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.
The clink of glass brings them a little more towards the present. For a moment they watch the water sway this and that from being placed down until it finally settles.
Someone laughs at some terrible joke on the TV and Nekane very nearly zones out again. Bad TV made for good white noise and by God, it's something they need.
Héctor speaks up, a single word and part of them doesn't want to respond. He sits down and there's a gap between the two of them, but Nekane still pulls their legs back so there's more of one. They've never minded before. With Héctor, everything was fine. But something came along that destroyed that and once again, it's etched into their body to not let people touch them.
"Fucking pathetic," They think.
"Hey," Nekane says instead of getting trapped in their head more. They don't touch the water, even if they are thirsty.
They withdraw from him. He sees it. They shrink in every way and he has the sudden image of himself snapping again throwing the glasses at a wall, cursing Dodger's name. Like that would bloody help.
He swallows against the pain in his throat and sips from his own glass, ignoring the canyon between he and Nekane. You should've been there...
His mouth opens and closes. He tries to think of anything more to say. It feels like he's back-pedaling on everything and he knows if he pauses too long he'll lose them.
"You haven't been eating," He says as softly as possible. As though he has been eating. "Figured you didn't want to. That's fine. But everything's made up. When you can, you should have something. I'll make you something different if you like too."
For a moment the grief bubbles as high as the anger. He has to shove that down too. Later, he can go out, find some place to sob stupid before pulling himself together. But not now. He can't mourn for them, mourn his helplessness, to their face.
"Need to search the basement. I want to get us more clothing before winter. You know we both got to worry about cutting stupid holes in the backs now. I want to try and get the bigger ones with more fabric we can patch with. Might do that at somepoint..."
Normally they would call him out on the fact that he probably hasn't eaten either. Héctor's made great strides when it comes to food, and it's not like Nekane did all the cooking, but death wasn't easy here. He probably didn't get up for awhile.
They don't say anything though. Instead Nekane just nods.
"Sure." Getting clothing for winter is a good idea. And getting holes in them for wings without turning the whole fabric into useless scrap is a bitch. "I'll show you some tricks."
The movie finally ends and cues up for another, a horror movie they've watched before. Nekane knows it's a good time and fun to watch for how stupid it is. They know the contents.
They reach down for the remote and turns the TV off. It feels like they're going to drown in the silence.
They speak. It's just a little. It's still enough to choke him.
"That would be good," He says. "I'd appreciate that."
The next movie readies up. He's probably seen bits of it with them but he struggles to pay attention through whole movies. He doesn't remember it.
Yet, he finds he's more afraid when it's turned off. His words are going to have weight now. But it also means he can't just leave them unsaid. So, he begins.
"Some time ago, we made a deal. We look out for each other, however it means. But the 'how' can change. We've changed it before and let things change over time." He should look at them when he says this, not at the glass held in his hands. "We don't have to make it a big thing. I just wanted to remind you... I'm here for you. Even if that means moving out or sitting five feet away or... whatever you need."
They turn a little when he talks about their deal. At the end of one of the worst nights in both of their lives, they made that promise together. And a deal to bail on one another when the chance to go home was there. It was something they both upheld but it changed over time as they did.
Yet it held.
Nekane looks away again but it's because they're thinking. They open their mouth once, twice, before just sighing. Their mind is going a mile a minute and they understand now those moments when John suddenly became utterly disconnected with reality in his old age. All because his brain just wouldn't shut off.
Just talk.
"I don't want you to move out. This is your home too." If he goes, they go. "And this," They wave at themself. "Isn't your fault. It's just more of my bullshit."
That's all it is. It's like they never escaped feeling their skin crawl every time someone so much as laid a hand on their shoulder. It's Nekane's fault alone that they're reacting like this.
"But...I don't know what I want." Nekane admits. They only have a vague idea and Nekane knows Héctor wouldn't like to hear it, so they won't say anything.
They reach up and scratch at their throat idly. Nekane didn't bother re-wrapping the bandages around their throat after their bath. "I don't know what I want." They repeat.
It feels like an answer Adriel would have given someone if they were cornered. But they don't care right now. They just don't care.
"It's not bullshit. It's not your fault either. It's a scar. You didn't put it there."
Dodger did, he thinks but he leaves it unsaid.
"It's no different from my own. You've always minded me. You'd never get upset with what I couldn't handle." He'll give them the same respect. He'll do every goddamn thing he can.
But with that, his voice goes quiet again. He sets his glass of water aside.
"You don't have to know. We don't have to figure things out right now or tomorrow or anything. I just..."
His lip trembles and he chews on it.
"I just..."
He sounds too small.
"Don't slip away on me... Please... Don't let this take you..."
But they know what he really means. This whole thing could consume them, take Nekane even farther back then ever before. When they first came to Hell Nekane could barely tolerate being touched. And now even sharing space with someone - someone they deeply care about and trust - feels like too much. They think about being touched and think of the feeling of hands rooting around in their guts and crushing the eyes they know lie within them. They think of intimacy, of simply cuddling and sharing a bed, and -
They shift around and press a hand against their stomach, hidden under the blankets. Héctor has a point and logically they know that it's not bullshit or their fault. The blame solely lies with Dodger and his actions.
But Héctor knows Nekane is their own worst enemy and critic. Their body is a revolting thing, made to endure torture and pleasure in equal measure. Thinking about it in any measure made them sick. Why did they have to be someone that could be played with? They'd give anything to not be this anymore.
It's disgusting. They're disgusting.
And they try not to say it. They try to keep it behind their teeth and unsaid because Héctor has enough to deal with and Nekane hasn't even asked why he had to die too. But they feel their fist tighten into the fabric of their hoodie and Nekane's expression twists into something ugly.
"I'm sorry. I can't...I don't know what I want." Nekane curls up on themself even more. "I don't know what to do about this body."
No, they do. But they'd have to talk to Dodger again but they won't.
He knows he's asking a lot. He knows, right now, it must be agony. He knows the want to crawl out of one's own skin, both for the feeling of being rooted through and for being used. But never both at once.
And Dodger was close. He was close enough that it took them by surprise. It was close enough to crumble what little sense of trust remained.
He looks over just as their face begins to twist. He doesn't blame them for wanting to scream. He does too. But at that final note, his expression hardens even with its grief.
"There's nothing wrong with your body. Do you understand me? No one chooses their body. No one chooses how it will work. You didn't choose it."
He looks away again. He has to. He has to take this in small steps. It's the only option when he can't just drag them close and hold them to himself.
"He's never coming back here. So help me God, he's never going to touch you again." He'll tear the man apart if he has to. But he keeps that and all his visions of it behind his teeth.
They want to swallow down their grief and rage. They really do. But Nekane's never been one to taper it down. If they don't voice it, they turn it on themself or others. And Nekane doesn't want to turn it on Héctor. So it leaves the easiest target.
"It's fucking disgusting! Look at me, I'm just some fucking thing meant to be played with! It's the only thing that stupid fusion didn't take from me. And if I wasn't like this he wouldn't -"
They cut themself off with a sob and violently pull at their hair. An outlet for their pain, their anger and self-blame. If they weren't the way they were, maybe Dodger wouldn't have taken an interest. He said to their face more then once that he wanted to cut them open. Especially after the first time they slept together. He knew what made them tick.
Nekane remembers that comments the demons made that night. They remember what happened with Dodger like it happened yesterday. Cut open like a fish and they were supposed to be happy about that. Violently taken and it was supposed to be pleasurable. Nekane saw it during the hospital and they remember the way their family's 'God' looked at them while he cut them open.
It was the same damn expression. That's all they were good for in the eyes of others.
"I want someone to peel my damn skin off. I want..."
They cast their thoughts and fish up a single line. It's not logical. But here and now? They want to die and not wake up again. Because right now Nekane feels that it's the only way to escape the form they've been cursed with.
It's not beautiful. It's not even ugly. It's revolting and it makes Nekane sick.
He can't do this. He can't do this, he can't do this, he can't. They're behind a wall of glass and falling apart and he's not allowed to reach. If he touches them, they burn, if he doesn't they drown. He can't, he can't...
He grips the blanket that's around them. Not them, the blanket, and he gives it a shake in place of shaking them. He looks desperate as he cries out.
"I am looking! I've always been!"
The dead-eyed mask cracks at last. He slips to the floor, pleading, still hanging on.
"Dodger is a damn monster! That god, that cult, the demons-- they're all monsters! They're the ones that are disgusting! They're the ones who would toy and torment just for their own psychotic selfish whims! And they'd do it to anyone they had the power to do it to! You are not like them! You are not a monster! You are not disgusting! It doesn't matter what you are, or what you do, or what you look like-- monsters don't care! Whether you fight or do everything as you're told! Whether you're a woman, a man, or not at all! Whether you're beautiful or ugly, loved or hated, it doesn't matter because it's not about you and it never was! They did it because they were weak and they wanted power and that's all."
He loosens his grip, lowers his hands a little further down the blanket it. He settles back on his haunches and looks up to them. He speaks softer, as though in prayer. He prays for them to hear him.
"Nekane... you told me once they can't own us. We don't belong to them. No matter what they take, what they do, we don't belong to the ones who hurt us. You don't belong to them. I know it hurts right now. I know it does... but this is yours. Not theirs. Don't give them your pain. Don't give them a damn thing."
He takes a breath. He tries to steady himself.
"I'm going to ask you to do something. You feel that pain. You take it. I want you to... I want you to ball it up. I know you know how. Then, once you've done that, just scream it out. Right here, right now, don't keep a bit of it in. If you want to break something, do it. I'll replace anything that's worth replacing. But right now, make this yours. Okay?"
He goes for the blanket and they're not fast enough to stop him. For some stupid reason they think there will be nothing there once he pulls it off. Or that there will be that incision in their body that he can pull apart and see what Dodger saw. Nekane doesn't grab the blanket but they do grab the helm of their hoodie so he can't pull it up, pressing back against the arm of the couch.
Héctor doesn't touch them. For a moment they think it's because of how vile they are, but they remember John and -
("Here," He raps his knuckles against a wall. "It ain't the same as patting your head, but I'll do this and that's what it'll mean. There's always a way around the bullshit your mind throws at you. We just gotta figure it out")
It's a way to touch them without actually touching them. He shakes the blanket the same way he might have done it to them when they were being stupid, like climbing in and out of the windows even if this is their own house.
And what he says stings. A part of them wants to insist they are a monster but it's the same part of Nekane that called themself one ever since their first meeting. It's the shield they hid behind and when Dodger called them a freak of nature, it didn't sting for that reason. They've called themself worse long before the man got his hands on them. That hasn't changed.
He slips to his knees and Nekane finally sits up and pulls off the blanket. The look in their eyes suggests that they want to reach out like they always have, but Nekane instead twists their fingers together and holds on until their knuckles turn white.
But they listen none the less. Demons and Gods and people who hurt others just because they can. Nekane's seen a lot in their line of work to know sometimes there just isn't a reason behind someone's actions. Dodger might have had one and Nekane is willing to wager a bet towards that stupid list. The demons took Nekane and Héctor apart for a laugh and payback. And the Aegle Family's God...
Well, they said it themself. He was a narcissistic piece of shit who took Adriel apart because he didn't understand why they refused him. Reasons that aren't really reasons at all.
It doesn't matter who they were in the end. Adriel or Nekane, monster or pure. All they wanted was something to break into pieces. They look at their hands, at their crooked fingers from all the times each one was broken. Nekane had to have them re-broken one last time by John or else they'd never be able to use them again.
("We are all ugly things with ugly fucking wants," John would say. "And to get those things we have to hurt ourselves. Even when your fingers work you'll get paper cuts and ink stains, and the knowledge of what you read will live forever. But be proud of it. Even if it makes you ugly in the end, you're still yourself. You're still Nekane.")
Nekane looks up suddenly. At Héctor, at the house and the little things inside of the house as if they've never seen any of it before. The words tumble out of their mouth before they can think on it.
"All of this anger...if I let it go...." They want to let it go. It's festering inside of them like bugs and they want to claw it all out. "I'll break everything here. I'll hurt you. I don't want to hurt you."
Not again. They promised to themselves it wouldn't happen but Nekane knows it's not a promise they can keep here in Hell. So at the very least, they'll make sure that they don't hurt Héctor. Nekane reaches for the blankets and stands up. They're shaking, but from what exactly, they don't know.
"Can we go out back? Where we broke everything when we first moved to this place."
He stares at them like they're in control of his breath, like their decision will influence whether or not his lungs continue. He doesn't miss the way they flinch from him. He'll never forget it but he keeps holding on until the blanket is taken from his grip and he's left with nothing but air to hold between them. He wishes they'd reach out like the way they seemed to want to. He wishes he could take the excuse to hold them close.
When they speak, he could cry with relief. He doesn't, but he's sure he could.
He almost ruins things. He almost says the truth; I don't care. I don't care. Tear me apart. Do it, please, let me forget, anything to help you, let me--
It's a miracle he keeps that bit of stupidity inside. His head bobs.
"Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. Out the back." He stands up too. He reaches, slow, for the bottom edge of the blanket. It's something to hold instead of their hand.
And then, he leads them out. He opens up the door and he heads to that patch of ground that's still scorched from where they burned every little thing.
He leads them out after taking the bottom edge of the blanket and there's a part of Nekane that wants to make some shitty joke about Héctor walking Imelda over the threshold.
They don't. But Nekane holds that image in their head, something nice to lay over the memories trying to sneak to the forefront of their mind. Focus on it. Focus.
Outside they zero in on the scorched ground. Nekane runs their hands over the ruined ground and dig their fingers into the dirt. They look around at Hell's surroundings and wonder what it was like before all of this. There were ruined buildings here and there, and these houses suggested there was life before something happened. Did God destroy it all? Was it Lucifer's fault? Or was it simply a matter of time ticking forward despite those who would wish for a moment's pause? It's hard to say.
They stand up again and find a stick. "Can you go near the door? I need to measure something."
And once he does, they draw a line in the dirt directly at Héctor's feet before walking away. Counting paces in their head until they're far enough away that their magic won't reach. Even if it's by accident, they won't be able to hurt Héctor.
"If you stay there..." Nekane says slowly as they sit down and wrap the blanket around them again. "I won't hit you. No matter what, please don't move from there, okay?"
It would have been a difficult memory to hold in the moment. It would've been a shame because it would've been a joke he'd like to smile over.
Besides that, when they dig into the dirt, he's thinking of different thresholds. He imagines them hauling up the dirt for theirself and laying down under it.
He knows he won't do what He's told if that happens. He'll dig them up. Or he'll die in the dirt. Either way.
But, for now, he does as he's told, standing away. He nods his head.
"Just don't hurt yourself, okay? I'll be here." An out to the contract.
He gives them an out and the corners of their mouth twitch. They can't take his hands like they normally do, but instead Nekane places a hand over their heart, even if he can't see it.
"I won't. I'll...be using my magic. But I won't."
They don't call into question if he'll be there when they turn around. Nekane knows Héctor. If he says he'll be there, he will be.
So with a slightly lighter heart, Nekane sits down and thinks of the monsters they know.
The cult had once been a family of normal mages. There was love there, once, when the goal was to seal away the demon that would become their 'God'. They loved the world enough to protect it until it became loving themselves and the powers they got. They loved the angels they made for that reason, they loved 'God' for that reason.
A few shadow claws sneak out of the darkness and make their way to Nekane. They don't do anything but take one in their own hands. Think. Think.
And 'God' loved them in turn because the cult loved him. That's how it went - he loved those who loved him. For someone that wanted to lose his name, that 'God' put himself on a stage to keep the audience's attention on him. Desperately so, Nekane thinks. He gutted them when Adriel tore their throat out, unable to understand why someone would kill themself rather then bask in his glory. He took them apart to understand, just like John took himself apart to understand.
Although for different reasons. 'God' loved himself too much while John destroyed himself. A man with no name with a force of a personality. He could be a monster to many, the man credited as the sole reason why the Midnight Man urban legend no longer existed as it once did. No, they think, John was a monster. But he was the kind of monster in the same way that Nekane was. Something to be so he wasn't himself. Hidden behind anger for them, hidden behind glamours for him.
Sometimes monsters were weapons used to protect oneself. Nekane saw it as the better option when John died, to be considered a monster by those around them then to be called what they were. But John died without any of his glamours on. He died as himself, a tired old man. He died with someone he looked after, who he said in his will was one of the most important people in his life. Tears prick at their eyes and Nekane scrubs at their face. A claw reaches up, hooking the bottom of their chin. Like trying to pull a particularly stubborn mask off.
Or maybe they're meandering in their thoughts. Nekane thinks of Dodger next. At last but if they're being honest with themself (and isn't that the whole point of this self-made bitch session?), they don't want to. The wounds are still fresh even if it's been days since he took them apart too. A monster more in line with the 'God' that Nekane knew, and a man who was...just somebody they knew. They wonder if there ever was that person buried under the darkness or if he was just good at mimicking it. A love for things, for people. For...life in general.
And in the end, they realize one thing...
"Hun." They suddenly say out loud. "Us monsters...we love too much, don't we? But love...the love I want...it just is."
It clicks into place. Of course it should, they told Héctor the same thing a long time ago. Love was this monstrous thing but it didn't have to be a shitshow like how Adriel and Delilah loved each other. Héctor and Imelda weren't an exception to some stupid rule. That's just...what healthy love looked like.
They stand up and take a deep breath. Like Héctor asked, they hold onto everything they've felt in the past few days and let it boil in their stomach. They let it become hot like lava and cold like that snowy field. They hold onto their monsters until it tears at them to let go. And they do.
Nekane tilts their head back until they're looking up towards the heavens and scream until their voice cracks. Claws from the shadows shoot out, clawing at the dirt and slashing it until it's not longer neat and tidy. Some shoot up towards the heavens while a few more zip past the roof and claw towards the hotel. As if any of them could hunt down God or Lucifer and drag them both here. It keeps going and going until Nekane hits their limit and then some because they are a spiteful, stubborn sack of shit and that will never change.
It's who they are. And nothing can take that away from them. Nekane fell once and that wasn't their fault. It's not their fault. It's never been their fault. The cult, that 'God', Dodger. The responsibility lied there. Choices made by other people.
They blink at one point and realize they've fallen to their knees. The detective coughs and feels like they're going to vomit, but in a way that'd make an upset stomach feel better. The cracks on their face have opened up again but they don't care. Slowly their magic vanishes and the shadows calm down.
He nods his head at their explanation. He knows what it means. They're going to unleash, go all out with their powers until they're painted in black. The first time he saw them do that, the first time he'd been taken with them, he'd had nothing but fear and he'd tried to stop them. He won't this time.
He stands back and he watches. His heart races, beating against his ribs as though trying to escape him and get to Nekane instead. He holds himself back as their shadows rise and grip and the images dance in his head of gorey suicides.
He begs silently, please, please, let this help. Let them be here another day. Let this heal... He wishes so bad he had someone to pray to. He wishes there was a God that listened.
He hears them speak, faintly. He hears something about loving too much. That's him. He told them that, back when they made that promise together. He told them that he loved too much, but he only let that love destroy him. He was so wrong. His love blinded him to Ernesto, and now his family had no support. His love blinded him to Dodger and it meant the man was close enough to tear Nekane apart. His love had casualties. For someone he loved more, he had killed a man he once loved.
He doesn't know what they mean by the love that just is. But they want it. He hopes they have it, someday. A love that doesn't hurt. Not like the God, not like the cult... not like him.
And then the scream tears out. It redefines what he considers revelation. Their shadow spills like they're a god themself, an old being that has been undone and will not let the world forget it.
The lawn is torn apart. A claw dives for the hotel and he likes to imagine it cracks the brick on its side. It is a vortex of destruction and darkness and in the middle of it they stand.
His ears ring with their screams. He has never forgotten a single scream of theirs and he won't forget this. Even after they stop, after they fall, it is all he hears.
He makes his approach. He moves around, so he's in front of them and in their sight. He goes to his knees before them, a pace away. He just... sits there. He sits there and he waits. He lets his own breath and pulse settle. For as long as he can, he lets the quiet live.
Then, between then, he puts a hand in the dirt. It's an invitation. It's a memory. Once, they put their hands out just like this, upon a bed, near but not touching.
They're stuck somewhere between laughing and crying by the time they realize Héctor is in front of them. Nekane has to keep a hand over their mouth or else they were going to be sick. But it's fine.
They feel like broken mess...more so then usual. Their chest is heaving and it feels like they're going to have a heart attack or a panic attack or both. The tremors coursing through their body are causing Nekane's teeth to chatter. But it's fine.
It's out and it's silent. Everything going on in their head was finally silenced for the moment.
They look down and see the hand. Nekane follows that hand to the arm and then the face and eyes of the closest person in Hell. Héctor. Héctor.
They reach out. Their skin burns so they leave their hand beside his. It's quite the contrast, Nekane thinks. A plain, normal looking hand side-by-side to one with broken skin now swimming with black tar and eyes. Each one are looking at him.
"Feel like...I'm going to pass out." They mutter. Just so he has a heads up because in the next few moments, after pushing their magic they way they did, Nekane falls forward and blacks out.
His breath shudders a little when they reach out. He's not sure he can call it relief, with how hollowing and horrible all of this is, but it's surely something close.
He looks down at those eyes without fear. At least, not fear of the eyes. There is a fear for them, that not-quite-relief, every bit of sorriness he can hold, a care that goes too deep.
His gaze is ripped away by their muttering, then falling. He yelps. He worries, and hesitates, but, ultimately, it's a good thing. If they're passed out, he can move them without causing a panic.
Carefully, he takes them up in his arms. He'll bring them inside, lay them with their nest. It'll make a mess of things, but it's a mess that can be cleaned and less important than seeing them well. He picks them and starts to carry them in, out of the chill fall air, holding them for what he hopes won't be the last time.
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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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Someone laughs at some terrible joke on the TV and Nekane very nearly zones out again. Bad TV made for good white noise and by God, it's something they need.
Héctor speaks up, a single word and part of them doesn't want to respond. He sits down and there's a gap between the two of them, but Nekane still pulls their legs back so there's more of one. They've never minded before. With Héctor, everything was fine. But something came along that destroyed that and once again, it's etched into their body to not let people touch them.
"Fucking pathetic," They think.
"Hey," Nekane says instead of getting trapped in their head more. They don't touch the water, even if they are thirsty.
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He swallows against the pain in his throat and sips from his own glass, ignoring the canyon between he and Nekane. You should've been there...
His mouth opens and closes. He tries to think of anything more to say. It feels like he's back-pedaling on everything and he knows if he pauses too long he'll lose them.
"You haven't been eating," He says as softly as possible. As though he has been eating. "Figured you didn't want to. That's fine. But everything's made up. When you can, you should have something. I'll make you something different if you like too."
For a moment the grief bubbles as high as the anger. He has to shove that down too. Later, he can go out, find some place to sob stupid before pulling himself together. But not now. He can't mourn for them, mourn his helplessness, to their face.
"Need to search the basement. I want to get us more clothing before winter. You know we both got to worry about cutting stupid holes in the backs now. I want to try and get the bigger ones with more fabric we can patch with. Might do that at somepoint..."
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They don't say anything though. Instead Nekane just nods.
"Sure." Getting clothing for winter is a good idea. And getting holes in them for wings without turning the whole fabric into useless scrap is a bitch. "I'll show you some tricks."
The movie finally ends and cues up for another, a horror movie they've watched before. Nekane knows it's a good time and fun to watch for how stupid it is. They know the contents.
They reach down for the remote and turns the TV off. It feels like they're going to drown in the silence.
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"That would be good," He says. "I'd appreciate that."
The next movie readies up. He's probably seen bits of it with them but he struggles to pay attention through whole movies. He doesn't remember it.
Yet, he finds he's more afraid when it's turned off. His words are going to have weight now. But it also means he can't just leave them unsaid. So, he begins.
"Some time ago, we made a deal. We look out for each other, however it means. But the 'how' can change. We've changed it before and let things change over time." He should look at them when he says this, not at the glass held in his hands. "We don't have to make it a big thing. I just wanted to remind you... I'm here for you. Even if that means moving out or sitting five feet away or... whatever you need."
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Yet it held.
Nekane looks away again but it's because they're thinking. They open their mouth once, twice, before just sighing. Their mind is going a mile a minute and they understand now those moments when John suddenly became utterly disconnected with reality in his old age. All because his brain just wouldn't shut off.
Just talk.
"I don't want you to move out. This is your home too." If he goes, they go. "And this," They wave at themself. "Isn't your fault. It's just more of my bullshit."
That's all it is. It's like they never escaped feeling their skin crawl every time someone so much as laid a hand on their shoulder. It's Nekane's fault alone that they're reacting like this.
"But...I don't know what I want." Nekane admits. They only have a vague idea and Nekane knows Héctor wouldn't like to hear it, so they won't say anything.
They reach up and scratch at their throat idly. Nekane didn't bother re-wrapping the bandages around their throat after their bath. "I don't know what I want." They repeat.
It feels like an answer Adriel would have given someone if they were cornered. But they don't care right now. They just don't care.
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Dodger did, he thinks but he leaves it unsaid.
"It's no different from my own. You've always minded me. You'd never get upset with what I couldn't handle." He'll give them the same respect. He'll do every goddamn thing he can.
But with that, his voice goes quiet again. He sets his glass of water aside.
"You don't have to know. We don't have to figure things out right now or tomorrow or anything. I just..."
His lip trembles and he chews on it.
"I just..."
He sounds too small.
"Don't slip away on me... Please... Don't let this take you..."
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But they know what he really means. This whole thing could consume them, take Nekane even farther back then ever before. When they first came to Hell Nekane could barely tolerate being touched. And now even sharing space with someone - someone they deeply care about and trust - feels like too much. They think about being touched and think of the feeling of hands rooting around in their guts and crushing the eyes they know lie within them. They think of intimacy, of simply cuddling and sharing a bed, and -
They shift around and press a hand against their stomach, hidden under the blankets. Héctor has a point and logically they know that it's not bullshit or their fault. The blame solely lies with Dodger and his actions.
But Héctor knows Nekane is their own worst enemy and critic. Their body is a revolting thing, made to endure torture and pleasure in equal measure. Thinking about it in any measure made them sick. Why did they have to be someone that could be played with? They'd give anything to not be this anymore.
It's disgusting. They're disgusting.
And they try not to say it. They try to keep it behind their teeth and unsaid because Héctor has enough to deal with and Nekane hasn't even asked why he had to die too. But they feel their fist tighten into the fabric of their hoodie and Nekane's expression twists into something ugly.
"I'm sorry. I can't...I don't know what I want." Nekane curls up on themself even more. "I don't know what to do about this body."
No, they do. But they'd have to talk to Dodger again but they won't.
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And Dodger was close. He was close enough that it took them by surprise. It was close enough to crumble what little sense of trust remained.
He looks over just as their face begins to twist. He doesn't blame them for wanting to scream. He does too. But at that final note, his expression hardens even with its grief.
"There's nothing wrong with your body. Do you understand me? No one chooses their body. No one chooses how it will work. You didn't choose it."
He looks away again. He has to. He has to take this in small steps. It's the only option when he can't just drag them close and hold them to himself.
"He's never coming back here. So help me God, he's never going to touch you again." He'll tear the man apart if he has to. But he keeps that and all his visions of it behind his teeth.
cw: victim blaming/sexual assault/suicidal idealization
"It's fucking disgusting! Look at me, I'm just some fucking thing meant to be played with! It's the only thing that stupid fusion didn't take from me. And if I wasn't like this he wouldn't -"
They cut themself off with a sob and violently pull at their hair. An outlet for their pain, their anger and self-blame. If they weren't the way they were, maybe Dodger wouldn't have taken an interest. He said to their face more then once that he wanted to cut them open. Especially after the first time they slept together. He knew what made them tick.
Nekane remembers that comments the demons made that night. They remember what happened with Dodger like it happened yesterday. Cut open like a fish and they were supposed to be happy about that. Violently taken and it was supposed to be pleasurable. Nekane saw it during the hospital and they remember the way their family's 'God' looked at them while he cut them open.
It was the same damn expression. That's all they were good for in the eyes of others.
"I want someone to peel my damn skin off. I want..."
They cast their thoughts and fish up a single line. It's not logical. But here and now? They want to die and not wake up again. Because right now Nekane feels that it's the only way to escape the form they've been cursed with.
It's not beautiful. It's not even ugly. It's revolting and it makes Nekane sick.
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He grips the blanket that's around them. Not them, the blanket, and he gives it a shake in place of shaking them. He looks desperate as he cries out.
"I am looking! I've always been!"
The dead-eyed mask cracks at last. He slips to the floor, pleading, still hanging on.
"Dodger is a damn monster! That god, that cult, the demons-- they're all monsters! They're the ones that are disgusting! They're the ones who would toy and torment just for their own psychotic selfish whims! And they'd do it to anyone they had the power to do it to! You are not like them! You are not a monster! You are not disgusting! It doesn't matter what you are, or what you do, or what you look like-- monsters don't care! Whether you fight or do everything as you're told! Whether you're a woman, a man, or not at all! Whether you're beautiful or ugly, loved or hated, it doesn't matter because it's not about you and it never was! They did it because they were weak and they wanted power and that's all."
He loosens his grip, lowers his hands a little further down the blanket it. He settles back on his haunches and looks up to them. He speaks softer, as though in prayer. He prays for them to hear him.
"Nekane... you told me once they can't own us. We don't belong to them. No matter what they take, what they do, we don't belong to the ones who hurt us. You don't belong to them. I know it hurts right now. I know it does... but this is yours. Not theirs. Don't give them your pain. Don't give them a damn thing."
He takes a breath. He tries to steady himself.
"I'm going to ask you to do something. You feel that pain. You take it. I want you to... I want you to ball it up. I know you know how. Then, once you've done that, just scream it out. Right here, right now, don't keep a bit of it in. If you want to break something, do it. I'll replace anything that's worth replacing. But right now, make this yours. Okay?"
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Héctor doesn't touch them. For a moment they think it's because of how vile they are, but they remember John and -
("Here," He raps his knuckles against a wall. "It ain't the same as patting your head, but I'll do this and that's what it'll mean. There's always a way around the bullshit your mind throws at you. We just gotta figure it out")
It's a way to touch them without actually touching them. He shakes the blanket the same way he might have done it to them when they were being stupid, like climbing in and out of the windows even if this is their own house.
And what he says stings. A part of them wants to insist they are a monster but it's the same part of Nekane that called themself one ever since their first meeting. It's the shield they hid behind and when Dodger called them a freak of nature, it didn't sting for that reason. They've called themself worse long before the man got his hands on them. That hasn't changed.
He slips to his knees and Nekane finally sits up and pulls off the blanket. The look in their eyes suggests that they want to reach out like they always have, but Nekane instead twists their fingers together and holds on until their knuckles turn white.
But they listen none the less. Demons and Gods and people who hurt others just because they can. Nekane's seen a lot in their line of work to know sometimes there just isn't a reason behind someone's actions. Dodger might have had one and Nekane is willing to wager a bet towards that stupid list. The demons took Nekane and Héctor apart for a laugh and payback. And the Aegle Family's God...
Well, they said it themself. He was a narcissistic piece of shit who took Adriel apart because he didn't understand why they refused him. Reasons that aren't really reasons at all.
It doesn't matter who they were in the end. Adriel or Nekane, monster or pure. All they wanted was something to break into pieces. They look at their hands, at their crooked fingers from all the times each one was broken. Nekane had to have them re-broken one last time by John or else they'd never be able to use them again.
("We are all ugly things with ugly fucking wants," John would say. "And to get those things we have to hurt ourselves. Even when your fingers work you'll get paper cuts and ink stains, and the knowledge of what you read will live forever. But be proud of it. Even if it makes you ugly in the end, you're still yourself. You're still Nekane.")
Nekane looks up suddenly. At Héctor, at the house and the little things inside of the house as if they've never seen any of it before. The words tumble out of their mouth before they can think on it.
"All of this anger...if I let it go...." They want to let it go. It's festering inside of them like bugs and they want to claw it all out. "I'll break everything here. I'll hurt you. I don't want to hurt you."
Not again. They promised to themselves it wouldn't happen but Nekane knows it's not a promise they can keep here in Hell. So at the very least, they'll make sure that they don't hurt Héctor. Nekane reaches for the blankets and stands up. They're shaking, but from what exactly, they don't know.
"Can we go out back? Where we broke everything when we first moved to this place."
It's as good of a place to start as any.
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When they speak, he could cry with relief. He doesn't, but he's sure he could.
He almost ruins things. He almost says the truth; I don't care. I don't care. Tear me apart. Do it, please, let me forget, anything to help you, let me--
It's a miracle he keeps that bit of stupidity inside. His head bobs.
"Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. Out the back." He stands up too. He reaches, slow, for the bottom edge of the blanket. It's something to hold instead of their hand.
And then, he leads them out. He opens up the door and he heads to that patch of ground that's still scorched from where they burned every little thing.
"Tell me what you need."
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They don't. But Nekane holds that image in their head, something nice to lay over the memories trying to sneak to the forefront of their mind. Focus on it. Focus.
Outside they zero in on the scorched ground. Nekane runs their hands over the ruined ground and dig their fingers into the dirt. They look around at Hell's surroundings and wonder what it was like before all of this. There were ruined buildings here and there, and these houses suggested there was life before something happened. Did God destroy it all? Was it Lucifer's fault? Or was it simply a matter of time ticking forward despite those who would wish for a moment's pause? It's hard to say.
They stand up again and find a stick. "Can you go near the door? I need to measure something."
And once he does, they draw a line in the dirt directly at Héctor's feet before walking away. Counting paces in their head until they're far enough away that their magic won't reach. Even if it's by accident, they won't be able to hurt Héctor.
"If you stay there..." Nekane says slowly as they sit down and wrap the blanket around them again. "I won't hit you. No matter what, please don't move from there, okay?"
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Besides that, when they dig into the dirt, he's thinking of different thresholds. He imagines them hauling up the dirt for theirself and laying down under it.
He knows he won't do what He's told if that happens. He'll dig them up. Or he'll die in the dirt. Either way.
But, for now, he does as he's told, standing away. He nods his head.
"Just don't hurt yourself, okay? I'll be here." An out to the contract.
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"I won't. I'll...be using my magic. But I won't."
They don't call into question if he'll be there when they turn around. Nekane knows Héctor. If he says he'll be there, he will be.
So with a slightly lighter heart, Nekane sits down and thinks of the monsters they know.
The cult had once been a family of normal mages. There was love there, once, when the goal was to seal away the demon that would become their 'God'. They loved the world enough to protect it until it became loving themselves and the powers they got. They loved the angels they made for that reason, they loved 'God' for that reason.
A few shadow claws sneak out of the darkness and make their way to Nekane. They don't do anything but take one in their own hands. Think. Think.
And 'God' loved them in turn because the cult loved him. That's how it went - he loved those who loved him. For someone that wanted to lose his name, that 'God' put himself on a stage to keep the audience's attention on him. Desperately so, Nekane thinks. He gutted them when Adriel tore their throat out, unable to understand why someone would kill themself rather then bask in his glory. He took them apart to understand, just like John took himself apart to understand.
Although for different reasons. 'God' loved himself too much while John destroyed himself. A man with no name with a force of a personality. He could be a monster to many, the man credited as the sole reason why the Midnight Man urban legend no longer existed as it once did. No, they think, John was a monster. But he was the kind of monster in the same way that Nekane was. Something to be so he wasn't himself. Hidden behind anger for them, hidden behind glamours for him.
Sometimes monsters were weapons used to protect oneself. Nekane saw it as the better option when John died, to be considered a monster by those around them then to be called what they were. But John died without any of his glamours on. He died as himself, a tired old man. He died with someone he looked after, who he said in his will was one of the most important people in his life. Tears prick at their eyes and Nekane scrubs at their face. A claw reaches up, hooking the bottom of their chin. Like trying to pull a particularly stubborn mask off.
Or maybe they're meandering in their thoughts. Nekane thinks of Dodger next. At last but if they're being honest with themself (and isn't that the whole point of this self-made bitch session?), they don't want to. The wounds are still fresh even if it's been days since he took them apart too. A monster more in line with the 'God' that Nekane knew, and a man who was...just somebody they knew. They wonder if there ever was that person buried under the darkness or if he was just good at mimicking it. A love for things, for people. For...life in general.
And in the end, they realize one thing...
"Hun." They suddenly say out loud. "Us monsters...we love too much, don't we? But love...the love I want...it just is."
It clicks into place. Of course it should, they told Héctor the same thing a long time ago. Love was this monstrous thing but it didn't have to be a shitshow like how Adriel and Delilah loved each other. Héctor and Imelda weren't an exception to some stupid rule. That's just...what healthy love looked like.
They stand up and take a deep breath. Like Héctor asked, they hold onto everything they've felt in the past few days and let it boil in their stomach. They let it become hot like lava and cold like that snowy field. They hold onto their monsters until it tears at them to let go. And they do.
Nekane tilts their head back until they're looking up towards the heavens and scream until their voice cracks. Claws from the shadows shoot out, clawing at the dirt and slashing it until it's not longer neat and tidy. Some shoot up towards the heavens while a few more zip past the roof and claw towards the hotel. As if any of them could hunt down God or Lucifer and drag them both here. It keeps going and going until Nekane hits their limit and then some because they are a spiteful, stubborn sack of shit and that will never change.
It's who they are. And nothing can take that away from them. Nekane fell once and that wasn't their fault. It's not their fault. It's never been their fault. The cult, that 'God', Dodger. The responsibility lied there. Choices made by other people.
They blink at one point and realize they've fallen to their knees. The detective coughs and feels like they're going to vomit, but in a way that'd make an upset stomach feel better. The cracks on their face have opened up again but they don't care. Slowly their magic vanishes and the shadows calm down.
Everything is...quiet. Blissfully, thankfully quiet.
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He stands back and he watches. His heart races, beating against his ribs as though trying to escape him and get to Nekane instead. He holds himself back as their shadows rise and grip and the images dance in his head of gorey suicides.
He begs silently, please, please, let this help. Let them be here another day. Let this heal... He wishes so bad he had someone to pray to. He wishes there was a God that listened.
He hears them speak, faintly. He hears something about loving too much. That's him. He told them that, back when they made that promise together. He told them that he loved too much, but he only let that love destroy him. He was so wrong. His love blinded him to Ernesto, and now his family had no support. His love blinded him to Dodger and it meant the man was close enough to tear Nekane apart. His love had casualties. For someone he loved more, he had killed a man he once loved.
He doesn't know what they mean by the love that just is. But they want it. He hopes they have it, someday. A love that doesn't hurt. Not like the God, not like the cult... not like him.
And then the scream tears out. It redefines what he considers revelation. Their shadow spills like they're a god themself, an old being that has been undone and will not let the world forget it.
The lawn is torn apart. A claw dives for the hotel and he likes to imagine it cracks the brick on its side. It is a vortex of destruction and darkness and in the middle of it they stand.
His ears ring with their screams. He has never forgotten a single scream of theirs and he won't forget this. Even after they stop, after they fall, it is all he hears.
He makes his approach. He moves around, so he's in front of them and in their sight. He goes to his knees before them, a pace away. He just... sits there. He sits there and he waits. He lets his own breath and pulse settle. For as long as he can, he lets the quiet live.
Then, between then, he puts a hand in the dirt. It's an invitation. It's a memory. Once, they put their hands out just like this, upon a bed, near but not touching.
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They feel like broken mess...more so then usual. Their chest is heaving and it feels like they're going to have a heart attack or a panic attack or both. The tremors coursing through their body are causing Nekane's teeth to chatter. But it's fine.
It's out and it's silent. Everything going on in their head was finally silenced for the moment.
They look down and see the hand. Nekane follows that hand to the arm and then the face and eyes of the closest person in Hell. Héctor. Héctor.
They reach out. Their skin burns so they leave their hand beside his. It's quite the contrast, Nekane thinks. A plain, normal looking hand side-by-side to one with broken skin now swimming with black tar and eyes. Each one are looking at him.
"Feel like...I'm going to pass out." They mutter. Just so he has a heads up because in the next few moments, after pushing their magic they way they did, Nekane falls forward and blacks out.
And things stay silent.
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He looks down at those eyes without fear. At least, not fear of the eyes. There is a fear for them, that not-quite-relief, every bit of sorriness he can hold, a care that goes too deep.
His gaze is ripped away by their muttering, then falling. He yelps. He worries, and hesitates, but, ultimately, it's a good thing. If they're passed out, he can move them without causing a panic.
Carefully, he takes them up in his arms. He'll bring them inside, lay them with their nest. It'll make a mess of things, but it's a mess that can be cleaned and less important than seeing them well. He picks them and starts to carry them in, out of the chill fall air, holding them for what he hopes won't be the last time.