It wasn’t Blitzø’s fault. Truly. Who could blame him for testing out a simple theory? He just wanted to know if already-scarred skin would look the same after getting injured again. It was an innocent enough thought and definitely not fueled by the burning self-hatred of a thousand hellsuns. Nope, nothing as pathetic as that to see here.
Okay, so maybe he was going through a bit of a rough patch. Nothing Blitzø couldn’t handle, but he did need a way to take the edge off and function at the fucking least. He had a business to run, and he wasn’t going to get anything done in the morning if he let the past torment his head all night. He just needed the fucking thoughts to stop, and he knew from experience that a bit of pain could go a long way.
So here he was, taking a switchblade to the white splotch that practically covered his entire forearm. The first prick of the blade made him clench his teeth but once he started dragging it across, the feeling was almost euphoric. The cut wasn’t deep at all, hardly a scratch compared to the countless other injuries he’d endured, yet little beads of black blood still made their way up and out. Blitzø stared with intent as the thin wound started patching itself up, blending back into his marred arm seamlessly.
“Fuck yes,” he said quietly, mindlessly.
Blitzø drew back the switchblade and pulled it across faster, slightly deeper this time. And again. And once more for good measure. Hell, might as well fill the entire canvas. Imps scarred white for a reason.
He watched in awe as blood stained his skin like black tears. A deranged part of his brain nearly had him in hysterics, giggling at the thought of wearing it in place of his gloves, like some sick artistic showcase of his suffering on display for everyone. He knew to keep that shit private, but there would always be a piece of Blitzø that wanted to shout at the universe to fucking look him in the eye and explain why he had to live this way. He knew he deserved it after all he’d done, and this was hell after all, but surely even hell had its limits. It wasn’t like he was some dumb fucking sinner earning their place here — he had never asked to be born down in the burning pit of Lucifer’s creation.
It took a concerningly long time for Blitzø to snap out of whatever trance he was in. The first thought that popped into his hazy head was that the floor might stain from all the blood now pooling under him. He was slow to stand but eventually made his way over to the kitchen, grabbing something to blot at the mess he’d made.
He wouldn’t let Loona see this shit. It was bad enough that a past breakdown had led to the very public scene of him scribbling out his own face in all the photos on their wall. Oh, his poor Loonie having to witness that. Christ on a stick, he really was pathetic.
Blitzø moved on to search for bandages. Smaller wounds may close up quickly on demons of all kinds, but with the way he’d slashed at his arm he wouldn’t be surprised if it took days to heal.
Reckless as always. It was like he didn’t learn a goddamn thing.
-
Shit was just getting good, but of course it all had to go tits up the second Blitzø came to a stop. He’d done an impressive dive roll away from the target of the day, shooting the guy mid-motion. Sue him for wanting to show off a little. He didn’t spend fifteen years in the circus to not use those skills.
“Sir! Did you get injured?” Moxxie exclaimed, running over. “Let me check it out.”
“I’m fine, Mox, just a little scratch.”
“But sir, I really think you should—“
Blitzø hissed and pulled his arm away, keeping it close to himself. “It’s fine! Satan fucking damnit, just leave it. Let’s get back already.”
Millie watched on from beside Moxxie, face concerned, but shook her head at him to let it go for now. They followed Blitzø through the portal only to see him immediately slam his office door shut.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Stupid…” Blitzø chanted under his breath.
Of fucking course he would aggravate last night’s work while out on a hit. He was right that the cuts hadn’t healed right away, but he thought they would at least hold up well enough for him to do his job without issue. But apparently they didn’t get the memo that sneaking around the human realm to off some city-dwelling fucker wasn’t a good enough reason to start bleeding all over the place again. The absolute audacity.
Blitzø dug around a desk drawer for some spare gauze and wrapped it haphazardly around his forearm; he could do a better job once he was home and away from his employees. Moxxie may have meant well, but damn could he be overbearing. Blitzø was not about to go out there and answer all his pressing questions, no siree. Instead he prepared to brace himself and make his way out of the building to the van in record time. He could speed the fuck out of his walking, just you watch.
The office door flung open with more force than intended. Not a great start to being inconspicuous, but Blitzø could handle this.
“Well done, team! Time to ditch this popsicle joint and head home early. We all deserve it after today’s hit. See ya!”
He then hightailed it out of there and blatantly ignored the cut-off cries of disbelief he could hear about unfinished paperwork. There, totally nailed the nonchalant vibe.
Blitzø made it to the van only to remember that he was everyone’s ride home. Well, fuck. He should’ve just gotten Loona to use the book and teleport him back to the apartment. At least she wouldn’t ask questions. Oh well, he was the master of avoidance. There was a list of at least thirty-seven different things he could do to avoid more probing in the van, some of which were more questionable than others, but he was not above pulling weird shit to get out of the hot seat. If he had to resort to Method #23, then he damn well would.
Blitzø should've known better than to involve himself with Stolas any more than necessary. It was just a bad idea all around to bring him into this mess. Understatement of the fucking year, actually, because the night was an absolute trash fire. He didn’t know what Stolas was getting at with the façade of asking him in to fucking cuddle of all things, but he supposed he deserved it after dragging the bird out under false pretenses. Was he really so ashamed to be seen with an imp that he could only offer a private pity fuck afterwards? Why even bother fucking agreeing to come out in the first place?
Christ, Blitzø’s head hurt. He didn’t want to admit it, but it stung knowing that all they would ever have was this stupid transactional relationship, that all he would ever be worth was the ways in which he could be useful to others. None of the positive self-worth bullshit that certain factions tried to peddle as The Cure meant a damn thing. Just fix yourself and you’ll be redeemed! Yeah, sure, just as soon as hellborn demons found actual souls to use for themselves.
It made perfect sense that Blitzø didn’t have a soul. It certainly never felt like he did, or at least not since he was a child. But even back then he constantly fucked up: never good enough at his act, never good enough at drawing in a crowd, never good enough at being a son. Never good enough at the emotional upchuck that sharing feelings required, and look where that left him.
He did end up stealing a soul, though, selfishly taking his mother’s for himself. She of all hellborn beings would’ve had one.
Blitzø used to revel in the comfort of her heartbeat, a sign that she was within reach and there for him. It was easy to imagine a soul residing somewhere in that steady thrum of life as he thought of how powerful such an unassuming presence could be; every time his mother went out on the trapeze it felt like the entire tent shook with thunderous applause, all because her soul was so vibrant.
If he could just dig deep enough, would he be able to get it back out for her? Or had he already tarnished her soul too thoroughly simply by holding it within his own sullied body?
Trying was the least he could do to repent.
-
“Blitzø, you home?”
Loona toed her way inside the apartment, careful not to turn on the light in case Blitzø was asleep already. She peeked over the couch to see him knocked out cold, mouth open with drool dripping down his chin. A smile couldn’t help but tug at her lips.
“Dumbass,” she whispered affectionately.
It was as she turned that she caught something shiny on the couch with him. Loona spun back around to get a closer look, wondering if she had to pry away another spoon and ice cream tub. Maybe he’d had one of those shitty nights in again.
Her fur stood on end. The liquid Loona saw instead was decidedly too dark to be his normal flavor of ice cream, even with the lights off. She froze in place for a moment before hitting the light switch on in alarm.
A whine crawled its way up and out of her throat at the sight of what appeared to be Blitzø bleeding out, deep gashes crisscrossing his arms. She felt like she couldn’t even fully comprehend what was in front of her, but there was no way her mind would conjure this on its own, not even with as fucked as her thoughts could get at times.
“Blitzø? Dad?! You better fucking be breathing!”
Loona tried to feel for a pulse but it was hard to make anything out with her own heart beating hard against its cage in double time. What the fuck was she supposed to do? The emergency services in hell fucking sucked — he’d surely be dead by the time they got to him if he wasn’t already. Even just kneeling here thinking was time wasted.
Satan, the only people Blitzø even talked to were Moxxie and Millie and they couldn’t do any more than she could. Still, Loona found Blitzø’s phone nearby and desperately scrolled through the contacts. Fuck, maybe Stolas could do something with his freaky powers. She didn’t even know what kind of terms they were on at the moment, but if that blue-blooded bird cared even a little about Blitzø then he’d better show it. Pressing call, Loona dug her claws into her arm as she stared down at her unconscious father.
“Oh, Blitzø! This is a surprise, did you change your mind about joining me at home tonight? I must admit, I would need some time to make myself presentable again, but—“
“Fuck’s sake, please get over here and help!” Loona cut him off, already having let him go on for too long.
“…Is this Loona? Whatever is the matter, my dear? Where is Blitzø?”
“He’s fucking bleeding out on the couch, just get the fuck over here!”
She had hardly finished speaking before a portal opened right in the apartment, allowing a highly panicked Stolas to come rushing through. He looked almost as much of a mess as Blitzø with makeup smeared down his face and a waft of absinthe following his towering form. The white pinpricks in his eyes shook as he kneeled down next to the couch, hands hesitating to touch Blitzø lest he harm him further.
“What happened?” Stolas asked, voice weak.
Loona let out an agitated growl. “I don’t fucking know! Just— can you help him or not?”
Stolas sputtered before taking a breath as if to compose himself. “I should be able to manage the smaller wounds, but he should really see a doctor about the blood loss and to make sure nothing gets infected.”
Loona scoffed. “You really think they’ll take him in before he— before it’s too late?”
“Surely the hospital would take a life-threatening injury seriously,” Stolas replied.
“Fucking royals. Of course you don’t know how fucking shitty it is for the rest of us.”
Stolas’ brow furrowed. “I’ll tell them he’s under my jurisdiction. They’ll have to see to him immediately in that case.”
Loona stood up at that, the skin under her fur prickling again. “What, like he’s some fucking servant at your beck and call like all the other imps and hellhounds you probably own? I know he fucks you for the book, but he’s not just your little boy toy.”
“Do you want him to get help or not?!”
Stolas’ stern answer made Loona deflate on the spot. “Fine, whatever. Just portal us there or whatever the fuck. But you’re paying.”
“I do apologize for yelling, dear,” Stolas said, sounding genuinely remorseful. “I’m just rather shaken up at this. Your father means much more to me than sex, I can assure you of that.”
-
Stolas really didn’t want to leave Blitzø’s side for even a second, but he promised Loona that he’d portal through to their apartment to pick up a few things for them. It made more sense for Blitzø’s daughter to be by his side, anyway. Not someone who’d been turned down by the man just earlier that night.
As he stepped into the apartment, Stolas’ eyes darted around to all the things he’d been too distressed to pay attention to during his first visit. He hadn’t even realized that Blitzø had never invited him over, too comfortable with their monthly trysts at the palace to think about taking it elsewhere.
It certainly made sense, though, seeing the harrowing display on Blitzø’s wall. A dozen or so photos, all with the imp’s own face scratched out. A selfish part of Stolas lamented the fact that none of the pictures held his own likeness within them, but that was far from the matter at hand.
He lifted a talon to delicately trace the edge of what seemed to be the centerpiece, a charming photo of the IMP employees all together. A family. It felt nothing like the lifeless portraits that lined the halls of the palace, and that revelation was nearly too much to take in right then on top of everything else. Even the delightful ones with his beloved Octavia fell short of true happiness when Stolas considered the surrounding circumstances. He cherished that girl more than he did his own life, but he would never wish upon another child to be born solely out of the necessity of duty.
Bile threatened to rise in Stolas’ throat as his eyes passed over another framed picture, this time of a very young Blitzø feeding circus horses. The same young boy that Stolas had met and befriended many years ago. He may attribute Blitzø’s later reappearance in his life to being the spark he needed to evoke change, but truth be told that day as kids was the first real glimmer of hope he’d ever felt, the hope that he could someday be as free and brave as that special little imp. And to think that Blitzø loathed himself to the point of denying even his child self some kindness…
Stolas forced himself to pull away from the wall and go about finding the necessary items. It wouldn’t do to keep Loona waiting, after all.
-
“The fuck…?” Blitzø murmured, eyes opening blearily.
All he could see was swatches of pink and other pastels, but his body immediately seized up at the memories attached to those colors. Nothing good ever happened in a Sloth ring facility.
He could hear a faint beeping sound, matching the ever-increasing rate of his heart. Blitzø was honestly surprised that little fucker was still rattling around in there at all. He felt like his heart should be broken into sharp, jagged pieces by now, or a lumpy amalgamation of endless hurts, clumsily sewed back together time and time again. It never seemed to last long enough for the stitches to fully dissolve.
“You fucking dumbass, why did you do that?!” Loona shouted as soon as she noticed Blitzø was conscious.
Stolas wanted to tell her not to yell, to be kinder to her father, but he knew that this type of bite carried fear and care with it. Loona was not his wife.
“Do what, Loonie?” Blitzø asked. He felt as loopy as he sounded, the initial panic fading and being replaced with whatever comfort the drugs in his system could provide. At least his daughter was here and safe.
“I don’t know, but it sure fucking seemed like you tried to off yourself,” Loona growled. “You were just going to leave me like that?!”
“I wasn’t— I wasn’t trying this time, but that probably would’ve been better. Should’ve been me in the fire anyway,” he mumbled, half incoherent.
“Fire? What fire, Blitzø?” Stolas blinked. “This time?”
Even with his preternatural hearing, Stolas could hardly make out anything the man was saying, but still it broke something in him. He felt like he was learning more about Blitzø in these last few hours than he had their whole lives.
“I don’t care about some fucking fire, Blitzø, just don’t—“ Loona choked on a sob. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me, Dad.”
A young adult, reduced to tears and scrabbling for her broken father. Stolas couldn’t help the emotions that welled up inside him, the reminder of his Octavia when she was but a child seeking out her own father after a bad dream. As somber as the moment was, Stolas felt a flame inside himself burn a little brighter, reinforcing the belief that enduring this world was worth it for his daughter. She could kick and scream and push him away, sometimes even due to his own faults, but perhaps in the end she would still always need the care of a loving parent.
Maybe that could be the thing to keep Blitzø here, too.
Blitzø awoke again. This time it was a less panicked affair, having remembered where he was, though he wondered if he should be wary about whatever weight was holding down his hand.
Stolas’ hand, apparently.
Blitzø tried to pull away from the undeserved comfort, but the movement roused Stolas almost immediately. He popped right up, eyes wide and focused on the imp in the hospital bed.
“Oh, Blitzø! You’re awake! Loona is just out getting some food.”
“Makes sense,” Blitzø said, throat aching from disuse. “…You look like shit, Stols.”
The man in question looked a bit miffed at that despite his clearly worried demeanor. “I’m already quite aware of your opinion on my chosen outfit, Blitzø. I apologize for not taking the time to change since last night.”
“No, not— I meant your face.”
Blitzø struggled to correct himself a second time at the way Stolas’ expression fell. “Not like that! Satan, fuck, I’m so bad at this. What I meant was that you look like you could use a meal and a good night’s sleep. You doing alright?”
Stolas just stared at him in disbelief. “Am I doing alright?” he exclaimed. “Am I doing alright after seeing the man I… care deeply about very nearly die in front of me? What do you think, Blitzø?!”
He took a moment to calm down as Blitzø tried his damndest to think of a single thing to say in response to that.
“Apologies for losing my temper. I rarely ever raise my voice, and yet that seems to be all I’ve been able to do these past twenty-four hours.”
“It’s… alright, Stolas,” Blitzø said. “Sorry for, y’know, ruining your night. Day. Whatever.”
Stolas looked miserable. Blitzø thought he had made the right choice turning the bird down last night, but it seemed like he’d have been fucked no matter what.
“I just— did I read things wrong?” Stolas asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Did I do something wrong? What in the world would possess you to hurt yourself like this?”
Blitzø let out a weary sigh. “Look, it’s not on you, okay? I’ve been fucked up since way before I came crashing back into your life. Hell, probably since before we even met as kids, to some degree.”
“But last night…” Stolas started. “I do suppose it is selfish of me to assume I was the cause of this, but I can hardly think of anything else that could’ve driven you to such lengths. Our date was truly rather disastrous towards the end.”
Wincing at the word ‘date,’ Blitzø figured he may as well rip the bandaid off now. He was already at rock bottom; anything Stolas might have to say to him couldn’t be much worse than what he’d been thinking to himself since then.
“It wasn’t supposed to be a date.”
Stolas’ eyes whipped to Blitzø’s face again. “What?” he said, voice coming out embarrassingly weak.
“I dragged you along because I wanted to keep tabs on M&M in that sleaze joint. Needed a plus one to get in.”
He didn’t want to keep watching the way Stolas folded in on himself, losing more and more of that princely air. It was like witnessing a collision; awful, but too intriguing to look away.
“I— oh,” Stolas faltered, unsure of where to even begin unraveling that thread. “So that didn’t… mean anything? I thought we were…”
“Look, Stolas. Even if you wanted to try, it just wouldn’t work. There’s a whole fuckin’ ocean between you and me, and Satan knows I’ve already destroyed any life in it with all my bullshit.”
“I can learn to swim amongst your depths!”
Blitzø paused for a moment and shared a look with Stolas, only for the two of them to burst into laughter.
“Oh dear, that was rather rom-com-y, wasn’t it?” Stolas asked, wiping away a tear that had escaped. Whether it was from the laughter or the accumulation of emotions over the course of the past day he couldn’t say, but he didn’t particularly care to find out.
“Super fucking rom-com, Stols.”
They recovered, both settling a bit more comfortably in their own bodies. Things were still unbelievably fucked, but the break of tension helped ease the air between them.
“You… spoke of a fire, earlier?” Stolas eventually inquired. “Was this before last night’s incident or perhaps a nightmare?”
Blitzø’s mood soured again, but he felt like he owed the damn bird this much if he wasn’t lying about caring deeply for Blitzø, whatever that meant. “Fucking wish it was just a nightmare. It was back in the circus, when I was a scrawny little teen. It was Fizz’s birthday, and I was going to— I fucked it all up. Knocked into some stupid fucking performer with a lit cake, the tents caught fire, everything went to shit. Marred my own face and body, cost Fizz all his limbs… killed my own fucking mother.”
He didn’t dare glance up at Stolas’ face, but he could hear a gasp. A picture-perfect reaction to the melodrama that was his life.
“Everyone hates my guts, Stolas. There’s no reason you shouldn’t either. If I get any closer to you, you’ll just get burnt up until there’s nothing left.”
“Well it’s a relief that I’m a Goetia, then,” Stolas said. “I’m rather good at withstanding injuries that would be fatal to most demons.”
Blitzø raised an eyebrow at that, but Stolas didn’t seem to be joking. He truly did not understand what drew the man to him so much; if it were just a thing for lower class demons like he’d originally suspected, then it wouldn’t make any sense for the prince to be here, wasting precious hours at his bedside. What else could he possibly have to offer Stolas?
His thoughts were put on hold as the door crashed open with Loona stumbling through, arms full of various vending machine snacks. She froze as she took in Blitzø’s state, heaving a sigh of relief.
“Thank fucking Satan, you’re finally awake,” she mumbled to herself.
Loona dumped the snacks onto Stolas’ lap unceremoniously; he could deal with that shit while she took a moment with her dad.
She couldn’t even find it within herself to feel shame at the urge to curl up on Blitzø’s other side like a child. She simply did it, tail falling over him protectively. Loona was so fucking tired, and knowing that her dad was fully awake and aware of his surroundings this time was enough to give her some peace of mind. It was hardly a few minutes before her breathing evened out, still tucked up against him.
If Blitzø were actually dying right now — thank Satan he wasn’t, and wasn’t that a new thought — he could almost pretend that he had two whole people who cared enough to be there for his final moments. His perfect daughter, and Stolas. It felt like his world had been completely flipped on its head and all he had to do to get there was have a near-death experience, apparently.
There was still so much shit to unpack and chew on, and he fucking hated talking about it all. He doubted even Stolas would enjoy discussing whatever royal shit he had of his own. It would be so easy to just act like nothing happened and return to the comfort of familiarity, the safety of danger. Walking along the edge had been the only thing he’d ever known up until this point.
He would be stuck with the reminders of his past for the rest of his life… but maybe life itself didn’t always have to reflect that.
A taloned hand reached out to the hospital bed, offering a place to rest his own.
Blitzø took the hand.