tell you not to worry about something, I mean it. Alright?
[He's prepared to get up and walk away. And like a splitting path, he's as prepared to be allowed to walk off as he is to be thrown in the dirt and beaten into it. He's stopped aching in that particular way but it's close enough he can imagine it anyway. He's kind of amazed his hands aren't shaking. He doesn't feel brave.
He's surprised enough when Dodger goes on that he actually looks up.
He thinks how Nekane and Dodger are utterly unalike, with Nekane's tale of an apple out of reach that they were punished for... and Dodger insisting that to be without is better.
He thinks about how he already knows more than he wants. How Dodger treats his dog, people he knows, himself. How Dodger views the world. The cannibalism. If there was ever a time to protect him from knowing things he'd think it's rather passed.]
As long as you can follow the first, it should be fine.
[He shifts then, pushing himself up on the seat. He sits on the back of it, like Dodger does, a space still between then. But it's a smaller space. He holds out a hand to shake.]
This isn't me saying I forgive you, just that I'm giving you a chance to earn it. If that's really what you want from me.
[He hadn't expected that to be enough of an answer, honestly. So many people here are... more righteous than he would expect from Hell, enough to be appalled at the way he views the world.
But Hector has always given him a fair listen, and he would rather die and stay dead than give that up.
He stares at Hector's bony hand for a moment, before taking it. Not to shake, but to hold, squeeze gently, and let go. He's fully capable of crushing that hand without a thought. He wants to let the man know that he won't.]
Even if you don't forgive me... you're one of my best friends here. I'll do whatever I have to, to keep you safe... but I'll try and hold back if you tell me not to.
[He pauses for a moment.]
And I don't blame you for sending your friend after me. I earned that.
[The path to Hell was paved with good intentions, as they say.
It's not a proper shake and it makes some of the hardness of his expression slip down, leaving in its place something sorrowed, but it works for what they're trying to do. He draws his hand back.
He looks sadly on the man. It's kind of terrible that he's one of Dodger's best friends because, in all honesty, he hasn't been all that friendly to Dodger. Not by his own standards.]
Dodger, I--
[He cuts off, Dodger going on to add one more thing.]
What. [It comes out flat.] Sending a friend-- I didn't send anyone after you! I only told one person! And I told them not to do anything!
[He raises a brow. Sure, it had been a bit of surprise to learn Hector sent someone after him but... now that he thinks of it, it does make more sense to assume they were just being protective.]
Well, I guess I'm not the only one who's got some explaining to do, then.
[He lifts up his shirt, just enough to show his stomach. There's other scars there, but chief among them is the circular scars left from holes were the shadow hands had pierced through him. And once Hector's gotten a good look, his shirt drops back down.]
The girl in the suit, with the fucked-up wings. Soon as she heard my name, she started talking about you... then she gave me those. Fucked me up pretty badly, actually.
[He'd been shaken after that, not just physically but emotionally. Nekane had managed to blind him just with a thought, and that sort of power was terrifying to think about.]
Like I said, I don't blame you. I... needed to hurt, after everything. She delivered.
[He's looking at Dodger in horror and that only gets worse as he takes in those scars. He wants to think there's some mistake, but he can very easily imagine the shadows and the damage they can do. He can't forget the way they tore that room apart. Dodger confirms it.
His eyes close, face twisting. Guilt washes over and then some, Dodger saying he doesn't blame...
His face drops to his hands and he groans.]
No, no, stop.
[Dammit. He'd known Nekane was angry but he'd thought...]
You didn't need to be hurt, okay, that doesn't fix anything. That doesn't make me feel better! It doesn't even stop anything from happening! I don't want people hurt for me! I don't want people hurting each other! I don't want it on my conscience and I don't want it in general!
[His hands have gone out, gesturing with his words. He doesn't know what he's going to do. On top of all that, he can't help feeling hurt that he was lied to. Tricked again.]
And they're-- they're not a girl.
[The least important thing here but hell, since they're going down a list, might as well say it.]
[He grunts quietly, and doesn't speak after he's told not to. He does finally look at Hector, regarding him with some level of sympathy. These sort of things are normal for him, but he knows they aren't for Hector. He knows all of this hurts.
He idly makes a note that Nekane is apparently not a girl, but. Will he remember that? Probably not.]
Sorry.
[He reaches out hesitantly, and pats Hector's shoulder. His touch is light, ready to take it back if the man isn't having it.]
You sound like you need a drink, man. [He hesitates.] But I'm not gonna join you, if you do. All things considered, you probably shouldn't be drunk around me on a good day.
[He's self aware enough, at least, to know he's a scavenger. He doesn't need a reason to hurt someone who's weakened, even if he likes to think he wouldn't hurt Hector.]
[He's watchful as Dodger reaches out. He doesn't want to flinch and he manages not to, though it makes his body stiff. He stiffens much more at the offer to drink, face twisting for just a moment before he can smooth that out.
As much as he can that is. You probably shouldn't be drunk around me on a good day, is not the greatest thing to hear.
It doesn't matter though. He shakes his head.]
I'm not drinking anymore. Giving it up.
[He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his flask for Dodger to see. He gives it a shake.]
It's just water.
[He tucks the thing back away.]
Was planning on giving it up eventually, work off the list. But since my old friend ruined tequila for me, I figured I'd start now. That's what the smokes are for; keeping busy.
[He raises a brow; not at the sobriety, that's fine, but it seems stupid to let him know exactly what Hector's drinking out of. And it takes him a moment to remind himself that no, that isn't a stupid thing to do if they're going to trust each other.
He just focuses on tossing his cigarette aside and lighting a new one.]
Seems like a bad place to start... place like this, it helps to be drunk.
[He pauses, and a bitter smile crosses his face.]
You know I haven't been sober in... five years or so? Not even for a moment. I wake up and drink like it's water. Feels like everything would be... real, if I was sober. Too real.
[He shrugs awkwardly. They've already talked a bit about this, he may as well talk more.]
It helps to make everything dull. I lived through some real nightmares, they made me... this. I spent three years sleeping on the floor of a church, getting used by- some sadistic bastard with a god complex...
[It's the easiest those words have ever come out. He'll have to count that as some sort of progress.]
I can't explain it. I don't want you to understand. But this place is better than some of the places I've lived before. I feel like I'm home, here - where I belong.
If those memories stopped hurting... maybe I could slow down on the drinking. I don't know.
[Talked. More like referred vaguely to horrors and then held each other and pretended it was enough. Neither of them has entirely been able to say it.
His breath shudders in and out but otherwise remains steady. It's just... too much. It's too monumental to take in. Half of that night feels like it happened to someone else, except, ironically, the part that actually did.
There's so much he should say, so much he feels. But he can't put it to words. He takes a last drag of his cigarette and flicks it away. He doesn't light another. Instead, he just hugs his arms close, looking ahead.]
Has anything ever really stopped hurting? I mean, something terrible happens or we found ourselves... born without I guess. No one around but ourselves, one way or another. Does that ever real go away? Because I'm not sure it does. I didn't stop wishing for a family until I made mine. And, the soldados I'd see them, you know, I'd play for them. Some would be okay. But just some.
[And Nekane. Nekane's taught him a lot already.]
Do you remember who you were before they did that to you? Do you remember being any different?
[Dodger is extreme. It's hard to imagine someone always being so. But, at one point, it was hard to imagine someone like Dodger.]
When I was- tortured. Not by Lucifer's games, those have a point of some kind. When I was... cut open. After that happened, when we all had voices in our heads, saying things, telling us to hurt ourselves, I was scared of who I might be. I talked with someone. We talked about how, with these things, change is going to happen, like it or not. We have to learn to live with who we become.
I don't know how to do that yet. I don't like who I'm becoming. I feel like there's got to be someone out there, wiser, someone not in hell who could actually help, but he's not me. I'm afraid of- ha- I'm afraid of ending up like you. Or like someone else. Someone who can't handle it, walking in the doors of my home. But I'm trying. That's all I can do. Make good memories, try to hang on to what this place wants to take.
...I've got scars on my back. They're not going away. I think if my wife ever sees them, she'll hate it. Or maybe I'm just afraid she will. But, at the end of the day, however badly, those scars are healing. That's what I'm hoping for.
[Do you remember who you were before they did that to you?
He has to pause, and mull that question over in his mind. He remembers some of it, but who knows how accurate it is. He'd been a drunkard before the cult, even if it hadn't been quite as bad as now. He remembers being a stupid teenager, and a stupid kid before that.]
There was... a time, where I thought I was a good person.
[He's weighing his words carefully again, speaking slowly while he decides exactly how much to share.]
I worked on a fishing boat. I had a girlfriend, and... we talked about marriage, sometimes. She had friends, sometimes she tried to get me to make friends too. It never really worked out.
[He takes a long drag from his cigarette and blows it out, letting his thoughts settle a bit more.]
I thought I was getting better. I grew up fighting, killing, stealing... but I thought she'd saved me. I thought... maybe if I tried hard enough, I could change, and I could be like everyone else. But... I was wrong. And she left. And I ended up... with him.
[He's left stewing in his thoughts for a while after that, letting Hector process the information. A few minutes pass, before he speaks again.]
There's a lot of things I can't go back to. Even if I saw the people I used to know, I'm not the person they knew. But... if you love your wife enough to crawl out of Hell for her, she'd better love you enough not to turn her nose up at the scars you got on the way out, yeah?
[That's how Janet had been. She loved the scars on his face and his back, she'd told him so and run her fingers over them whenever he was stuck in the past. She made everything all better, and he figures that's how love is supposed to be.]
He can't really tell if it's true, that Dodger was a good person. Dodger thinks a lot of things and he disagrees with most of it. But he doesn't immediately see anything to disprove it.
At least until it dips back down into Dodger's past. He'd started a street rat too. But he didn't fight. He didn't kill.
He's been told a lot. But there's a lot he still just doesn't know. It's only as Dodger brings up his wife that his head bows and a soft laugh escapes.]
No. [He shakes his head, but there's a smile. (He doesn't smile much around Dodger. Not like this.)] No, no. You don't understand. She's her own person-- an amazing person. The best I know. She owes me nothing. She never owed me anything, never needed me. I provided, of course, but she had come from money before me. She gave a lot up... but she never saw it that way.
She didn't clean me up. I wanted to. For her. Ay, Dodger, I wanted her so bad. I never wanted anyone like that before her.
[The smile doesn't last. His face seems to crumple.]
But I left. [So much for being better than Dodger's father.] I didn't mean to. I thought, for a little while, for the fame and the money and... pleasing a friend. [It leaves a bitter taste.] But I abandoned them, my family. And I can't pretend I haven't... made more mistakes here. [The men he's kissed. His stomach flops in a real bad way.]
...But I hope you're right.
[He pauses.]
We have hope, right? Even you. I don't know if you remember the fire, but surely, getting this chance at all, that has to mean something. God or the devil or just ourselves, if we've come here for redemption there must be something to redeem. It's just a matter of figuring out how.
[The way Hector talks about his wife, about working so hard to keep her, about leaving her with a child to raise... yeah, he doesn't like that. He really doesn't like any of it. But he keeps his thoughts to himself, just sighs and watches the smoke curl out of his mouth.]
There's no hope for someone like me. I'm too far gone, but you... y'know. You're better than me. You've still got it.
[He's silent for a bit, and sighs again.]
My girl is better off without me. I've slipped so much since she left, she wouldn't recognized me if I saw her again. I've done things no one should ever do, and I didn't feel anything when it happened. And all these- mind games that Hell plays on us, it's just fun for me. It keeps things interesting.
[His nerves are getting to him, the shame of seeing how much better Hector's life is than his even when they're both in Hell. How much more potential he has. Instead of finishing his cigarette he rolls it in his fingers, charring the paper until it crumbles.]
Look, all I can tell you is... you're never gonna end up like me. Takes years of... bullshit, to churn out a monster. Not a few months of desperation.
[He sighs too, but he doesn't speak right away. He just takes it in. He sits in silence for far too long, Dodger at his side burning his cigarette to ash. He almost touches his face, where he was burned, but he resists. It's not that he doesn't believe Dodger's a cruel bastard. It's not that he doesn't know. But...]
...You say that, but you don't seem happy to me.
[It's not just now. It's every time Dodger's trying to explain his views of the world, every time he spoke of scars, self-inflicted and not.]
I don't think I've seen you smile once. Not for real.
[He shrugs.]
Well, we'll find out, won't we? We've got an eternity or until we work things out now either way.
[He drops what's left of his cigarette, and his hand just sort of... stays in the air, unsure of what he should do with it. He bristles a bit, but it's not from anger... he doesn't feel angry about anything, so he can't shield himself from the way Hector's words hurt him. He isn't happy. He doesn't remember the last time he was happy - not excited, not aroused, but happy.
Slowly his fingers twitch into fists, and he gets up to step off of the bench.]
If it's all the same to you, I should probably make sure my dog hasn't wrecked the place. Dumb bastard eats furniture when he's anxious.
[There's a bit of a stilt to his speech, just a hint that he's holding back some sort of emotion that he isn't comfortable expressing. Again he glances at Hector, before pointedly looking away.]
Look, I'll just... keep out of your way for a while. But let me know if something comes up, I'm in your corner. And... seriously, man, get something to eat. Anything.
[He hesitates a moment, as if he has something else to say, before just... shaking his head lightly, and bursting into sparks. They float back into the building and disappear through the wall, and then he's gone.]
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He's heard that before. These are old excuses, and Janet never stood for them. He's glad that at least this isn't a fight, that they're just talking, but he doesn't really want to talk. He wants to reach out and touch Hector's back, or kiss him again, or... more. Because his body is the only thing that seems to make up for his personality, and the only positive thing he knows how to give is intimacy.]
You don't have to trust me, you know. I've got plenty of friends, back home and here, that I wouldn't turn my back on for a second.
[He takes a deep breath, and it comes out in a hollow laugh.]
Fuck, though... I never had to apologize to someone I killed before. Ivar - my boyfriend - I killed him a couple months back and we never talked about it. Like it never happened. I guess he figured we were even, since he killed me too.
[It was never awkward to bring it up until just now. He can't help feeling like every word out of his mouth is just making it worse, but he doesn't know how to change his strategy either. It's all uncharted territory.]
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The second confession makes him wince. Before he might have asked; Doesn't that feel terrible? He understands better now.]
I don't know Ivar, or anything about him. So I'm just going to say this based on you and general people; he's messed up. You're both messed up. And that's comfortable for you.
You're apologizing but you have nothing to back it up. Take it from me, I apologize way too much, and eventually it's just words. Not to be on the nose but if you want to say sorry it's got to mean something. Repentance. Which is why I'm not sorry about biting your hand.
[He spares it the briefest glance. He feels guilty. Not that much.]
If this place were Earth you wouldn't get a second chance for killing me. That would be it. So you have to be uncomfortable here. You're going to try harder, if not for the first time in your life.
You're going to promise me, if you ever get that mad again, you're going to leave. Do your magic poofing and don't even finish the conversation. You're never going to get involved in any food or drink with me. Ever. You're going to tell me the truth where it matters. You're going to try.
If that sounds impossible or like it's not worth the time, there's your answer. But if you can tough it out enough then I can try to trust you.
[He takes a drag from his cigarette.]
Then we can both feel like crap together.
no subject
He glances down at his hand. There's still a dark line across the older scars, marking where he was bitten.]
I don't blame you for biting me. You shouldn't be sorry.
[He listens to the rest though, quietly puffing his cigarette and finally stealing a glance at the other man. Only a glance, which he regrets, because he can't stand the sight of him. Every time he looks at him, his heart drops. And even after Hector's done speaking, he's stuck contemplating it silently.]
I don't make promises I can't keep, Hector. It's the only line I draw - I follow through whatever I say, because I fucking hate people who don't.
[He's stalling, speaking slowly while he tries to sort out his thoughts.]
But... I promise I'll leave if you tell me to. I promise I won't touch your food or drinks. And I promise I won't lie to you... but sometimes you're better off without the truth. Knowing too much can change you into someone you don't want to be. So if I tell you not to worry about something, I mean it. Alright?
no subject
He's surprised enough when Dodger goes on that he actually looks up.
He thinks how Nekane and Dodger are utterly unalike, with Nekane's tale of an apple out of reach that they were punished for... and Dodger insisting that to be without is better.
He thinks about how he already knows more than he wants. How Dodger treats his dog, people he knows, himself. How Dodger views the world. The cannibalism. If there was ever a time to protect him from knowing things he'd think it's rather passed.]
As long as you can follow the first, it should be fine.
[He shifts then, pushing himself up on the seat. He sits on the back of it, like Dodger does, a space still between then. But it's a smaller space. He holds out a hand to shake.]
This isn't me saying I forgive you, just that I'm giving you a chance to earn it. If that's really what you want from me.
no subject
But Hector has always given him a fair listen, and he would rather die and stay dead than give that up.
He stares at Hector's bony hand for a moment, before taking it. Not to shake, but to hold, squeeze gently, and let go. He's fully capable of crushing that hand without a thought. He wants to let the man know that he won't.]
Even if you don't forgive me... you're one of my best friends here. I'll do whatever I have to, to keep you safe... but I'll try and hold back if you tell me not to.
[He pauses for a moment.]
And I don't blame you for sending your friend after me. I earned that.
no subject
It's not a proper shake and it makes some of the hardness of his expression slip down, leaving in its place something sorrowed, but it works for what they're trying to do. He draws his hand back.
He looks sadly on the man. It's kind of terrible that he's one of Dodger's best friends because, in all honesty, he hasn't been all that friendly to Dodger. Not by his own standards.]
Dodger, I--
[He cuts off, Dodger going on to add one more thing.]
What. [It comes out flat.] Sending a friend-- I didn't send anyone after you! I only told one person! And I told them not to do anything!
no subject
Well, I guess I'm not the only one who's got some explaining to do, then.
[He lifts up his shirt, just enough to show his stomach. There's other scars there, but chief among them is the circular scars left from holes were the shadow hands had pierced through him. And once Hector's gotten a good look, his shirt drops back down.]
The girl in the suit, with the fucked-up wings. Soon as she heard my name, she started talking about you... then she gave me those. Fucked me up pretty badly, actually.
[He'd been shaken after that, not just physically but emotionally. Nekane had managed to blind him just with a thought, and that sort of power was terrifying to think about.]
Like I said, I don't blame you. I... needed to hurt, after everything. She delivered.
no subject
His eyes close, face twisting. Guilt washes over and then some, Dodger saying he doesn't blame...
His face drops to his hands and he groans.]
No, no, stop.
[Dammit. He'd known Nekane was angry but he'd thought...]
You didn't need to be hurt, okay, that doesn't fix anything. That doesn't make me feel better! It doesn't even stop anything from happening! I don't want people hurt for me! I don't want people hurting each other! I don't want it on my conscience and I don't want it in general!
[His hands have gone out, gesturing with his words. He doesn't know what he's going to do. On top of all that, he can't help feeling hurt that he was lied to. Tricked again.]
And they're-- they're not a girl.
[The least important thing here but hell, since they're going down a list, might as well say it.]
Ugh, this is such a mess...
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He idly makes a note that Nekane is apparently not a girl, but. Will he remember that? Probably not.]
Sorry.
[He reaches out hesitantly, and pats Hector's shoulder. His touch is light, ready to take it back if the man isn't having it.]
You sound like you need a drink, man. [He hesitates.] But I'm not gonna join you, if you do. All things considered, you probably shouldn't be drunk around me on a good day.
[He's self aware enough, at least, to know he's a scavenger. He doesn't need a reason to hurt someone who's weakened, even if he likes to think he wouldn't hurt Hector.]
no subject
As much as he can that is. You probably shouldn't be drunk around me on a good day, is not the greatest thing to hear.
It doesn't matter though. He shakes his head.]
I'm not drinking anymore. Giving it up.
[He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his flask for Dodger to see. He gives it a shake.]
It's just water.
[He tucks the thing back away.]
Was planning on giving it up eventually, work off the list. But since my old friend ruined tequila for me, I figured I'd start now. That's what the smokes are for; keeping busy.
no subject
He just focuses on tossing his cigarette aside and lighting a new one.]
Seems like a bad place to start... place like this, it helps to be drunk.
[He pauses, and a bitter smile crosses his face.]
You know I haven't been sober in... five years or so? Not even for a moment. I wake up and drink like it's water. Feels like everything would be... real, if I was sober. Too real.
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[But here he is. He's probably never going to be able to drink anything normally again.
As for trusting Dodger, well, he doesn't know the guy can turn invisible and it's not like his flask ever leaves him. He doesn't sleep that deep.
He gives some pause at the words that follow, brow furrowing.]
Real. Isn't that kind of...?
[He doesn't know what to say. How does he put this?]
I don't know what the point would be. If you're just dreaming forever, what's left to even dream about? Kind of becomes a nightmare, doesn't it?
no subject
It helps to make everything dull. I lived through some real nightmares, they made me... this. I spent three years sleeping on the floor of a church, getting used by- some sadistic bastard with a god complex...
[It's the easiest those words have ever come out. He'll have to count that as some sort of progress.]
I can't explain it. I don't want you to understand. But this place is better than some of the places I've lived before. I feel like I'm home, here - where I belong.
If those memories stopped hurting... maybe I could slow down on the drinking. I don't know.
no subject
His breath shudders in and out but otherwise remains steady. It's just... too much. It's too monumental to take in. Half of that night feels like it happened to someone else, except, ironically, the part that actually did.
There's so much he should say, so much he feels. But he can't put it to words. He takes a last drag of his cigarette and flicks it away. He doesn't light another. Instead, he just hugs his arms close, looking ahead.]
Has anything ever really stopped hurting? I mean, something terrible happens or we found ourselves... born without I guess. No one around but ourselves, one way or another. Does that ever real go away? Because I'm not sure it does. I didn't stop wishing for a family until I made mine. And, the soldados I'd see them, you know, I'd play for them. Some would be okay. But just some.
[And Nekane. Nekane's taught him a lot already.]
Do you remember who you were before they did that to you? Do you remember being any different?
[Dodger is extreme. It's hard to imagine someone always being so. But, at one point, it was hard to imagine someone like Dodger.]
When I was- tortured. Not by Lucifer's games, those have a point of some kind. When I was... cut open. After that happened, when we all had voices in our heads, saying things, telling us to hurt ourselves, I was scared of who I might be. I talked with someone. We talked about how, with these things, change is going to happen, like it or not. We have to learn to live with who we become.
I don't know how to do that yet. I don't like who I'm becoming. I feel like there's got to be someone out there, wiser, someone not in hell who could actually help, but he's not me. I'm afraid of- ha- I'm afraid of ending up like you. Or like someone else. Someone who can't handle it, walking in the doors of my home. But I'm trying. That's all I can do. Make good memories, try to hang on to what this place wants to take.
...I've got scars on my back. They're not going away. I think if my wife ever sees them, she'll hate it. Or maybe I'm just afraid she will. But, at the end of the day, however badly, those scars are healing. That's what I'm hoping for.
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He has to pause, and mull that question over in his mind. He remembers some of it, but who knows how accurate it is. He'd been a drunkard before the cult, even if it hadn't been quite as bad as now. He remembers being a stupid teenager, and a stupid kid before that.]
There was... a time, where I thought I was a good person.
[He's weighing his words carefully again, speaking slowly while he decides exactly how much to share.]
I worked on a fishing boat. I had a girlfriend, and... we talked about marriage, sometimes. She had friends, sometimes she tried to get me to make friends too. It never really worked out.
[He takes a long drag from his cigarette and blows it out, letting his thoughts settle a bit more.]
I thought I was getting better. I grew up fighting, killing, stealing... but I thought she'd saved me. I thought... maybe if I tried hard enough, I could change, and I could be like everyone else. But... I was wrong. And she left. And I ended up... with him.
[He's left stewing in his thoughts for a while after that, letting Hector process the information. A few minutes pass, before he speaks again.]
There's a lot of things I can't go back to. Even if I saw the people I used to know, I'm not the person they knew. But... if you love your wife enough to crawl out of Hell for her, she'd better love you enough not to turn her nose up at the scars you got on the way out, yeah?
[That's how Janet had been. She loved the scars on his face and his back, she'd told him so and run her fingers over them whenever he was stuck in the past. She made everything all better, and he figures that's how love is supposed to be.]
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He can't really tell if it's true, that Dodger was a good person. Dodger thinks a lot of things and he disagrees with most of it. But he doesn't immediately see anything to disprove it.
At least until it dips back down into Dodger's past. He'd started a street rat too. But he didn't fight. He didn't kill.
He's been told a lot. But there's a lot he still just doesn't know. It's only as Dodger brings up his wife that his head bows and a soft laugh escapes.]
No. [He shakes his head, but there's a smile. (He doesn't smile much around Dodger. Not like this.)] No, no. You don't understand. She's her own person-- an amazing person. The best I know. She owes me nothing. She never owed me anything, never needed me. I provided, of course, but she had come from money before me. She gave a lot up... but she never saw it that way.
She didn't clean me up. I wanted to. For her. Ay, Dodger, I wanted her so bad. I never wanted anyone like that before her.
[The smile doesn't last. His face seems to crumple.]
But I left. [So much for being better than Dodger's father.] I didn't mean to. I thought, for a little while, for the fame and the money and... pleasing a friend. [It leaves a bitter taste.] But I abandoned them, my family. And I can't pretend I haven't... made more mistakes here. [The men he's kissed. His stomach flops in a real bad way.]
...But I hope you're right.
[He pauses.]
We have hope, right? Even you. I don't know if you remember the fire, but surely, getting this chance at all, that has to mean something. God or the devil or just ourselves, if we've come here for redemption there must be something to redeem. It's just a matter of figuring out how.
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There's no hope for someone like me. I'm too far gone, but you... y'know. You're better than me. You've still got it.
[He's silent for a bit, and sighs again.]
My girl is better off without me. I've slipped so much since she left, she wouldn't recognized me if I saw her again. I've done things no one should ever do, and I didn't feel anything when it happened. And all these- mind games that Hell plays on us, it's just fun for me. It keeps things interesting.
[His nerves are getting to him, the shame of seeing how much better Hector's life is than his even when they're both in Hell. How much more potential he has. Instead of finishing his cigarette he rolls it in his fingers, charring the paper until it crumbles.]
Look, all I can tell you is... you're never gonna end up like me. Takes years of... bullshit, to churn out a monster. Not a few months of desperation.
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...You say that, but you don't seem happy to me.
[It's not just now. It's every time Dodger's trying to explain his views of the world, every time he spoke of scars, self-inflicted and not.]
I don't think I've seen you smile once. Not for real.
[He shrugs.]
Well, we'll find out, won't we? We've got an eternity or until we work things out now either way.
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Slowly his fingers twitch into fists, and he gets up to step off of the bench.]
If it's all the same to you, I should probably make sure my dog hasn't wrecked the place. Dumb bastard eats furniture when he's anxious.
[There's a bit of a stilt to his speech, just a hint that he's holding back some sort of emotion that he isn't comfortable expressing. Again he glances at Hector, before pointedly looking away.]
Look, I'll just... keep out of your way for a while. But let me know if something comes up, I'm in your corner. And... seriously, man, get something to eat. Anything.
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But it doesn't feel good. He's not that kind of vindictive.
Neither is he sorry for saying it.]
It's alright. Go ahead.
I'll... I'll figure something out.
[He's not trying to die, after all. Not this time.]
Go look after your dog. He kind of looks terrible.
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[He hesitates a moment, as if he has something else to say, before just... shaking his head lightly, and bursting into sparks. They float back into the building and disappear through the wall, and then he's gone.]