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Chapter Text

Abaddon watched a fire ant crawl the length of his hand, small legs trailed over his scraped palm before disappearing into the cuff of his shirt. Once it vanished, so did his interest. He was far more intrigued by the sound that was slowly drawing closer. Heavy deliberate steps sounded on the ground above. His eyes darted around the inside of the pit he’d dug for himself; something was coming.

He had half a mind to hope for a deer, perhaps a boar. Something that gave him a challenge to catch, something that could offer more sustenance than a measly squirrel or an occasional raccoon. But he refused to let himself get excited. Knowing his luck, it was bound to be a forest cryptid, or some other unwelcome beast. They lurked throughout the forest, and while they weren’t particularly dangerous or even frightening. They were quite… bothersome.

That was the only way Abaddon could think to describe them. Bothersome— annoying.

The footsteps were getting closer and closer; he hunched a bit; he knew he needed to conceal his presence as much as possible to lure whatever was prowling above into his trap. He picked around in the dirt to seem as unassuming as possible, in case it was a predator rather than prey. Sometimes he was able to get by with his round, childlike face. 

The target came to a stop at the edge of the hole. If it were an animal, he’d pounce quickly; if it were something bigger, he’d wait for it to show signs of an attack before striking. He sifted lazily through the soil, pretending to search for something, anything that made him look preoccupied. The footsteps stopped. Right at the edge of his hole.

Abaddon tightened his grip on the rock that had made its way into his hand and looked up, but all subtlety was lost as he caught a glimpse of what loomed above him.

Two legs. Hiking boots.

Not an animal.

Not a monster.

A human.

Humans were a rare sight this deep into the woods. Those who did find themselves in Abaddon’s self-acclaimed territory were either lost, running from something far more sinister than a demon in a pit. The oddest part, in Abaddon’s opinion, was how the man was staring down at him; he looked starstruck.

It was as if he’d come looking for Abaddon himself, but if that were the case, he doubted the man would be so calm. Most who knew of his true nature also knew better than to seek him out. He watched the man tilt his head curiously.

“Hey, bud,” he smiled widely. Abaddon wrinkled his nose as a hand was dropped into his hole. “Stuck down there?”

Abaddon stared at the hand, then the face of the man it was attached to. Every bone in his feeble excuse for a body was telling him no. Abaddon knew better than to trust the people around these parts. He knew better than to trust people— humans were helpless beings who offered little of significance. 

But he was reaching for the hand, and suddenly he was being tugged upward. All he could do was gape like an idiot.

After he was pulled to his feet, the man hauled him up out of the hole by his armpits with surprising ease. Once he was set safely on solid ground, he felt two hands begin patting the dirt from his clothing. He just let it happen. He didn’t know why he just let it happen. 

If he had to guess, he’d say it was something to do with the energy radiating off of the man. He had a strange aura; it was warm. Maybe warm was the wrong word; it was familiar. He knew for a fact he’d never met this man, and yet, it was like they had a strange tether between them.

Immediately, Abaddon decided this man could not be human. Humans didn’t do this; they didn’t have such deceivingly inviting auras. Maybe he was some sort of siren.

“So, you’re the Abaddon I’ve heard so much about,” he said, pulling away. Abaddon was caught entirely off guard, “I gotta say, I was expecting something a bit more scary, horns, razor-sharp teeth. The works, really.”

So, he did know of Abaddon, and the comment about the horns and the teeth implied he knew more than the average townsfolk. He knew Abaddon was a demon, and yet there he stood with that dopey grin.

Abaddon stared him down hard.

Trying to break his friendly demeanour down into something more threatening proved difficult. A square but humble face, round eyes, a moustache that was closer to that of a friendly neighbour than a serial killer. Even his clothes were unassertively average: a sweater, khakis, and worn but clean shoes— no sign of evil anywhere.

“You know of me?” Abaddon finally asked, narrowing his eyes.

The man was smiling so wide, it nearly escaped the edges of his moustache. God, why was he so happy to see Abaddon?

“You have a bit of a reputation.”

Reputation?

“Amongst whom?” Abaddon demanded.

“Amongst everyone, really.” He explained, still far too pleased for someone knowingly talking to a demon. He continued, “Well, mostly everyone, I’m from up the road. The folks at the hotel talk about you all the time.”

Oh. That explained it; there was nothing weird about him, he was simply stupid. Abaddon had heard through the grapevine about the hotel changing hands, and whether it had been bought or traded off, only an idiot would remain after seeing what lurked inside. He hadn’t set foot there in nearly two decades, but he could still feel the thin pulse of darkness within its walls— enough to tug him close when he strayed too far. It was a magnet for evil, and everyone who entered knew it, except this man, it seemed.

Abaddon straightened, brushing the last remnants of dirt from his sleeve. If this human was truly as dense as Abaddon assumed he was, Abaddon needed to show him who was in control.

“Who are you, and what are your intentions?” he questioned. He tried to force his voice to be as high and mighty as he was.

The man crouched, offering his hand to shake. Abaddon did not take it.

“Alrighty then. I’m Nathan,” he said, tapping his finger against his chin. “My intentions, I suppose, are to invite you inside for a sandwich... maybe a shower, if you’re feeling wild.”

“I do not require a sandwich,” Abaddon replied, his nose twitching in visible distaste, “nor a shower.”

Nathan laughed far louder than necessary. “You might not require it, but everyone would appreciate it. You smell like death.”

Abaddon lifted his chin and puffed out his chest.

“I am death.”

“Perfect,” Nathan said. He gave Abaddon a playful punch to the shoulder. “You’ll fit right in. Let’s get a move on, before it gets dark.”

Abaddon glanced back at his hole, then looked up at the man who was lifting himself off the ground. He supposed it couldn’t hurt.

“Fine.”

Abaddon sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, pressed against the lower cabinets. Since being dragged inside, Nathan had presented him with one disappointing ham sandwich (half of which remained uneaten), one acceptable turkey sandwich, which was good, but was nothing in comparison to the peanut butter and jelly. After finishing one, he promptly ordered that Nathan make him another, which the man did with pleasure.

As he was finishing up the last of his second sandwich, Nathan stooped to join him on the floor.

“Okay, so PB&J is a yes, ham is a no, and turkey is a... maybe?” he sounded as though he was testing the waters with a very impatient child.

Abaddon hated that; he wasn’t a child, and he absolutely would not be spoken to like one. He shot a very pointed glare in Nathan’s direction.

 “I want another,” he ordered, eyes flicking down toward the empty cup that sat beside his plate. “And more juice.”

He had already had four cups, but Nathan didn’t seem to mind refilling his cup. The man didn’t skip a beat as he grabbed the plate from the ground.

“You can have another one if you sit at the table.” He said, turning back to the counter, already beginning the process of constructing a new sandwich. 

It wasn’t clear whether Nathan was making a request or issuing a command. This made Abaddon hesitate. He was meant to be the one calling the shots, and here Nathan was telling him what to do. He wouldn’t stand for it.

Still, he really wanted that sandwich. He took a deep breath, deciding in that moment, he’d do this one thing. It didn’t mean Nathan was in charge; it was just the most convenient way of getting what he wanted.

Abaddon clutched his cup tightly and walked over to the table. Positioned behind the chair, he placed his cup down, squarely in front of him. He wasn’t sitting, but he was at the table, and that was going to be good enough. Chairs were uncomfortable, and he never quite fit in the seats. They made him look small and foolish. Though most things made his sorry excuse for a body look small and foolish.

 Nathan turned to face him, sandwich in hand. He gave Abaddon a look. 

“Gotta sit in the chair, dude.” He said, waiting for Abaddon to obey. If he thought that was going to happen, he’d be sorely mistaken.

“I am at the table!” Abaddon snapped, pointing to his perfectly positioned cup. “I am here!”

Nathan’s face morphed into something a bit more serious, which only aggravated Abaddon further. He was there; there would be no more dripping peanut butter and jelly on the floor or spilling juice under the cabinets. Why wasn’t that enough?!

“You can’t have the sandwich unless you sit in the chair.”

Abaddon felt the fury prickling under his skin. Something was about to erupt; he could feel it flowing through every square inch of his body.

“I do not want to sit in the chair!” Instead of final and explosive like he was hoping, his voice came out high-pitched and petulant. “I want to stand!”

Nathan let out a disbelieving laugh. “You were just sitting on the floor?”

Abaddon snarled because, while yes, that was true, it simply wasn’t the same! His hand came down hard on the table, the plastic cup rattling against the wood before tipping over. 

“I demand you give me the sandwich!”

He reached up to snatch the plate, but Nathan was taller; his height was easily used to his advantage. The plate was held high above his head, as Nathan looked down at him sternly.

“Just sit in the chair! Is it that hard?”

Abaddon swiftly switched gears, turning and grabbing the plastic cup. He began slamming it against the table; it produced a louder crack than his hands. If he were louder, Nathan would relent; that’s how it worked.

“I already told you. I. Want. To. Stand!”

He panted heavily between each strike, then looked up at Nathan for any sign of irritation. 

For a moment, the man was silent, and Abaddon was sure he had won. Then, in one premeditated motion, Nathan set the sandwich down and turned. Before Abaddon could react, an arm hooked across his chest and lifted him clean off the ground. The movement was quick, but not rough; it was almost casual. Like he was scooping up a kitten from somewhere it shouldn’t have been, but Abaddon was not a cat, and he didn’t need correcting. Still, within a second, the chair had been pulled from the table, and Abaddon had been firmly planted. 

He shifted uncomfortably.

This was why he didn’t like chairs. He was pressed up to the backrest, but his legs were too short to dangle comfortably. It didn’t matter what angle he put them at; it was slightly painful. He scowled up at Nathan. The man must have done this on purpose.

“It’s stabbing me,” Abaddon grumbled. Crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

Nathan pushed the plate toward him, rolling his eyes. “How is the chair stabbing you?”

His complaint outranked the sandwich, which was now in grabbing distance, on principle. The man was being intentionally dense.

Abaddon kicked the bottom side of the table with his foot, then childishly jabbed his finger toward his knees, which weren’t bending. Nathan crouched down to assess the situation. Then he had the audacity to laugh! His seeming indifference only supported Abaddon’s theory of a planned attack.

“Here,” Nathan said, shaking his head before lifting him and sitting him closer to the edge of the seat. “Better?”

Abaddon kicked his legs without discomfort; he didn’t look at Nathan as he grabbed his sandwich and took a bite. It was better, though he’d never admit it. He gazed down at his cup, which was still tipped over and empty.

“I need more juice,” he announced between chews.

Nathan didn’t try to negotiate this time; he didn’t say a word as he happily poured Abaddon another glass of orange juice. Abaddon watched as the last of the liquid swirled into his cup, leaving the bottle empty.

“There goes the orange juice,” Nathan sighed, dropping the plastic jug into the trash can.

Abaddon’s brows furrowed, “Are you going to make more?”

“I can’t make more,” Nathan said over his shoulder. He sounded like he was going to laugh again. “I have to buy it.”

“So, what will I drink now that it’s empty?”

“I mean, there’s water. Milk. I could make tea, but fair warning, I’ve never made tea before—” Nathan was no longer talking to Abaddon, just rambling for the sake of it. “—and I think it takes, like, twenty minutes to make a pitcher.” 

Abaddon frowned. “I prefer the juice.”

“Well,” Nathan said, returning to the table, sitting on the bench across from Abaddon. “If you stick around till tomorrow, I can pick some up from the store.”

Abaddon wiped his mouth, smearing peanut butter and jelly across his chin. He needed to weigh his options carefully. What more could he squeeze out of Nathan?

“Will you make the PB&J again?”

“I could,” Nathan responded thoughtfully, tapping his chin. He grinned, “Or I could make pizza.”

“Pizza?” Abaddon gave him a look that he was sure was a mix between curiosity and scepticism. 

He had peanut butter and jelly locked in, along with the juice, and now… pizza?

“Yep, you ever had pizza?”

“No,” Abaddon said with a shake of his head.

Nathan seemed bewildered at this admission, “Dang, well, it looks like you have to stick around.”

Abaddon had no idea what pizza was. He had indulged in plenty of foods in his time on Earth, and so far, the only one that had truly wowed him was the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches he’d eaten today. He thought hard about this proposal; he didn’t quite trust Nathan’s judgment, but he was the one who introduced Abaddon to PB&J. So, he supposed he’d be willing to try. 

“I will return for pizza tomorrow.” He declared.

He made sure to say it as if he were the one doing Nathan a favour, not the other way around. Though by the face the man was making, he wasn’t sure he had to pretend; Nathan seemed to be under the same impression. That Abaddon coming in and eating his food was a gift for him. 

Once again, Abaddon found himself questioning how idiotic Nathan could be— inviting a demon to share not one, but two meals with him? Either Nathan had no sense of danger, or he had far too much faith in Abaddon. Probably both. 

Abaddon reached for his glass of juice, but just as he went to take a drink, he tipped the cup too far, spilling the liquid all down his front. He groaned, feeling his collar stick to his skin. The juice was unpleasantly cold, that mixed with his making a complete fool out of himself was enough to make Abaddon want to curl up under the table.

Nathan glanced at him; it was clear he found Abaddon’s humiliation very amusing. “That’s the second time you’ve done that.”

Abaddon turned slowly; he felt his eye twitch as he sent a death stare in Nathan’s direction. Though he had a sense it wasn’t quite as intimidating as intended, with juice still dripping down his chin.

“We probably need to wash your clothes,” Nathan paused before continuing. “Something tells me you’re a bit of a messy eater.”

“My clothes do not need washing.”

Nathan snorted, reaching for the roll of paper towels in the centre of the table. “Buddy, your everything needs washing.”

Abaddon’s expression darkened as Nathan tore off a paper towel and began wiping streaks of orange juice from his neck, all the way up to his chin. He didn’t even ask!

“Stop it! What are you doing?” Abaddon tried to shove the hand away from his mouth, but Nathan kept wiping until he decided he’d done enough.

“You’re gonna get sticky,” Nathan said matter-of-factly. He raised a brow, “Unless you like being sticky?”

Of course, he didn’t like being sticky, but that was hardly the point! Abaddon practically growled, “I do not need your help.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Nathan retorted, sliding the paper towels back across the table. He shoved the wet napkin into Abaddon’s hands, as if challenging him. His eyes said it all, “Go on, do it yourself.”

Abaddon attempted to wipe his mouth with the napkin, but his arms were oddly stiff. You would think after centuries in the same vessel, he’d have learned how to manoeuvre it, but you’d be wrong. Not that it mattered, cleaning his face was a pointless task that could be carried out in a million easier ways. He finally surrendered and quickly wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Nathan seemed to take that as a win.

“Yeah... I’m putting a shower on the books.”

Despite his protest, Abaddon did shower that night. Well, shower was a generous term.

A more accurate description of what happened would be: Nathan sat him in the bathtub, fully clothed, and sprayed him with the showerhead until the water finally ran clear— which, in Abaddon’s opinion, took far too long. By the time the dirt had rinsed from his body, the hot water had run out, turning the spray icy. 

The whole ordeal was cold, literally and figuratively. Abaddon’s mood was cool as the water pouring over him. When he wasn’t kicking or clawing, he was glaring, jaw tight, feet braced against the tub as Nathan, exasperatedly insisted it wasn’t that bad.

Nathan didn’t realise how bad it was. He hated being cold; it was in the top five worst sensations he’d experienced since being trapped on Earth.

When he was finally released from the wet prison cell that was the bathtub, Nathan approached with a towel. Abaddon made a point of refusing. He stood there, dripping and glowering, until Nathan raised his hands in surrender and returned the towel to where he’d found it. Even when offered clothes that wouldn’t create a puddle if he stood still too long, Abaddon declined without hesitation. The wetness didn’t bother him much; what bothered him was Nathan’s relentless pestering.

As he took to the hallway, he tracked a set of wet footprints, a small but satisfactory act of defiance. Nathan followed close behind, mopping up the water trail with a towel. He’d occasionally mutter something about mold or water damage, and Abaddon would smirk with a spiteful sense of delight.

When they reached the front door, Nathan stopped rather abruptly. His stance was awkward. Abaddon tried to pass, but Nathan stopped him, seemingly working up the nerve to say what he’d been dying to say.

“Do you want to uh— stay here for the night? I can set you up in a room, there’s a lot of empty—”

“I shall return at dawn.” Abaddon quickly interrupted. He made sure to sound dignified; he wasn’t sure if Nathan bought it after the events that had just gone down in the bathroom. He was sure that’s why Nathan thought he was leaving, out of humility. 

But honestly, what use would he have for a room? The night is when he got the most done. Just the feel of the evening air sharpened his senses; he much preferred the open air to the cramped building. He liked the evil that lived within it, and while he very much wanted to explore it, that wasn’t enough to make him stay for the whole night.

Nathan seemed disappointed as Abaddon descended the front steps of the hotel. He gave a wave that Abaddon did not reciprocate. He simply walked into the night, letting it swallow him whole.

The next morning, he returned as promised. The cuffs of his shirt were still damp, but dirt had snuck back under his nails. When he arrived, Nathan was nowhere to be found. And despite his urge to ransack the place and demand his promised pizza, he resigned himself to waiting at the kitchen table until Nathan made his presence known.

When he finally did make his way to the kitchen, he practically jumped out of his skin at the sight of Abaddon, which made the demon’s mood increase significantly. 

The annoyance returned as Nathan’s stupid smile spread back across his face. Nathan went on and on as he began preparing Abaddon a meal— that was apparently not pizza— he was clearly overjoyed by Abaddon’s return.

Abaddon wasn’t sure why Nathan was so surprised that he’d come back. He told him he’d return at dawn! Why would he lie about something so trivial? The benefit of a place where he was provided unlimited food and a roof whenever he desired them was not lost on Abaddon, and Nathan was willing, or perhaps foolish enough, to provide both.

He’d keep this arrangement going for as long as Nathan would allow it.

Chapter Text

The first heavy snowfall of the season came late. But when it arrived, it didn’t stop. For three days, it fell steadily, covering the trees, pavement, and the building in a thick blanket of white.

Abaddon had no issue enduring the winters, though he much preferred summer. Human bodies seemingly weren’t built for entire seasons of unrelenting, freezing weather. And that wasn’t helped by the fact that Abaddon despised being cold; it simply wasn’t in his nature. Hell was never cold. The freezing winds would go right through him, settling in his joints until they went stiff. His skin grew dry and became painfully chapped, and his fingers stung to the point of it becoming inconvenient. It felt like his skin was going to freeze right off his bones.

The worst part was that no matter how hard he searched, there was simply no food. As animals took shelter, his meals went from an array of rodents and other small animals to nuts and the dead creatures that didn’t make it to their hiding holes. December through March became a stretch of cold, infrequent meals, damp clothes, and spiteful preservation.

However, this winter was already shaping up to be much different.

Nathan had visibly grown more anxious as the temperature dropped. In the week leading up to Abaddon’s, essentially, moving in, he’d been offered a room over a dozen times, sometimes twice over the course of one meal. And while Abaddon didn’t require a bed or even a roof over his head, he eventually gave in. The hotel kept out the worst of the chill. It was a perfect setup for colder months.

Well, almost perfect.

There was one glaring problem that risked Abaddon retreating to the snow: Nathan would not leave him alone. 

Abaddon had always known that Nathan wasn’t a man of routine. He didn’t have to be. Despite owning a hotel, there was little to manage. His responsibilities began and ended with turning on the television each morning, flipping through the channels, and maintaining a certain level of cleanliness. And yet, even with such a short list, Abaddon suspected Nathan was managing to neglect the few duties he did have, in favour of chasing companionship.

That seemed to be his true purpose for allowing Abaddon into his life: companionship. It was as if his loneliness was spilling out of him at all times. And when Abaddon only saw him in passing, it was fine— sometimes even pleasant. But now? His neediness was suffocating. 

Abaddon tried to put distance between them, yet it seemed every corner he turned in this godforsaken building put him back in Nathan’s eyeline.

Abaddon had endured a lot in his time trapped on Earth. But limits were being tested. Patience was a virtue he didn’t possess, yet he had no other options. He knew better than to risk Nathan’s favour.

So, he let the man hover— let him go on about things Abaddon couldn’t care less about. He tried to keep his face still, to stop the twitch of his mouth or the tightening in his jaw whenever Nathan lingered too long. If it were possible for a person to explode, this was reason enough; perhaps three warm meals a day weren’t worth the cost.

He knew deep down they were. Abaddon had developed a taste for this life, a life of warmth and food he didn’t have to scrounge for, and it was already on a timer. It was one thing for him to walk away willingly, but he would be damned before he let the likes of Nathan torture him out of the most straightforward arrangement of this century. A give-and-take relationship where he didn’t have to give a thing. Except for perhaps his sanity. 

Today was no different. Snow was still falling, and the whole driveway had been blocked, making it impossible for any guests to enter. Nathan had announced he’d be going out to clear it a little over an hour ago. That meant Abaddon was left inside on his own. In that time, he’d taken to wandering the halls in search of a suitable hiding place for when the man returned.

Despite Nathan always being two steps behind, Abaddon had managed to find a few good hiding spots. The hotel was filled with twists and turns and passages— perfect for vanishing when he needed to. Even Nathan, who seemed to know this place nearly inside out, couldn’t keep track of every nook and cranny. Abaddon took pride in that. Knowing about certain spots that Nathan did not. 

But many of those spaces were not sufficient for today. The heating was unreliable at best, so Abaddon had to confine himself to the handful of guest rooms and common areas where it still worked.

The freezing air was making him restless, and he knew he had only a limited amount of time before Nathan either finished or, more likely, gave up on shovelling the driveway.

Finally, he settled in a room on the first floor. He didn’t have much confidence in the location, but there weren’t many options; at least he knew this room was usually unoccupied. 

Except on Wednesdays. Luckily, Abaddon was almost certain it was not a Wednesday.

He nestled himself beneath the bed, pressing his cheek flat against the hardwood floor. There was a dull sting from the cold planks, but it wasn’t as bad as outside. It wasn’t as good as the lobby, with the fireplace and heaters running, but here, there was no Nathan. That was what his life had become in this past week: convincing himself it couldn’t be worse than burrowing in the snow, and resenting that it could be better if he weren’t shacked up with the most irritating human he’d ever come into contact with.

The lights were off, but sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting just enough light for him to see the floor beneath him. He sighed softly, tracing his sigil into the floor, a simple, mindless task to keep himself occupied. Still, his thoughts drifted.

He’d been invited for sandwiches a little over a month ago, and although that was a short time in the span of his years on Earth— and only seconds, really, compared to his existence overall— he was acutely aware of every day that had passed. Nothing blurred together the way it usually did. Maybe it was because he’d become excessively mindful of the rise and fall of the sun. 

He watched the shadows move across the ground each day so he’d know when to return to the hotel, and once he switched to spending most of his time inside, he watched the clocks. He didn’t quite understand the numbers, but in the week or so he’d observed them, he’d come to recognise that when both hands pointed up, Nathan was preparing lunch. When they pointed down, it meant dinner. As for breakfast, that came when Nathan shuffled out of bed sometime after sunrise.

There had been two holidays since Abaddon arrived, and as much as he hated to admit it, he’d thoroughly revelled in them both. 

The first was Halloween, which had given him an abundance of sweets, probably the most candy he’d ever had in his entire life. The night of Halloween was one he already knew well; it was one of the few times of year he could move through town mostly unnoticed. It was the perfect chance to snatch things from back gardens and rummage through houses before their owners returned.

He had known about the candy, of course. He was known to swipe a plastic pumpkin or two from the hands of grubby, costumed children. But this year, it had been far easier to get his fill. Nathan had set out an unnecessarily large bowl of sweets in the lobby, claiming it was for any trick-or-treaters who happened to stop by, though Abaddon doubted anyone would ever come to a hotel for candy.

Still, the size of the bowl was enough to keep Abaddon inside for the night. Nathan sat behind the front desk, and every hour that passed, he would let Abaddon take two candies from the bowl, taking one for himself. When the clock struck midnight, and it became clear that no one else would stop by for treats, Nathan let Abaddon tear into the bowl. As he ransacked half the candies in one sitting, he realised he had completely missed out on his chance to go into town and cause havoc. But that was fine; Nathan had a better candy selection, and far more of it, than any of the grocery bags or plastic buckets he could have stolen.

The second holiday was Thanksgiving, which Abaddon found he enjoyed far more than Halloween. 

The day had started terribly. 

When he arrived at the hotel that morning for breakfast, Nathan was nowhere to be found. Abaddon stayed through lunch, waiting, but still no sign of him. This was before he’d begun recognising the patterns of the clocks, meaning his only indication of the time passing was the sun’s rise and fall. It wasn’t until long after darkness had begun engulfing the kitchen that the front door finally clicked open.

Abaddon went to investigate since Nathan clearly wasn’t there to do it himself. There was loud rustling from the lobby; he was expecting an intruder. Instead, he was met with Nathan’s stupid, smiling face staring down at him. Nathan stood in the doorway, trying to remove his coat while also balancing a large foil tin in his arms. Abaddon was staring at him with an expression halfway between rage and disbelief. He couldn’t believe how calm Nathan was, as if he just expected Abaddon to be there, happily waiting for him.

He had been quick to tear into the man, ready to release all of his frustrations about being left alone throughout the day with no warning that he would have to fend for himself. But Nathan just kept talking over him, cheerful and unbothered, saying things like, “Trust me, this will be worth it.”

They went back and forth all the way to the kitchen. Nathan set the tin on the counter and told Abaddon to sit. He did, though not quietly. Nathan seemed hard at work pulling a couple of things from the tin before shoving it into the oven, still insisting that the wait would be worth the payout.

It felt like hours before Nathan finally set a plate in front of him. Abaddon stared at it, unsure what he was looking at. None of it was familiar. He had to physically stop himself from lunging across the table and throttling the man before him. 

His anger all but disappeared the moment he tasted the white meat on his plate. Everything Nathan had given him was a perfected version of food he already knew. The roasted turkey made the refrigerated lunch meat he’d grown used to seem pitiful by comparison, the mashed potatoes put every french fry to shame, and the baked macaroni, with its crisp, golden top, was leagues above the slop from his microwavable meals.

The whole time, Nathan watched, nodding enthusiastically as Abaddon tried all of the new foods. When the plates were mostly cleared, he began explaining that every year on Thanksgiving, he went to his sister Katherine’s house, where his family would all bring food and eat together.

Abaddon only half listened. The thought of meeting a whole group of people who were likely just as unbearable as Nathan didn’t appeal to him in the slightest. Still, he found himself feeling somewhat bitter that he was left with scraps. A whole feast, and this is what Nathan returned with. 

The worst part was that these foods were considered a luxury. He’d have to wait for the next celebration, which he knew was, luckily, drawing near. 

Christmas plans seemed to dominate half of Abaddon and Nathan’s conversations as of late.

Now that November was drawing to a close and December was coming in hot— or rather cold— Nathan had fully shifted his attention to Christmas. A large plastic tree stood in the lobby, and tinsel was draped along the front desk. That front room was the only part of the hotel that had been decorated, but Nathan seemed delighted all the same.

Abaddon, unfortunately, did not share his enthusiasm. The whole of winter was inconvenient, but Christmas time was probably the worst of it. Even if the town wasn’t shrouded in snow, it was still below freezing, making it hard for Abaddon to move with the required speed and stealth for causing mischief. The weeks before were full of mayhem and squashy crowds, and then, for two days, it was eerily silent. It was not a pleasant time of year.

Though he supposed it wouldn’t be too bad spending Christmas at the hotel. Nathan had mentioned gifts, and Abaddon had always enjoyed receiving offerings, even if most of them were junk that would be discarded not long after. 

What excited him the most was the aforementioned feast, like the one on Thanksgiving. According to Nathan, he was going to stay home and cook the entire meal himself; Abaddon wasn’t entirely confident in his ability to recreate it.

He had never thought of Nathan as a bad cook, at least, not until Thanksgiving. After that, everything else felt disappointing by comparison. 

When he was served lasagna that had clearly been frozen and reheated in the oven, he still ate it, but with noticeably less vigour— and making something from scratch? Forget about it, Nathan had burnt the tops of nearly every baked pasta he’d attempted to make.

And while he didn’t want to believe it, he was pretty sure an unscathed turkey was out of the question.

He was drawn out of thought by footsteps in the hallway. He knew it was Nathan by the annoying squeak his hiking boots made when they were wet. His presence was drawing near. Abaddon tensed as if that might protect him from being found. He heard the door to the next room open; the walls were thin, and Nathan’s voice carried as he called his name. Abaddon held his breath, knowing this room would be next. His hiding spot wasn’t much, chosen for convenience more than security; if Nathan really wanted to find him, he could do so in a matter of seconds. 

The neighbouring door closed, and he could hear Nathan nearing closer and closer. The footsteps stopped right outside. The door creaked open slowly, and Abaddon forced himself to stay even stiller than before. From his spot under the bed, he could see Nathan’s boots. The room was so quiet that he knew if he shifted even the slightest bit, he would be found.

Nathan walked the perimeter of the room. “Abaddon, you in here, pal?”

Abaddon heard the curtains rustle, and the light in the room grew significantly dimmer.

“Abaddon,” Nathan called again. “Ab— oh, there you are!”

Abaddon flicked his eyes toward the sound. Nathan’s boots were all the way across the room; he guessed that Nathan could see beneath the bed from that distance. Curse these tall bed frames and their utter betrayal. Nathan was quickly approaching, like a hawk narrowing in on its prey. His head peeked under the bed, and suddenly, he and Abaddon were making eye contact. Nathan had an expectant look, and Abaddon knew the battle was lost. He’d managed to avoid Nathan all morning, and for that, his punishment would be at least one uninterrupted hour of rambling and useless stories. He audibly groaned and dragged himself out from under the bed.

No point in arguing.

Nathan didn’t seem to notice his irritation. Instead, words immediately filled the air, most of them something along the lines of “It’s so cold”. He talked about the hole in his shoe and how he was pretty sure he had hypothermia from the water seeping in. He complained about how badly his hands hurt from shovelling snow and how all he wanted to do was run his fingers under hot water to regain circulation. And more than anything, he droned on and on about how it would have been a lot quicker if Abaddon had come out to help.

Abaddon didn’t respond; he simply trailed behind him, scowl deepening with every not-so-cleverly hidden gripe about his unhelpfulness.

They ended up behind the front desk. Nathan sat in the swivel chair while Abaddon curled up beneath his feet. He preferred being under the desk to sitting in one of the moving chairs. Nathan found that odd, but Abaddon didn’t care much; everything Nathan did was odd, and Abaddon had been kind enough not to be too outspoken about that fact.

“What do you think?” Nathan asked.

Abaddon was caught slightly off guard; he hadn’t really been paying attention. Nathan seemed to sense this. “Do you think this storm will bring in some guests?”

Abaddon raised a brow. “Why would a storm make more people stay at the hotel?”

“It’s really coming down out there. I sure wouldn’t want to be driving around in that.” Nathan did a comical shiver.

“It’s not that bad,” Abaddon said dismissively. It wasn’t that bad, not yet. This was only the first major snowfall of the season, and worse was yet to come. He knew this well; after spending so much time in the area, he’d become fairly familiar with its weather patterns. 

“Still, most people don’t like to be out and about when it’s coming down like this. I get more guests in the winter than at any other time of year.”

Humans were weak, is what Abaddon gathered from that. They couldn’t handle a little snow. It didn’t surprise Abaddon. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it. Nathan changed topics like a girl changed clothes.

“Hey Abaddon, do you wanna hear a joke?” Nathan asked abruptly. He sounded disturbingly excited.

Abaddon felt his face droop in frustration. A joke, really? What even prompted it? Nathan didn’t wait for a response.

“What’s the best food to eat in the winter?” he asked. The tone of his voice told Abaddon he was already about to start laughing. Abaddon doubted the joke was funny enough to warrant the preemptive action. “A brrrr-ito!”

Abaddon was correct; it wasn’t.

It made no sense. The joke wasn’t funny— not even a little bit, and yet Nathan was doubled over in seconds, wheezing and covering his bright red face. The way his body reacted, one would think he hadn’t laughed in years, though Abaddon knew that not to be true. Nathan’s eyes opened and looked down at him, and something about Abaddon’s confused expression seemed to set him off again. That made Abaddon frown. He hadn’t done anything, and yet Nathan was laughing at him. How dare he!

It hit Abaddon that this was what he should expect for the next few months. It wasn’t even technically winter yet, and he was already being subjected to winter jokes. He couldn’t imagine how unbearable it would be in the new year, once winter was in full swing. He wondered if all seasons came equipped with a new catalogue of puns. God, he hoped not.

Once Nathan’s laughter finally died down, he spoke again. “You get it? Brrrr-ito? Because you say “brrr” when it’s cold?”

The joke made even less sense now.

“I do not say brrr when it’s cold.” Abaddon’s face twisted in a mix of befuddlement and rage.

“Well, you don’t, but that’s just because you don’t get cold. Everyone else does, and when they do, they say brrr.” Nathan explained it kindly, in that sickly sweet tone that always made Abaddon feel like he was being talked down to. He hated it when Nathan did that. Despite constant reminders, the man still treated him like a child.

Abaddon decided to argue something else instead. “I do feel cold,” he said flatly.

Nathan blinked dumbly. “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” Abaddon shot back. “I’m spending my days and nights in this damned hotel.”

“Wait— that’s why you’ve been around so much? I just thought I was really starting to nail my baked ziti!”

“You’re an idiot.”

Abaddon couldn’t help it; it just slipped out. Luckily, Nathan didn’t seem too upset. In fact, he gave Abaddon a toothy grin before shaking his head.

“So, you’ve spent the last three hundred or so years just toughing it out through the winters? How do you still have all your digits? You definitely should have frozen off a pinkie by now.”

Abaddon didn’t answer. Nathan leaned forward, propping an elbow on his knee and resting his chin in his hand.

“Are you cold right now?”

Abaddon shrugged. He was inside, with the heater running. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant warmth, but it would suffice. Nathan seemed to disagree, despite Abaddon saying nothing for him to oppose.

“We should get you all bundled up. I probably have an old coat around here, or we can find you a blanket to throw over your shoulders—”

Nathan, as he always did, didn’t wait for a response; he didn’t even wait for Abaddon to follow him. He just zoomed toward the stairs, talking to himself all the way up.

Abaddon sensed that this was going to be a very long winter. But he also sensed that it would be very warm, which was a welcome change.

Chapter Text

“You never sent me a notice!” Nathan huffed into the landline— a phone that rarely rang for anything aside from business. From his quick, heavy footsteps, it was apparent he was pacing back and forth in a tight space behind the front desk. The telephone’s cord kept him tethered to one spot, preventing him from going too far. Nathan hated standing still; Abaddon knew it was probably killing him to have so little room to walk around as he shouted into the receiver.

Abaddon listened intently from the floor above.

He was sprawled across the landing, limbs stretched like a starfish. It was the best position to eavesdrop on Nathan’s phone calls. Abaddon had been aware before Nathan had even woken that this conversation was going to be explosive. Whoever it was on the other side of the phone had been calling on and off all morning. When Nathan finally picked up, it was like a bomb had gone off on the first floor.

“Are you serious?” Nathan’s voice echoed from below, louder than Abaddon had anticipated. Instinctively, he turned his gaze toward the sound, but the angle prevented him from seeing anything clearly. The only way for him to get a clear view would be to stick his head through the railing and stare straight down at him, but he feared that would be far too obvious. “There. Was. No. Notice!”

Nathan’s words came out one by one, as if he were really trying to hammer the point home. Abaddon smirked. He had an idea what notice they were talking about— well, not a specific one, exactly, but rather where all of the notices tended to vanish to.

Two months earlier, Abaddon had made a discovery: if he sat on the porch when the mail was due to arrive, the mailman would hand the envelopes straight to him, usually ruffling his hair and saying something belittling yet encouraging, like, “Now you go give these to your parents, okay?” Abaddon, of course, never did deliver the mail to his “parents.”

The mailman was older, for a human, closer to death. That made him stupider. He naively trusted Abaddon with all of Nathan’s most important postage. Instead of giving the mail to its rightful owner, he’d leave the letters on the front desk— the same place the mailman usually dropped them when Abaddon wasn’t outside to collect them.

From there, Abaddon took over. He’d gather the envelopes with the big red stamps and hide them in various spots throughout the hotel: a few shoved under the sink in a corner Nathan would never think to check; several more scattered through the ventilation system. 

Occasionally, when Nathan questioned if he’d seen something, Abaddon would plant a random letter somewhere Nathan could easily find it. It was rarely the one Nathan was actually looking for, but the sight of any misplaced mail was enough to send him into a silent panic. It made the man doubt himself, which filled Abaddon with unspeakable glee.

“Oh, my debt’s outstanding, is it?” Nathan said, his tone was harsh and dripping with sarcasm. He spat the punch line, “Well, I’m so glad you think so— I really do try!”

Abaddon snickered softly, clamping a hand over his mouth.

Nathan’s argument kept rising and falling in volume, but always circled back to one thing: “You never sent me a notice.” It was almost impressive how long he could dispute the same point without even considering that maybe he had gotten something in the mail. Abaddon had no doubt a notice had been sent; Nathan just never received it.

Though as entertaining as it was to listen to Nathan go back and forth with the person on the other side of the line, it was becoming repetitive. Abaddon knew he needed to shake things up, throw something into the mix that would really mess with Nathan’s head.

It was time to plant a letter where he’d be sure to find it.

He’d been biding his time, waiting for the moment he could finally push Nathan over the edge, and it seemed that moment had come.

Abaddon paused, listening for any sign that Nathan might move from his spot. When he was sure Nathan was anchored to the phone, he pushed himself up from the floor as quietly as possible. Nathan likely wouldn’t hear the creak of the floorboards, but still, Abaddon couldn’t risk it. The smallest giveaway, the slightest sign of a plot, and he’d be finished.

He was fortunate not to run into any ghosts on his way down the corridor. The ghosts weren’t loyal to Nathan or Abaddon; they were loyal to chaos. If he looked even a little suspicious, they’d sell him out without a second thought. They’d find it far more entertaining to watch his scheme crash and burn than to see it succeed. They didn’t understand the long-term payoff. Amateurs.

The back staircase was inconvenient; it dropped him off much farther from the kitchen than the main one, but it drew less attention, making it far more suitable for this plot. No questions about why he was hurrying off in that direction.

Nathan had begun giving him a bit more freedom lately, but still couldn’t help questioning his every move. It was frustrating, but Abaddon was learning to adjust. He supposed, answering a question here and there was better than having an unshakable tail.

Nathan’s voice carried from across the ground floor.

“There were no notices!”

Abaddon stifled a laugh and slipped quietly into the kitchen. A few letters were hidden beneath the sink, one of them somewhat recent, with a giant red stamp across the front— two words instead of one. That one, he knew, would cause trouble.

He opened the cupboard and pushed a few bottles aside, rummaging for the usual spot where he stashed things. A couple of the envelopes were water-damaged; mostly older ones he’d forgotten about. He’d shoved this one further down to protect it from leaks. He dug deeper until, finally, he found it: a crumpled, unopened letter, no doubt addressed to Nathan.

Abaddon turned the letter over in his hands, debating where to leave it. The kitchen counter? The dining table? No. It needed to be somewhere more deliberate; somewhere that would really get under Nathan’s skin. After a moment of thought, it came to him: Nathan’s bedroom. A most sacred space. Perfect.

Nathan’s bedroom, however, was strictly off-limits.

A new rule, one Nathan enforced with unusual earnestness. He didn’t like Abaddon sneaking around where he slept, calling it an invasion of privacy. Abaddon never understood why his presence was more intrusive than that of the ghosts’, but he’d mostly obeyed. Not because Nathan held any real authority, but because he’d rarely had a reason to go in, until now.

It was crucial that he make it back upstairs without being spotted. Not that he was particularly worried. Nathan was still on the phone and, from the sound of it, had really begun laying into the representative. Abaddon slid the letter down the front of his shirt, pressed a hand against it to keep it in place, and crept out of the kitchen.

The back stairs felt even louder now that he was holding precious cargo. He tried to take the steps two at a time, then right as he reached the top, the universe sent him a warning.

He heard a pop overhead, and the lightbulb promptly went out. Abaddon stopped dead in his tracks, eyes flicking upward before scanning the area. It had simply popped and gone dark. Omens were to be taken very seriously. In his experience, the universe rarely gave warnings without reason, and this was a warning if he’d ever seen one.

Briefly, he considered turning back, putting the letter under the sink where it belonged, and settling back on the landing above the front desk. But ultimately, he decided against it. This was an in-and-out mission; if he was quick and cautious, the likelihood of getting caught was low.

There was no denying that it put him on edge. The closer Abaddon got to Nathan’s bedroom, the more muffled the man’s voice became. Only the loudest outbursts carried up the stairs, leaving him flying mostly blind.

Getting caught was the worst possible scenario.

Nathan wouldn’t kick him out, but Abaddon had put in too much time. Months of ensuring he was always on the front porch when the mail arrived, even on the days when, for some reason, Nathan didn’t receive any. It had become a small job for him. And the best part was, he could keep it up indefinitely if he was careful.

Finding a stray letter, the constant phone calls from angry debt collectors— it was clearly making Nathan crazy. Having to find a new subtle way to terrorise him seemed like far too much effort, and today was meant to be his season finale. This final push would send Nathan toppling over the edge.

Logically, the plan was simple. Plant the letter, listen to the phone call, await Nathan’s discovery. He’d be out of sight the entire time. There was no reason for him to be uneasy. He shook it off and persevered, keeping an ear and both eyes open.

Nathan’s bedroom door came into view. Abaddon scanned the hall, eyes darting side to side. Not even a ghost, no one was around to interfere. It was safe. He clicked the door open and tiptoed inside.

He scanned the room for a good hiding spot before settling on the obvious choice: Nathan’s nightstand. It was nearly empty, and in the direct line of the door, which made it ideal; if Nathan saw the letter just sitting there, his brain would likely stop whirring, then promptly detonate. Abaddon hurried over, tugged his collar open, and reached down the front of his shirt to fish the letter out.

The plot was almost complete. He was almost home free.

Then he wasn’t.

Disaster struck mid-retrieval; his hand was fully out of his shirt, the letter clearly visible. Then came the telltale click as the door beside him opened.

For a split second, time seemed to pause; a familiar dread flooded his senses. The feeling of knowing you’ve screwed up and can’t unscrew it.

He’d been too confident. The universe had warned him, and he’d ignored it. Now the omen had come to collect.

“What’s that?”

He imagined this was what the tiny people in horror movies felt like. Slowly, he turned to meet the eyes of the very man he’d been trying to avoid. Nathan froze in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth half open. Abaddon had been caught red-handed. For a beat, neither of them moved. It was like neither had yet fully grasped the severity of the intrusion.

Abaddon recovered first, awkwardly trying to shove the letter back down his shirt. It wasn’t very subtle. That was what seemed to jolt Nathan back to life.

“No, no— hold it right there, pal! What’s in your hand?”

Abaddon looked up at him and shrugged, trying to feign cluelessness, but Nathan wasn’t having it.

“Abaddon.”

The only thing said was his name, and yet it sounded like an order.

There was no talking his way out of this one. He searched for an escape route. If he could just get away, maybe he could still keep some control over the situation. He was caught, but Nathan wouldn’t know the extent without more context. Unfortunately, there was no out in sight. Nathan was within arm’s reach; the moment he tried to run, he’d be caught.

Abaddon shifted his game plan. His fingers tightened around the letter. Maybe if he stood his ground long enough, Nathan would give up, decide it wasn’t worth the effort. But that was wishful thinking.

Nathan was the only person Abaddon had ever met who could rival him in both impatience and stubbornness.

“Hand it over before I pull it out myself.” Nathan’s voice was firm.

Abaddon squinted up at him, almost challenging him. There wasn’t a crack in Nathan’s resolve, yet Abaddon clung to his false confidence. Nathan wouldn’t actually do it. He’d never been afraid to cross Abaddon, but forcibly ripping the letter from him? Nathan was bluffing.

That conviction lasted all of two seconds. Nathan lunged forward, one hand gripping Abaddon’s shoulder, the other seizing his wrist. Abaddon tried to pull away, but Nathan was surprisingly strong.

“Fine!” Abaddon conceded, floundering to escape. As Nathan’s grip slackened, he huffed, “All right! No need to manhandle me!”

He pulled out the envelope, now crumpled from the altercation, and handed it over. Nathan’s expression shifted from shock to anger, like all his worst fears were coming true in real time.

“How long have you had this?” Nathan pressed; he flipped the letter over and over in his hands. “This is from three days ago, Abaddon! Where did you get this?”

“Mailman,” Abaddon said simply.

Nathan shook his head. His expression was unfamiliar; angry, but in a quiet, real way, not the loud, explosive kind Abaddon had grown used to when a ghost scared off a guest or he lost an online bid. Something about it felt raw, and it made Abaddon deeply uncomfortable.

“Is this the only one, or am I about to find a whole collection somewhere?”

“That’s the only one,” he lied, but it came out too quickly.

Nathan let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“I’m telling the truth!” Abaddon tried to sound convincing, but he wasn’t a very good liar, not in this stupid mortal vessel with its stupid, uncontrollable facial expressions. Sometimes his eyes spoke for him, and he suspected that was happening now, because Nathan was glaring at him, utterly unconvinced.

“Where are they?” he demanded. It left his mouth quickly and gave Abaddon no room to argue.

Still, he tried to open his mouth to say something, protest, give an excuse, but Nathan cut him off swiftly. He sighed. He’d made this bed; now he’d have to lie in it.

“The kitchen.” Nathan crossed his arms; he clearly wanted specifics. “Under the sink.”

“Show me,” he said firmly, grabbing the back of Abaddon’s collar to keep him from bolting as they left the room. Abaddon hated how well the man already knew his habits after only a few months of living together.

Abaddon let himself be led down the hall, glaring back every few seconds. “You’re choking me.”

“You’ll live,” Nathan shot back.

Nathan marched him straight to the kitchen, keeping pace beside him as they descended the main staircase. Even as they reached the bottom, Nathan’s grip didn’t ease. He steered Abaddon forward with a tense hand, forcing him through the doorway. Abaddon nearly tripped as they came to a halt.

He gave a small growl, eyes narrowing. Nathan put his free hand on his hip and gave a short nod toward the sink. Abaddon rolled his eyes before getting on his hands and knees and pushing the cabinet door open. Nathan released his hold.

He haphazardly tossed bottles out from under the sink, making as much noise as possible. Finally, he reached the very back and pulled out a small stack of letters, all in various stages of damage. Nathan looked like he might combust. He snatched the letters from Abaddon’s hands and began counting.

“This is almost twenty letters, Abaddon! How long have you been taking my mail?” Nathan stumbled back into one of the dining chairs, dropping the stack on the table.

Abaddon wasn’t exactly sure how long. He knew when it started, sometime in the days leading up to Christmas, but not how much time had passed since. A couple of months, probably. He was aware of his existence in a day-to-day sense but hopeless with calendars. Days, weeks, months; they blurred together. Nathan was still staring expectantly, so he shrugged.

Nathan’s eyes went back to the letters. He began sorting them into piles. Abaddon didn’t know how much there was to sort; they all looked the same to him. He went to join Nathan at the table.

“No,” Nathan said without looking up. “You need to go get all the other letters you’ve hidden around this hotel.”

Abaddon spluttered. “That’s all of them!”

“Not in the mood, bud.”

Abaddon groaned dramatically and stomped out of the kitchen. He didn’t see the point in arguing. So, because Nathan wasn’t hovering over him, he made sure to leave a letter or two in their hiding spots. He couldn’t come back empty-handed, but Nathan couldn’t miss what he didn’t know about.

He knew he couldn’t use them for anything nefarious, but their presence was enough. Abaddon took his victories where he could find them.

He returned with most of the letters shoved under his arm, dumping them in the centre of the table where Nathan had already begun opening others. Nathan’s eyes widened.

“Seriously? How long have you been doing this? This feels like an excessive amount of mail!”

Looking at the pile, Abaddon wanted to kick himself. He had been let go, he’d crawled through the vents with no supervision, and yet he returned. Stupid small victories, distracting him from the bigger picture. Why had he not even thought twice about following Nathan’s demands? And now he was back. Completely untethered.

He took a step back. Perhaps he could escape now. Nathan was so engrossed in sorting and scanning over the letters, he doubted the man would notice him sneaking away.

“Sit down.”

Or maybe he would notice.

“Why? It’s not like I can assist you in this,” Abaddon lamented. Nathan must have known by now that the letters had been random. It’s not like Abaddon could have read them.

“Even if you could, I wouldn’t want your assistance,” Nathan muttered as he opened another envelope.

“Then why must I stay here?”

“It’s your punishment.” Nathan’s tone was dead serious. “You took all this, now you have to sit here and watch me go through it.”

Something about that made Abaddon’s blood run cold, not because it was particularly horrific, but because Nathan knew it was the worst punishment possible for him. Sitting in silence, doing nothing, was torture. There were worse things Nathan could’ve done, and he’d chosen the one that would affect Abaddon most.

And in a way... Abaddon respected it.

So there were no arguments. Abaddon pulled the seat out and sat across from him, as far away as the table allowed.

Nathan didn’t speak as he opened and sorted letters, aside from the occasional groan or mumbled, “Are you kidding me?”

At some point, Abaddon crossed his arms and let his head fall onto the table. He wished he could will his body to sleep just to escape the boredom, but his eyes didn’t feel heavy, not even in the still darkness of the cavern he’d created for himself.

He glanced up at Nathan, who was opening a notice that looked half water-damaged and half chewed by a rat. It must have been important, because Nathan’s head fell forward, thunking against the table much like Abaddon’s had moments ago.

“Abaddon... they’re going to repossess my car…” he groaned.

Abaddon didn’t really know what that meant.

“They’re taking my car, my dirtbike, and they’re probably going to shut off the utilities.”

“Why are they taking your things?” Abaddon asked, genuinely perplexed. Why was the mail saying such things?

“Because I haven’t paid them.”

“Buy new ones,” Abaddon offered. He was surprised Nathan hadn’t thought of it himself. If they take the old ones, buy new ones— simple. Like when the cereal ran out or the eggs went bad, Nathan would just buy new ones.

“I can’t afford new ones. If I could, I wouldn’t have lost the old ones.” Nathan no longer sounded angry. He just sounded miserable.

“Then pay for the old ones before they take them away,” Abaddon pointed out, trying to be helpful. Maybe if he proved his use, Nathan would reward him for it.

Nathan didn’t seem impressed.

“And where am I supposed to get the money? Like I said, I can’t afford them. I’m in debt.”

Abaddon knew debts. The only way to get out was to pay them, and for Nathan, it seemed that meant with material funds.

“I don’t know how I’m going to pay off my car,” Nathan began rambling, though it seemed to be more to himself than to Abaddon. “Maybe if I list my Princess Diana duplicate on eBay, I can get the money in full before they come take it.”

Abaddon wasn’t sure what Princess Diana had to do with Nathan’s car, but he could tell Nathan officially wasn’t talking to him anymore, just to himself, murmuring as he stared at the letters.

“I need to make some phone calls,” he announced.

Abaddon clapped and began climbing from his chair. “Perfect, I have things to—”

“No.” Nathan pointed to the chair.

“Ugh!” Abaddon cried out, flopping forward with an exaggerated swing of his arms. He even stomped his foot once for good measure. “I did what you asked! What more do you want from me?”

Nathan laughed dryly. “Can you get me $4000?”

“Yes,” Abaddon said without a second thought. He had many ways of acquiring that amount. “If you let me go, I can have it to you by dawn.”

Nathan seemed to consider it.

“No, no. I don’t want to worry about the consequences of borrowing money from you.” He shook his head, blinking rapidly. “Just— sit down, and don’t make a sound.”

Abaddon listened to Nathan make phone calls until the sun went down. They ranged from: “Can you send me a copy of the bill?” to “Don’t give my mail to the little boy who sits on my porch.”

Right now, he was on his feet, going back and forth with someone who apparently wanted to buy the dead Princess of Wales. Abaddon found the conversation slightly more entertaining than the ones prior, but being forced to listen definitely put a damper on things. He looked up at the clock above the doorway.

Both the big and little hands were pointing left, meaning that they had already surpassed the allotted slot for dinner, which Abaddon recognised as “down.” No wonder his body felt so sluggish. He was being starved!

This was a direct breach of his and Nathan’s agreement, meaning all respect was lost.

“It’s time for my meal!” He sat up with a start, hitting the table with his fist. Nathan turned from where he was pacing and shushed him.

“Do not shush me, I—”

Nathan shushed him again, but since he was walking toward the pantry, Abaddon let it slide. Much to his dismay, instead of pulling out pasta, rice, or even peanut butter, Nathan grabbed a box of cereal. Not even one of the good ones. It was the one with raisins.

Abaddon wrinkled his nose in disgust, watching as Nathan retrieved a bowl and a gallon of milk before setting them down in front of him.

“Cereal is breakfast food,” he complained.

Nathan covered the phone’s speaker with his hand. “Tonight it’s dinner.”

Abaddon sputtered, gesturing between the ingredients and Nathan. “I don’t want cereal!”

Nathan shook his head, clearly furious, and tapped the screen of his phone. “Cereal is what you’re getting. You can choose not to eat it, but I’m not making you squat, my friend!” He took a deep, seething breath. “Do you understand?”

Abaddon’s face twisted into the dirtiest scowl he could muster. He grabbed the box, feeling the cereal crunch under his fingers, and poured far more than he intended into the bowl.

“Good. Now shut your mouth.” Nathan glanced back down at his phone. “If I don’t talk this guy up to three-fifty, you can say goodbye to the microwave.”

He tapped the screen again and immediately went back to bartering.

“I already told you the lowest I’m willing to go, Andrew!”

Abaddon glared at the milk, as if it were the jug’s fault he was receiving this mediocre excuse for dinner, before grabbing it and fumbling with the cap. It took him a few tries; he couldn’t get the damn lid to come off, then, with a particularly stubborn twist, it finally popped free.

He tried to pour a reasonable amount; he tilted the jug carefully over his bowl, but once the milk started flowing, he couldn’t stop it. The bowl overfilled, the milk spreading across the table in a growing puddle. By the time he managed to jerk the jug upright, milk was running off the edge and dripping into his lap.

He hadn’t realised Nathan had stopped arguing until he heard a long, drawn-out sigh. His eyes flicked over to the man; his whole body seemed to deflate.

“Yeah, that’s on me.” Nathan was staring at Abaddon with a look of pure exhaustion. “Andrew... I’m going to have to call you back.”

Chapter Text

“No.”

“Come on, Abaddon, please!” Nathan was crouched between the sink and the cabinet door, keeping it from closing.

He was trying to convince Abaddon to accompany him to the store to buy a birthday present for his nephew. Abaddon couldn’t understand why Nathan wanted him there. He’d never gone to the store with him before, though not for lack of trying on Nathan’s part. The man had asked plenty of times, but never with this level of persistence. From the moment they’d sat down for breakfast, he’d been pestering. And now that it was time to leave, his asking had turned into outright begging.

“I said no!” Abaddon growled, pushing a few items aside so he could kick open the other cabinet door and climb out. He needed to escape this buffoon so that he could focus on the task at hand.

He needed his ice pick for a vital mission. The only problem was that he couldn’t remember where he’d left it. It had to be in a cabinet somewhere, or maybe a drawer, but that hardly narrowed things down. He’d already torn through every cupboard in the kitchen and the parlour, yet there was no sign of the tool. The search required his full attention, which made Nathan’s hovering presence especially grating.

“Wait a second, have you ever been to a store?” Nathan was already blocking Abaddon’s new exit. The question, along with the doubtful tone behind it, was enough to irk him severely. It was ridiculous. Obviously, he’d been to the store; he’d lived on the outskirts of town for nearly three centuries. He’d terrorised the townsfolk inside and out, and the store certainly counted as “inside.”

“I’ve been in this town longer than you’ve been alive,” Abaddon snarled, shoving past Nathan. He pushed open the side door of the kitchen and started toward the lobby. “Of course I’ve been to the store!”

Nathan followed close behind. “Okay, fair, but we’re not going to Midwich— we’re going to Syracuse.”

Abaddon had never even been to Syracuse; he shot a confused look over his shoulder. “What’s in Syracuse?”

“H-Mart. I’ve got over two hundred dollars in store credit,” Nathan proudly explained. Abaddon had no idea what store credit meant, nor did he care to know why Nathan possessed so much of it.

He had better things to do than take a trip to H-Mart.

“Why exactly do I need to be involved?” he asked flatly, pulling open drawers along the front desk.

Nathan fanned his hand in a frantic circle, as if scrambling for an excuse. 

“Because! I’m buying a gift for a young boy, and you’re, you know, youngish and boyish.”

Abaddon’s expression grew darker as he slammed a drawer shut. Nathan flinched, and, realising that he clearly wasn’t getting through to Abaddon, he let out a sigh.

“Okay, fine! I hate buying gifts. I’m bad at it!” He gave Abaddon a pleading look. “For Christmas, I bought my niece a men’s XL T-shirt and spent the rest on scratch-offs. And for the most part, you’ve got this no-nonsense thing going on— I need you to come and keep me in check!”

Watching Nathan beg made the offer somewhat tempting, but not enough to make him give in.

“It’s not my fault you’re all nonsense,” Abaddon muttered, opening the cabinet behind the front desk to rummage behind a box for his ice pick. Nothing. When he climbed back out, Nathan was crouched at eye level, watching him with unsettling intensity. 

“I’m willing to barter, okay.” He was becoming truly desperate; it was almost pitiful. “How about this— if you come, I’ll bring you back a slice of birthday cake.”

Abaddon halted. 

He knew of cake, and while he had never had birthday cake specifically, he knew he wanted it. Damn Nathan! There were very few things that would make him change his mind, but treats were definitely on that list.

“I just have to accompany you to this H-Mart?” Abaddon asked suspiciously, raising a brow.

“That’s right. All you gotta do,” Nathan sounded smug; he knew he’d reeled Abaddon in. “And in return, you get a slice of my sister’s world-famous German chocolate birthday cake!” 

Abaddon looked up at him, completely bewildered, “Your sister’s recipe is world-renowned?”

Nathan gave him a thumbs-up.

“Definitely.”

Abaddon paced back and forth a couple of steps, truly considering the offer.

“No strings?” he needed confirmation. “I attend, prevent you from making frivolous purchases, and I receive my very own slice of birthday cake?”

Nathan gave a worried look, “Well, it’d also be nice if you could try to be on your best behaviour.”

“I’m always on my best behaviour,” He deadpanned.

It was the truth; he could be a lot worse if he wanted to, but was kind enough to reel it in within the hotel.

Nathan didn’t look amused. “You know what I mean.”

Abaddon’s expression said it all: “I really don’t.”

“I’m trying really hard to meet you halfway right now.” Nathan crossed his arms, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Listen— you come with me, help me pick out a decent gift, don’t cause a scene, and you’ll be rewarded. Simple as that.”

There were far too many steps for Abaddon to consider the task simple, but he relented nonetheless.

“I will come,” Abaddon declared, clenching his fist and closing his eyes with determination. “For birthday cake.”

“Thank you.” Nathan let out a relieved breath and stood up.

“But if you want me to behave, I want two birthday cakes!” Abaddon added quickly. 

One slice for what Nathan was asking wouldn’t cut it.

Nathan smirked. “You drive a tough bargain, Donny boy, but I think I can swing it.”

Abaddon held out his hand to shake. 

“Then we have a deal.”

Abaddon had never ridden in a car without bars on the windows. He’d only ever been in one other vehicle, but it was nothing like Nathan’s Mazda. The seats then had been hard plastic, and there were far more than the five Nathan’s car offered. It had been larger, too, though the most striking difference was that Nathan’s car possessed seat belts, and Abaddon was woefully unprepared for that factor.

At first, everything seemed fine. Nathan had lifted him into the front seat, chatting cheerfully about how much fun it would be. But things quickly soured the moment he tried to fasten the belt across Abaddon’s chest. Abaddon fought back, of course, though he’d long since accepted that Nathan had him beat in both size and strength. His only real advantages were his nails and his speed, but it was clear Nathan had anticipated both.

Before they’d even stepped outside, Abaddon had been bundled into full winter attire: a thick coat, mittens, a hat that covered his ears, and what felt like a dozen other things designed to keep him from fighting back. Nathan claimed it was because of the snow, but Abaddon knew his true intentions.

He should have seen the deception from a mile away, yet he had been duped.

The moment he tried to fight back, his winter clothes betrayed him. He couldn’t stretch or thrash to his full potential. Nathan told him to calm down, but how was he meant to stay calm while being strapped to his seat? Eventually, Nathan managed to click the buckle into place, much to Abaddon’s dismay. 

When Nathan circled to the driver’s side, Abaddon tried to cross his arms, wanting to express just how displeased he was with this whole ordeal. But he was too restricted; he had to settle with a sharp glare in Nathan’s direction.

Despite the initial struggle, the car ride wasn’t so bad. It lasted a while, but Abaddon had to admit, it was warm. It was probably the warmest he’d been all winter. Nathan even let him take off a few layers during the drive. 

When they reached the H-Mart, he was forcibly zipped back into his jacket for the walk through the parking lot. Thankfully, as soon as they stepped inside, he was allowed to dress back down to his regular shirt and the thick pants he’d been made to wear over his breeches.

Abaddon’s freedom lasted all of five minutes. It was just long enough for him to run too quickly, lose his footing, and ungracefully slip on the water he’d tracked in from the snow. That was all the excuse Nathan needed to scoop him up and clip him into the shopping cart. 

Abaddon kicked and flailed, but the best he managed was landing a singular, solid hit to Nathan’s stomach. 

“You said you’d behave,” Nathan said through gritted teeth, clutching his abdomen.

Abaddon scowled but let his legs go limp. “You never said you were going to imprison me in a cart. This is outrageous!”

“You need to lower your voice.” Nathan sliced the air with his hand. “Or no cake.”

Abaddon let out a dramatic groan and leaned back in defeat. Nathan took that as his cue to start moving.

Nathan was right; this store couldn’t have been more different from the one in Midwich. The ceiling stretched what felt like a hundred feet into the air, reminding him slightly of his castle in Hell— if his castle had bright fluorescent lights and a maze of metal bars overhead.

There were people everywhere. Abaddon had never been in such a crowded space. He wanted nothing more than to run off and wreak havoc among the shoppers, but he’d made an oath, an oath for cake, and he was going to see it through. For now, his best course of action was to simply observe.

The aisles seemed to stretch on forever. Midwich’s general store had been essentials only, mostly food, some tools, nothing interesting. H-Mart was like the general store multiplied a dozen times over. There was an aisle for nearly every kind of item Abaddon had ever seen, and plenty he hadn’t. Some things were completely foreign. One aisle was nothing but yarn; another, all scented candles. Occasionally, they’d hit clusters, two or three aisles of nearly the same thing, yet all slightly different.

Abaddon was utterly captivated. More than once, he found himself reaching for items before being reminded that they were shopping for Ben, not him. Strangely, it didn’t even bother him being told off. He was so caught up in the grandeur of it all.

It was paradise. But paradise could only last so long.

They had been wandering the store for what felt like hours; they’d hit what must have been a million aisles. Yet all that was in their cart was a grey and white polka-dotted bag, a multipack of tissue paper, and a card that played an annoying tune when you opened it. Of course, Nathan insisted none of those things counted as a real gift. The frustration was starting to fester.

However, the worst part was the loop they’d found themselves stuck in. No matter what the other suggested, they couldn’t seem to find common ground. Not even a reluctant maybe. It was hard no’s all around.

Abaddon’s picks had included a pair of shoes with spikes on the heels, a bag of fertiliser, and a double pack of bug spray. Nathan had claimed Ben wasn’t the outdoorsy type. Abaddon couldn’t see why that mattered. Nathan’s ideas weren’t much better: an awful framed painting of a cow in glasses, a Christmas tree–shaped waffle maker from the clearance aisle, and a T-shirt with writing on the front and a hidden dinosaur on the inside.

Abaddon couldn’t see what was so useful about wall art. Nathan claimed it didn’t need to be useful; it was fun. But “fun” hardly seemed a reason to give someone a gift. Who would want something they couldn’t use?

They were at an impasse, and neither was willing to stand down.

Eventually, they ended up in the jewellery section— one of the few places they hadn’t explored. Abaddon doubted they’d find anything useful here, but he was taken with the rings stacked on a display mannequin’s hand. He picked out the ones with the biggest, shiniest stones and slipped them onto his fingers, tilting his hands beneath the overhead lights to watch how the glare danced across the diamonds’ surface. Meanwhile, Nathan was occupied with a wall of necklaces and bracelets.

“What about this?” Nathan held up a necklace with a thin chain and a strange symbol hanging off of it. “It’s a B, for Ben.”

Abaddon looked it up and down. The diamonds on the letter were minuscule; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to see them if it wasn’t for the harsh lighting. Whatever expression crossed his face must have said enough, because Nathan’s smile immediately faltered.

“You’re right. No self-respecting thirteen-year-old boy would wear a necklace with his initials on it.” Nathan sounded truly distraught as he tossed the necklace on a random shelf. “God, what was I thinking!?”

“Yes,” Abaddon said with little indication that he’d been listening, a very half-hearted attempt at acknowledgement. He’d lost interest in the man; his eyes were glued, once again, to the rings.

“Running out of options here, sport,” Nathan’s voice was low and pressing. “All that’s left is the makeup aisle and the camping aisle, and I don’t know if either of those is going to be up Ben’s alley!” he paused, seemingly reconsidering. “Well, maybe the makeup aisle.”

Abaddon froze. The word camping echoed in his head. He hastily shoved the rings into his pockets; they lost their charm almost instantaneously.

“Camping?” He parroted.

Nathan blinked. “Yeah. Tents, ropes, those lanterns you have to crank a hundred times before they light up—”

Abaddon cut him off with a flurry of hand gestures; it was almost too much to take in. The camping section at the general store had been pitiful by any measure: sunscreen, flashlights, and cheap fold-out chairs were the extent of their selection.

“I want to go there now!” Abaddon grabbed the shopping cart handle and leaned forward eagerly.

Nathan caught it just in time to keep it from tipping. Abaddon gave the basket a little shake, trying to ignite some urgency in him. The closest he’d ever come to proper camping gear was looting it from the fools who tried to camp in the woods surrounding the hotel.

“All right!” Nathan laughed, giving in. He gave Abaddon a knowing look, “Just make sure you take all those rings out of your pockets first.”

Abaddon shot him a glare, but obeyed. He removed the rings from his pockets and tossed them haphazardly across the display case beside the mannequin’s hand. 

Nathan smiled.

It was glorious. The camping section was absolutely glorious. Three long aisles, every shelf lined with handheld hatchets, insulated clothing, and adjustable headlamps. And that didn’t even begin to cover it. There were things Abaddon hadn’t known he needed until that very moment. He kept nabbing things off the shelves and flipping them over in his hands. Get a closer look. Nathan was just as quick to put them back.

“Abaddon, we’re shopping for Ben,” Nathan reprimanded him softly. “Not you.”

Abaddon finally snapped when the folding shovel he’d been trying to pry from its plastic was snatched from his grip. Nathan’s disapproving look only made him jab an accusatory finger into the man’s chest.

“You told me you wanted my help!”

Nathan put his hands on his hips, “You were supposed to keep me from getting distracted, but it’s really starting to feel like it’s the other way around!”

Abaddon thought he’d been doing a fabulous job. Nathan hadn’t thrown a single unnecessary item into the cart, despite his very persuasive argument for the snow cone maker. Abaddon had remained steadfast in his duties. Admittedly, he’d been a little sidetracked here and there, but this was his first visit to the palace that was H-Mart. Nathan had been here hundreds of times; what was his excuse?

As Nathan droned on and on about how they’d never find a present, Abaddon peered further down the aisle. Though he would never admit it, he, too, was growing doubtful they’d find a gift. This Ben seemed to be impossible to impress.

Then, just as hope was fading, as if a cosmic ray of artificial white light had shone down from the ceiling above, Abaddon’s eyes landed on the most magnificent object he’d ever seen.

A tactical machete.

It came with its own sheath and was protected by only a thin layer of plastic. By Abaddon’s estimation, it was about eighteen inches long, with a curved blade and a wooden handle. His eyes widened. He hadn’t laid eyes on such a fine weapon in decades. Nathan noticed the shift in his attention and turned to see what he was staring at.

“A knife?” He asked sceptically, rubbing his chin. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Abaddon made a few unintelligible sounds before regaining his composure. “It’s the ideal gift— look at it! It’s glorious!”

From what Nathan had told him, Abaddon doubted Ben owned a proper weapon. It was perfect. He kicked his legs, urging Nathan to move the cart closer. Nathan caught on and rolled him forward until he could reach it. The knife was quickly snatched from the shelf and shoved into Nathan’s eyeline. 

“This is essential for any young boy! It’s useful and versatile!” He reasoned. Abaddon turned it slowly, as if he were marketing the thing. Nathan remained unconvinced.

“Go on,” he prodded, raising a brow. “Humour me with some of these uses.”

Abaddon narrowed his eyes. Clearly, Nathan thought he wanted the machete for himself, which, of course, he did, but not at the cost of birthday cake. Even he knew he could always return to H-Mart for another knife, but who knew when Nathan would bring home world-famous desserts again? His argument had to be ironclad.

“It can be used for clearing foliage, or hunting and disembowelling small animals,” he began. Nathan’s face didn’t move. Abaddon scrambled for something better. “Or defending against enemies!”

That made Nathan pause; he seemed to truly be considering it.

“Hm. Ben does strike me as the type to need help defending…” Nathan muttered. Abaddon held his breath as Nathan gave the item in his hands one last glance over. “You know what— I think this could work.”

“Yes!” Abaddon cheered, raising the machete high above his head. “This is a most worthy gift!”

Nathan grinned enthusiastically.

“High five, my friend!” he raised his hand. Abaddon shot daggers in his direction before looking back at the knife. Nathan clapped his hands together with a tight-lipped smile. “All right, I’ll high-five myself.”

His self-pity didn’t faze Abaddon. He had done it! He had found the gift, meaning he would be receiving his two slices of birthday cake. 

Nathan plucked the machete from Abaddon’s hands and tossed it into the cart, earning him another spiteful look.

In the end, they checked out with the gift bag, the tissue paper, the machete, the Christmas tree waffle maker, and a Three Musketeers bar Nathan had caught Abaddon trying to slip into his pocket. Nathan eventually relented and bought the candy, mostly because he felt guilty that he had gone back for the waffle maker.

A fine haul, if Abaddon did say so himself.

However, it seemed the store had taken longer than Nathan had expected. Despite finding a suitable gift, he was tense the entire drive back to the hotel, impatiently tapping the steering wheel at every stop. He kept muttering about being late. Abaddon just ate his Three Musketeers and stared out the window.

As they turned onto the road leading to the hotel, Nathan lowered the radio volume.

“All right, Abaddon. I’m running behind schedule, so we’re doing this school drop-off style,” Nathan said quickly. “Tuck and roll, bud.”

Abaddon blinked. The man was speaking nonsense. 

“Tuck and roll?”

“I’m gonna pull around front; you just hop out and go inside,” Nathan clarified. “Think you can handle that?”

Think you can handle that? Hah. Abaddon had handled things beyond Nathan’s feeble comprehension, and yet the man still spoke to him like a child.

“Of course I can handle it,” Abaddon snapped, folding his arms.

“And don’t forget to take off your outside clothes and hang them on the coat rack,” Nathan said, his tone serious. He glanced over, and when it was clear Abaddon wasn’t listening, he snapped his fingers in his face. “I mean it. And take off your shoes. I don’t want water tracked everywhere.”

“All right!” Abaddon seethed, eyes fixed outside the window, and more importantly, away from Nathan. The audacity, snapping in his face! Who did he think he was?

“Are you actually going to do it, or are you just saying you’re going to do it so I’ll stop talking?”

Abaddon couldn’t fathom how Nathan could know him so well and still not at all. He childishly shot back, “I’m going to do it!”

“Okay.” Nathan nodded, though he was still visibly on edge. “Oh, and don’t forget to listen for the bell at the front desk. Do you remember how to check in guests?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know all of the things!” Abaddon slammed his fist against the car door, desperate to end the conversation.

That seemed to satisfy Nathan, and by then they were already pulling up to the hotel. So Abaddon supposed there wasn’t much more to say. The sight of the building was a welcome relief.

Despite what he’d been led to believe, there was no tucking, nor rolling. The car came to a complete stop, and Nathan reached over to open the passenger door and unbuckle his seat belt. He barely got out a single “Remember—!” before Abaddon slammed the car door shut.

By the time he reached the hotel entrance, Nathan’s car was already disappearing down the driveway. 

Abaddon stepped inside and began peeling off the extra layers he’d been bundled in, tossing them aside without a care. The shoes, however, stayed on. He didn’t care if he tracked water through the lobby.

The afternoon passed uneventfully. No guests came in, the ghosts were unusually quiet, and Abaddon had no desire to put his coat back on to venture outside. Instead, he sat in front of the portable heater beside the front desk, scribbling on a sheet of printer paper with a Sharpie. He was trying to draw his castle: the H-Mart had inspired him. He wanted every line to be precise, using both hands to steady the marker, but every so often it slipped, leaving a black streak across the hardwood floor.

After far too long of trying to get the structure just right and failing miserably, Abaddon crumpled the paper and tossed it aside. It was a lousy distraction.

Though he would never admit it, he was waiting for Nathan to return— not for Nathan himself, but for what he had promised to bring back.

It wasn’t until the sun was long down that he heard a car pulling into the driveway. By that point, he had retreated to the spot under the sink he was slowly claiming as his own. He climbed onto the counter so that he could peer out the window over the sink. Sure enough, Nathan’s car was the one slowly coming up the driveway. He hopped down and hurried toward the front doors. 

When they finally opened, Nathan stepped in, hugging his arms and shivering. Abaddon didn’t care about that; his eyes darted over Nathan’s person, searching for any sign of birthday cake. There was none. Still, he clung to hope as Nathan shrugged off his jacket and hung it by the door. Maybe he was protecting the cake from the cold. It wasn’t snowing, but the temperature had dropped significantly overnight.

Nathan turned, and still there was no cake. Abaddon marched up and seized his wrist, checking beneath his arm, just to be sure. Nothing.

They had made a deal. Where was his prize?

“Where’s my birthday cake?” Abaddon demanded, dropping Nathan’s arm.

He was met with a wince.

“I’m sorry, bud. I wasn’t able to grab any; I kinda left in a hurry.”

Abaddon squinted up at the man. It was then that he really got a good look at him. The bags under Nathan’s eyes were deeper than usual, his mouth drawn into a tight frown, and his hair was a mess; it was as if he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. He looked upset, but Abaddon was certain he wasn’t as upset as he was.

“You promised birthday cake.”

“I know,” Nathan sighed. “And I’m sorry. The party ended kind of... abruptly.”

Abaddon didn’t care about the party. He wanted cake. He had been promised cake. He’d been on his best behaviour the entire outing, sure, he hadn’t exactly been good, but he very rarely even tried, and he thought Nathan had appreciated that effort. And yet he’d come back empty-handed.

Clearly, he didn’t appreciate Abaddon’s sacrifices.

“We had a deal,” Abaddon argued, voice rising. “I want birthday cake.”

Nathan’s expression softened. For a moment, it looked like he was going to argue, offer some weak excuse for why he had gone back on his word. Abaddon wanted him to argue, was daring him to— but he didn’t. Instead, he just gave Abaddon a resigned look and retrieved his keys from their hook.

“All right,” he said quietly. “Get in the car. We’ll go buy you some cake.”

Buy him cake? He had been promised Nathan’s sister’s world-famous German chocolate cake. He wanted to push, but one look at Nathan’s face told him this was as good as it was going to get. Abaddon was out the door before Nathan even had his coat back on.

He stood waiting by the car, forcing himself not to shiver. Nathan came out a moment later, Abaddon’s jacket draped over his arm.

“You’re going to get sick,” Nathan muttered as he handed it to him.

Abaddon impatiently shoved his arms into the sleeves. “I can’t get sick.”

Nathan hit the button that unlocked the doors.

“Oh.”

This car ride was not as enjoyable as the last two.

He’d been forced to sit in the backseat, which took much longer to heat than the front. At least Nathan had remembered to give him his coat. His knees were pulled to his chest, and he glared bitterly at the man in the driver’s seat. If Nathan had kept his end of the deal, they wouldn’t be stuck here: in the car, in the cold, in the dark.

Abaddon could hear the tyres crunching over the dirt road and the sound of Nathan’s steady breathing. He hadn’t realised how much the music usually drowned out. Nathan didn’t move to turn on the radio; his eyes flicked back toward Abaddon every few seconds. He could tell the man wanted to talk. The awkward staring was getting on Abaddon’s nerves. He almost wished Nathan would just open his mouth and speak. 

His not-quite-wish came true not long after.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you back cake,” Nathan blurted out. “Things were happening so fast— one minute we were singing happy birthday and the next, Kathy was screaming at me to get out!”

The outburst wasn’t what shocked Abaddon; it was that Nathan had been booted from the event. 

There had always been an assumption that Nathan’s family were just like him. How else could they all have built up such a strong immunity to his stupidity? But this put a hole in that theory, because something that Nathan had done had elicited such a strong reaction from his sister that he’d been told to leave. What could he have possibly done to shatter that tolerance?

“What did you do?” Abaddon hadn’t even meant to ask; it was an inside thought that had just tumbled out.

“Nothing!” Nathan squawked, defensive at once. Then, seeing Abaddon’s sceptical look, he added, “Okay— something. Kind of a bad something.”

This piqued Abaddon’s interest. Nathan seldom did wrong. He could be infuriating, but rarely was it intentional, and even more rarely did Nathan notice when he committed those wrongdoings. It made Abaddon kind of excited.

“What was it?” he pressed.

Nathan hesitated. That put Abaddon on the edge of his seat. This was a sort of shame he’d never seen in Nathan, and he was dying to know what could have possibly caused it.

“I told my niece and nephew their parents were separating.”

Abaddon practically deflated. That was it? That was the big, bad thing Nathan had done? It was baby’s first wrongdoing— hardly something to get worked up about. Nathan did worse day to day, and this was the revelation that popped his clueless little bubble?

Abaddon crossed his arms, “How’s that bad? Did you separate the parents?”

He was genuinely trying to find the logic in Nathan’s guilt, but nothing made sense.

“No, I didn’t separate them.” Nathan sighed, realising he’d have to explain if he wanted Abaddon to understand. “You’re not supposed to tell people bad news on their birthday. Especially when it’s a secret. And even though I knew it was a secret, I told them anyway. I don’t even know why! I guess I wasn’t really... thinking?”

“You should think more often.”

Nathan laughed, but it sounded empty. “Yeah, I probably should. Um...” His voice cracked slightly.

Abaddon wondered if he might start crying. He sort of hoped so. Nathan struck him as the kind of person who’d be an ugly crier, and that would at least make the drive interesting.

“My sister is really mad at me, which is fair. I kind of ruined Ben’s thirteenth birthday, I think.”

Abaddon rolled his eyes. Nathan’s human melodrama was ridiculous. “He’ll have a hundred more.”

Only after saying it did he realise it might have sounded like comfort. When, really, he was just stating facts.

“I don’t know if he’ll have a hundred more, but I get what you’re saying.” Nathan’s voice steadied, and Abaddon cursed himself for his inadvertent reassurance.

“Thirteen is young, but it’s also important to a lot of kids,” Nathan went on. “I mean, I thought I was hot shit when I turned thirteen— and now every time Ben thinks of it, he’ll think, ‘Wow, that’s the day my uncle told me my parents are getting divorced.’”

“He should think of it as the day he received a very suitable weapon,” Abaddon said flatly and without hesitation. “That blade will last him a century.”

The car went quiet. Abaddon looked up at the rearview mirror to see Nathan’s guilty expression. There was a pit in his stomach. What was wrong with the gift? They made eye contact, and Nathan gave him a sympathetic look.

“I don’t think he liked the knife, bud.”

“What?!” If Abaddon hadn’t been strapped in, he would’ve leapt out of his seat. “What do you mean he didn’t like the knife?”

He’d put so much thought into that gift! He’d never put thought into a gift before, and for what? To have it rejected by a human child he’d never even met?

“Yeah, sorry.” Nathan offered a wary smile, like he was pretty sure Abaddon was about to explode. Abaddon didn’t need his pity. “Pretty sure Esther liked it, though. Kathy’s probably pissed about that, too.”

He wasn’t sure who Esther was, but he was fairly certain Kathy was Katherine. The more he heard about her, the less he liked her. For a brief moment, when Nathan admitted she’d grown fed up with him, Abaddon had thought she might be a sensible human. But now it just seemed she was a worse version of Nathan. What kind of mother wasn’t grateful her child had been given the means to defend himself?

“Your sister sounds... irritating.”

“She’s not irritating,” Nathan said immediately. Abaddon didn’t know why he felt the need to defend her. “She’s just got everything figured out, you know? And when you’ve got it all figured out, I think you forget how hard it is to figure it out!”

Abaddon could hear Nathan’s hands smacking the steering wheel with every word. Even while driving, the man spoke with his hands— wild and emotive. And still, Abaddon had no idea what point he was trying to make.

“Figure what out?”

Was Nathan suggesting Katherine had learned to overcome her own vacuity? Was he jealous of his sister?

“I don’t know— life?” Nathan huffed. “Obviously, everything’s not perfect. I mean, her marriage is toast, but like... she had a husband, and kids, and a mortgage!”

So he was jealous.

“I mean, before last year, I was couch-surfing with my beanie bros in Montana!”

“What’s Montana?”

“It’s bleak, that’s what it is.”

Before Abaddon could ask any follow-up questions, Nathan continued, voice rising again.

“I only moved here because I won this stupid hotel, and I only accepted it because it was close to Kathy.” He was halfway between a laugh and a cry. “But before today, I hadn’t seen her or the kids in months! I don’t even remember the last time I talked to her on the phone!”

Abaddon didn’t have a response. 

Usually, he found Nathan’s misery entertaining, but this was making him uneasy. This man was sitting there venting all his frustrations, all the things that must’ve been floating around in his head for who knows how long, and Abaddon had no idea what he was supposed to do.

He couldn’t think of a single thing that would make Nathan feel worse, and he absolutely didn’t want to say something that might make him feel better. Everything that came to mind sounded vaguely comforting, and that irritated him. So he stayed silent.

“And then I show up to this birthday party,” Nathan said, waving a hand at the air, “and I really, really tried to connect. I even talked to Ron— and that’s hard. You’ve never met Ron, so you don’t get it, but that man is an idiot.”

Abaddon actually chuckled at the irony in that statement.

“You’re laughing, but he has burn scars all over his stomach from trying to firewalk at a barbecue three years ago!” Nathan turned halfway in his seat to look at Abaddon, even though he should’ve been watching the road. “And then he rubbed a bunch of aloe on it and told everyone it was his own special remedy he was about to start selling— but I saw the label!”

Nathan sighed, swerving the wheel slightly as he finally looked forward again.

“But it wasn’t just him. No matter who I talked to, it was like a brick wall. My nephew hates me, my niece thinks I’m boring.” His voice dropped. “And my sister... I don’t know what she thinks, but I don’t think it’s anything good.”

There it was. The root. Nathan wanted his sister’s approval. All he had to do was make Nathan question himself, question what his sister thought of him, and he would crumble. He waited for Nathan to go quiet, then he struck.

“What have you done to earn your sister’s respect?”

It was like time had frozen in the car. If the ranting made him uncomfortable, this eerie silence made him downright unerved.

Abaddon wasn’t sure what he’d expected: an argument, maybe, or some attempt to defend himself. Instead, Nathan just kept driving. There was no explosion, no indication that he had heard what Abaddon said.

Finally, Nathan spoke.

“How about some tunes?” He cleared his throat. He didn’t wait for Abaddon’s response; he simply jacked the radio volume up.

Chapter Text

“Let’s go!” Abaddon shouted, booking it down the front steps of the hotel. “You need to get under the weather!”

Nathan chuckled, then called after him, “Not quite, but you’re getting there.”

Abaddon frowned. How was that incorrect? Nathan did need to get outside; “under the weather” was precisely where they were going. Ever since Nathan had told him he wasn’t using idioms correctly, Abaddon had been trying very hard to incorporate them into his speech. He hated it when his abilities were questioned; however, this particular task had been especially trying.

He gave no response, choosing to ignore Nathan’s words. He was already at the car with both hands on the handle, throwing his body weight forward and backwards as he tried to yank it open. He knew it wouldn’t budge; the car was locked. Nathan was shouting at him to knock it off from somewhere behind him, but that didn’t stop him. Abaddon kept going until the telltale click signalled the doors were unlocked. He opened the back door and climbed in without waiting for Nathan’s help. If he could situate himself before Nathan reached the car, maybe the man would forget he hadn’t buckled Abaddon in.

The car was even warmer than the outside air. Summer was in full swing; the sun beat down on them the moment they stepped out of the hotel, and Abaddon loved it. This was his favourite kind of weather. The car was even more pleasing— the sweltering heat reminded him of Hell.

He peered out the car window. Nathan was coming down the front steps, keys in hand. Abaddon found himself, bizarrely, making note of Nathan’s appearance; he was wearing a polo shirt and khaki shorts with his usual hiking boots. It was peculiar to see him so... uncovered, but he supposed that was typical of humans in the summer. Their fragile human vessels weren’t created for such warm weather.

Much to Abaddon’s disappointment, Nathan beelined for the rear door. He gave Abaddon an amused shake of his head before buckling him in and closing the door with a slam. Abaddon crossed his arms but didn’t complain.

The car had become routine for them, so much so that Nathan had purchased a child’s booster seat off the online marketplace where he sold and bartered miscellaneous items from the hotel. Abaddon had attempted to argue at first, but Nathan was quick to shut him down. This was the new normal. He was tired of getting dirty looks every time he unbuckled Abaddon at the grocery store. He claimed the booster seat was a compromise. Abaddon was apparently small enough that Nathan said he really should have an actual car seat, but he knew the demon would never tolerate that. Abaddon thought this was a ridiculous attempt at excusing the grossly inappropriate purchase. This was not a compromise; the compromise was his joining Nathan anywhere he asked. Wasn’t that sacrifice enough?

Nathan’s door clicked open. Abaddon watched as he climbed into the car and slid the key into the ignition. The air conditioner was mostly busted, wheezing out warm air for a solid five minutes, and whether it ever managed to blow anything cold was a real hit-or-miss affair. Nathan rolled down all four windows to let the breeze from outside in. He fanned himself dramatically, murmuring apologies for the heat. His hand stayed positioned in front of the vent until it finally sputtered to life. He made quick work of rolling up the windows, not wanting to let the cold air out.

Abaddon shifted uncomfortably as the cool air filtered through the car. He rubbed his arms and shot a nasty glare in Nathan’s direction. They sat for a moment in the sudden chill; Nathan slumped against his seat, clearly acclimating to the change in temperature. He let out a small whistle and looked back.

“Ready to hit the road?”

After what felt like an eternity, the car began rolling down the driveway. Abaddon sank down and planted his feet on the back of the passenger’s seat. And while he wouldn’t admit it, he sort of liked the booster seat. It made him taller; even when he slouched, he could still see out the window. He enjoyed watching how fast the trees moved.

The car was a much more effective way of reaching town. Walking took nearly an hour, but driving only took a little under fifteen minutes. Ever since their first excursion, Nathan had been finding every excuse possible to bring Abaddon along. And though Abaddon wasn’t exactly eager to be strapped into a car seat, the rewards he got for his services made it tolerable.

Nathan had realised early on that three meals a day were enough to keep Abaddon in the hotel but not enough for much else, certainly not enough to convince him to come into town whenever he desired. So a new reward system had slowly been put in place, one outing at a time.

There were four reasons they went into town. The first reason was their most frequent excuse for leaving the hotel: buying and selling on Nathan’s online marketplace. These trips were made once or twice each week. The reward was a slushie from the convenience store on the edge of town. As long as they went at the right time, the drinks only cost a quarter, so Nathan was more than willing to lose a few cents for Abaddon’s cooperation.

The next outing happened only slightly less often: the grocery store. There wasn’t a set schedule; they went whenever Nathan had an influx of cash, usually after a guest came in. In return for good behaviour, Abaddon would get a Pez dispenser from the shelf beside the register.

Nathan always seemed surprised by the choice, commenting how the candy was a bit… lacklustre. And Abaddon would be forced to agree if asked; luckily, he was never asked. So he quietly continued collecting his small army of dispensers. He had a little over half a dozen so far and was willing to play the long game. Once the army was large enough, he could take them back to Hell and raise them from their inanimate states. He’d seen most of them in the movies and TV shows Nathan watched; he knew the power these small men held. He assumed that was why they’d been shrunk down and put into toy form for mass consumption.

Then there was the doctor’s office. Abaddon still had no idea what this doctor was for. Nathan wasn’t sick or injured, yet every three weeks, they had to drive to a small office in Syracuse. The appointments were quick, barely half an hour, and the best part was that Abaddon didn’t even have to go inside. Nathan didn’t trust leaving him alone in the lobby, so Abaddon spent every visit in the car. The first time, Nathan had left the engine running, but it quickly became apparent that wasn’t a sufficient system. Despite his initial reservations, he decided that leaving Abaddon in the non-running car wasn’t the worst idea. It wasn’t as if the warmth bothered Abaddon; he’d been quite vocal about enjoying the stagnant heat. And for Nathan, it avoided a drained car battery. The only rule was to stay out of sight, which Abaddon didn’t find difficult; it was very rare for anyone to trek across the abandoned parking lot.

This was easily his favourite outing. The heat was perfect, and the reward afterwards made it even better. Every appointment ended with a pack of cigarettes, something that made Nathan visibly uncomfortable. Every time they pulled into the drive-thru of the smoke shop, he would go on and on about how giving a child tobacco products just felt wrong. This regularly bugged Abaddon; he wasn’t a child. And even if he currently resembled one, it hadn’t been until about fifty years prior that cigarettes became difficult for children to purchase. Unfortunately, stealing them proved even trickier than buying; humans were surprisingly territorial of their vices.

The last place they regularly visited was where they were heading now. And while this was by far the heftiest task for Abaddon, he was willing to persevere. Once a month, Nathan had to pick up his prescription from the pharmacy in Midwich. In return for accompanying him, Abaddon would receive an all-too-rare treat: a meal from the small burger joint known as Jimbo’s. Nathan was a frivolous spender, but he very rarely ate out. He preferred to get by on his subpar cooking skills so he could direct more money toward his knick-knacks. It was an aggravating matter, but the wait made the payoff all the more satisfying.

He watched out the window as they pulled into the parking lot. Nathan was already tapping his fingers on the steering wheel while searching for a spot. He didn’t like this any more than Abaddon did. There were too many people around for Nathan to leave him in the car, which meant Abaddon had to come inside. And while Abaddon almost always behaved, Nathan was far more on edge bringing him into the pharmacy in the town he’d tormented for the past three hundred years than he ever was in Syracuse.

Eventually, they pulled into a spot. Nathan’s hands stayed steady on ten and two long after the car stopped.

“I’m not chasing you,” Nathan said. Abaddon could see his fists clenching and unclenching in his lap. “If you wander off, you are out!”

“Out?” Abaddon repeated, bewildered.

“Out!” Nathan turned back to give him a fierce look. “Out of the hotel! I’m the owner, so I have that right!”

Abaddon rolled his eyes. That seemed to amuse Nathan; he tried to keep a straight face but quickly broke into a wide grin, laughing under his breath. It wasn’t clear how serious the threat had been, but Abaddon chose to proceed with at least some caution. He wouldn’t actually be out of the hotel, but he’d very likely be out of luck.

He watched Nathan turn off the car and take a steadying breath before unbuckling and climbing out. Trying to beat him to it, Abaddon jabbed at the seatbelt release a few times without success. He pushed the button until his finger slipped, and a glimpse down showed the sharp tip of his nail had snapped clean off. With a sigh of resignation, he settled back and waited for Nathan to come around and free him.

The short walk to Abaddon’s door seemed enough to throw Nathan right off his axis again. The man looked tense as he unclicked the buckle and reached across Abaddon to grab a crumpled hoodie from the seat beside him. In Midwich, Abaddon had to wear the jacket. The townsfolk knew of him, but the simplest disguise was enough to throw them off. The hoodie was Nathan’s, so it hung just below Abaddon’s knees. He shoved the sleeves up and pulled the hood over his head. Nathan seemed pleased with the effort, letting him hop out on his own and slam the door shut.

The whole walk to the sliding doors, Abaddon squinted, trying to make out who stood at the pharmacy desk. There was usually a small bowl of candy there. If the man were working, he’d lower it toward Abaddon, asking in a false high-pitched voice if he wanted a piece. If it were the woman, Abaddon would have to try to snatch one without Nathan noticing. Apparently, it was rude, even though the candy was clearly just sitting there for the taking. Abaddon felt a slight pang of disappointment when he saw the woman behind the counter.

As the door slid open, Abaddon was hit with a wall of frigid air. Nathan put a steadying hand on his shoulder and guided them to the back of the line. Abaddon threw his head back and groaned when he saw how long it was. There were plenty of people ahead of them, all looking wrinkly and fragile. He wondered if that was what Nathan’s medicine was for— keeping him from ending up like that. If Abaddon had to guess, the man was reaching that age. Did humans have to take medication until the day they died?

Abaddon grimaced. If that really was the reason, he supposed he understood why Nathan always grew so twitchy in the days leading up to his prescription retrieval. Maybe the man could already feel the creak settling into his bones. Abaddon didn’t like the things human bodies did; they were always inching closer to death.

Shaking his head, he glanced around for something worth looking at, even though he already knew there wasn’t anything— just rows of tablets and cough syrup. Everything remotely interesting sat well above his eyeline. And every time he drifted even a step from Nathan’s side, a hand closed around his sleeve. He tried to shake Nathan’s sweaty fingers off, but there was no escaping it.

The line felt endless. By the time they reached the counter, Abaddon had folded in on himself, sliding forward until he could let his forehead thunk against the cool wood while Nathan spoke to the woman. Abaddon resisted the urge to bang his head against the side of the counter as Nathan let out another forced laugh. He lifted his head just enough to peek at the scene taking place above him. Maybe, while Nathan was distracted, he could swipe a piece of candy.

Before he could make a move, a firm hand clamped around his wrist. Nathan shot him a warning look, giving a subtle shake of his head as the woman stepped away to fetch the prescription.

“Stop it,” Nathan muttered through his teeth, tugging Abaddon closer. No matter how he twisted, Abaddon couldn’t pry himself free from the man’s grip. With an exaggerated “Ugh,” he let his head fall back to the counter.

He heard a few strained lines of conversation traded between them before the faint crinkle of a paper bag signalled that the medicine had been handed over.

Nathan didn’t wait to help him into the backseat. He just unlocked the doors and climbed into his own. Before Abaddon had even managed to reach the car, Nathan’s door slammed shut.

Abaddon opened his own door with both hands, using it for balance as he wrestled with the hoodie. The fabric stretched and cracked as he yanked it over his head. He finally tore the thing off, letting out a deep gasp as it slingshotted itself away. A very sharp look was shot into the front seat. He tried to spark guilt in him, but Nathan already had his forehead pressed to the steering wheel as he fanned the warm air from the A/C toward the back of his neck.

Realising he would not be receiving a half-baked apology, Abaddon clambered into his booster seat with a bitter huff.

Nathan stayed silent until the door clicked shut. “That went well, right?” he asked, glancing back at Abaddon. “It definitely went well.”

“You had ants on your legs,” Abaddon remarked. The confusion on Nathan’s face made it obvious he’d used the phrase wrong. Abaddon let it go, allowing the man to spiral on his own terms.

Nathan always did this: beg him to come, then panic from the moment they reached the lot until they left. Abaddon didn’t need to know what went on in his head to recognise the pattern. Nathan was lonely. He hated going places alone. Even a few minutes seemed unbearable for him. Despite the fear that something would go wrong and suddenly everyone would know that Nathan was associating with the weird kid who ran around eating rocks, he needed Abaddon to tag along. Ruining his reputation amongst his neighbours was the lesser evil than being alone.

Abaddon looked over at Nathan, silently urging him to start driving. Nathan shook his head, as if waking himself up. “I’m sure you’re starving. You ready to go?”

Abaddon kicked his heels against the back of the passenger seat harder than necessary.

“I’ll take that as a yes...” Nathan said, finally making an effort to pull out of the parking lot.

By the time they pulled into the drive-thru, the air conditioner was blowing cold again. Nathan spoke over his shoulder. “You want your usual, right?”

“Obviously,” Abaddon said slowly through gritted teeth.

“Obviously.”

Nathan put a hand up in defence as he rolled down the window to give their order to the man in the speaker. All Nathan ever got was a small drink, and Abaddon never understood that choice and didn’t care to. As long as his own prize was secured, Nathan could do whatever he pleased.

They pulled forward to the window. Abaddon was pretty sure Jimbo’s used to be a house— or maybe a large shed. It didn’t have a sliding window like the cigarette shop, just a normal one like the hotel’s. A wooden block kept it from closing all the way, and several pieces of paper shoved into plastic bags were taped outside. He watched as Nathan paid with his plastic card and received his small drink.

Abaddon leaned forward, hands curling around the headrest. “Where’s mine?” he demanded.

Nathan seemed a bit panicked at Abaddon’s sudden proximity. “They’re still making it,” he said, nudging Abaddon back with his elbow. “Why aren’t you wearing your seatbelt?”

“You didn’t strap me down,” Abaddon said matter-of-factly.

“Why do you always have to say it like that?” Nathan grumbled, reaching back to clumsily buckle him with one hand. “It makes it sound like I’m keeping you here against your will. I’m trying to keep you from flying through the windshield if we crash.”

“I would be fine if I flew through the windshield,” Abaddon protested.

“Sure, but I’d get arrested,” Nathan snapped quietly. The window slid open.

Nathan greeted the worker, then accepted Abaddon’s frozen yoghurt cone. He passed it back right away. It was already melting. Abaddon never understood why humans ate frozen treats in the summer when they’d stay cold longer in the winter. Regardless, he wasted no time sinking his teeth into it. Chocolate spread from his nose to his chin in seconds.

The wait for the rest of the food was torture. He tried to focus on the cone, but his eyes kept drifting to the window. The cone was becoming soggy. It was melting too fast, dripping down his hand and into his lap. He held his hand over the middle seat so the melting frozen yoghurt would drip there instead.

Finally, he heard the window slide open. Abaddon kicked the back of the seat over and over as the man accepted the brown paper bag from the worker. However, instead of passing it straight back where it belonged, Nathan set it in the passenger seat as if Abaddon couldn’t see the whole exchange.

Nathan pulled out of the drive-thru carefully, one hand on the wheel, the other already rustling around in the greasy bag. Abaddon could smell the food.

“Let the cat out of the bag!” Abaddon groaned.

Nathan snorted, clearly finding Abaddon’s statement hysterical. “I think you’re getting worse at this.”

Before Abaddon could reply, Nathan was pulling his hand out of the bag. Abaddon watched as the man stole one of his onion rings and popped it into his mouth. Abaddon let out a shocked squeak. Nathan laughed before properly offering the bag, holding it open for him.

“Careful, please,” Nathan said without looking back. “I don’t have enough baking soda to clean those seats again.”

Abaddon ignored him. He emptied the onion rings into the cup holder of his booster seat and tore open the burger wrapper. Before he even managed a bite, mustard dripped onto his shirt. After a few mouthfuls, he balanced the burger on his knee and reached into the cup holder for a handful of onion rings. He crushed them until the breading slipped away, leaving only the thin strips of onion he actually wanted. The soggy remains went into the floorboard.

He wasn’t intentionally making a mess— other than disregarding the breading, he had no intention of wasting any part of this precious meal. But the shaking car made it nearly impossible to keep his hands steady, and he’d never been a clean eater to start with.

Nathan checked the mirror. “Oh, come on,” he groaned. He seemed like he wanted to say more, but didn’t. He just shook his head and focused on the road. “You know what? Do what you want.”

Abaddon took a bite of his waffle cone, melted yoghurt spilling down his sleeve.

As Nathan merged into traffic, he let the wheel rest against his knee so he could dig around for the white prescription bag. Abaddon watched out of the corner of his eye. He tore it open and pulled out a small box.

“I have a headache,” Nathan muttered, pushing a tablet through the foil and swallowing it with a sip of his drink.

Abaddon briefly considered if that was what the medication was for— to make his head not hurt. He quickly brushed that thought away; it simply didn’t make sense. Nathan always had a headache; he complained at least twice a day. The likelihood he’d keep taking something that didn’t work was low.

Abaddon decided to return to his original idea that the tablets were to avoid rapid ageing. He imagined flushing the pills down the toilet and watching Nathan panic as his hair went white. Turning to sand before Abaddon’s very eyes. He laughed to himself. It was an enticing thought, but no Nathan meant no frozen yoghurt cones.

And frozen yoghurt cones were definitely on his mind; his was dripping from the bottom. It was almost entirely melted. He grimaced and dropped the whole thing into the floorboards. Chocolate had dried on his shirt and across the seat. Ketchup had coated his hand.

Nathan glanced back. Abaddon made direct eye contact as he wiped the ketchup onto the car door.

“I hope you know—” Nathan started, jabbing a finger in the air as if lecturing the rearview mirror he was using to talk to Abaddon. “—when we get home, you’re getting hosed down.”

And hosed down he did get. The instant they pulled up to the hotel, Nathan dragged him out of the booster seat and carried him straight to the back garden. Abaddon tried to put up a fight, kicking and yelling. He managed a few good scratches, but Nathan didn’t relent.

“You need to keep your hands to yourself!” Abaddon grunted, still thrashing as hard as he could. “Seriously, I am this close—”

“I am going to bend you out of shape!” Abaddon snapped, grabbing the front of Nathan’s polo in an attempt to lightly choke him into letting go. Nathan tried to push him away, but quickly gave up and elbowed Abaddon hard in the chin.

“Just talk normal!”

Abaddon grabbed his chin on instinct, even though it hadn’t actually hurt. That tiny pause was all Nathan needed. In one swift, annoyingly practical motion, he flipped Abaddon around and locked his legs and arms tight against his chest. Abaddon kept wriggling, but eventually went limp, accepting there was no way of escaping the man’s grasp.

When they reached the garden, Nathan kept a strong hold on him, only releasing him once the hose was on. Even then, he held Abaddon’s wrist firmly. Abaddon tried one last time to claw free, but it was pointless. Within seconds, water sprayed from the nozzle.

Abaddon hissed. This was worse than the shower; the water was perpetually cold, and he didn’t even walk away from it smelling like the citrusy tang of Nathan’s orange-scented dish soap.

They were both wet and panting by the end of it. It was clear Nathan had not enjoyed the affair. He wiped sweat from his forehead and dropped the hose.

“I’m going back to town,” he said, still out of breath. “I need to get some stuff to clean the backseat.”

“Am I coming?” Abaddon tried to shake the water from his arms. Cleaning supplies meant the store, and even if it wasn’t the one in Syracuse, he was almost certain they had Pez dispensers.

“No,” Nathan shot back. “No… You are going to stay here and— think about what you’ve done!”

Abaddon watched him walk toward the car. For reasons he couldn’t fully name, he trailed after him. It felt like they were tied together by some invisible cord, and Abaddon physically couldn’t wander more than a certain distance away. His body had a mind of its own, and it irritated him endlessly.

“I haven’t done anything I don’t usually do,” he argued, hurrying to keep up. “And you’re punishing me for it?”

Nathan let out a harsh laugh. “Punishing you? You hate leaving the hotel.” He stopped abruptly and turned, arms folding tightly across his chest. “The only reason you come with me is that I buy you things. I’m not buying you anything today, so bringing you would be a waste of everyone’s time.”

“So you’re punishing yourself?” Abaddon mirrored the crossed arms as deliberately as he could. “You hate being alone.”

It was meant to be a “gotcha!” moment, but Nathan didn’t waver.

“No, ‘Mr. Psychologist’,” Nathan retaliated, lifting his fingers in sloppy air quotes, “I actually like having alone time. It’s nice not having to worry that the demon that lives under my sink is going to eat someone’s purse poodle!”

Abaddon stomped after him when he turned away. He didn’t know what a psychologist was, but the tone made it sound like an insult, so he decided to take it as such. He kicked at the dirt as hard as he could. It wasn’t as dramatic as he had hoped. A cloud of dust puffed up and coated the back of Nathan’s soaked legs. Luckily, Nathan seemed properly aggravated as he looked down to survey the damage.

“Great. Now I’m going to be itchy,” he muttered, brushing at the grime before giving up. “Just go inside and do whatever it is you do when I’m not around!”

Abaddon watched as Nathan steered himself toward the car. Abaddon pivoted toward the hotel, hollering his retort.

“Fine!”

Whatever it was he did when Nathan wasn’t around? He did plenty of things. Nathan was barely a speck in his day-to-day life. And now that it was warm again, he hardly spent any time indoors at all!

Fury pulsed through him, and heat climbed up his neck. He felt like he was on fire. He tried to think of all the things he could do with this anger. He started mentally cataloguing his options: dish soap in Nathan’s shoes, peanut butter in his jacket pockets, maybe even dropping his toothbrush in the toilet for good measure.

He wasn’t sure which he would choose, but it would be something that taught Nathan not to cross him. Something that proved exactly what would happen if he were to ever speak to him that way again.

Abaddon decided to go with all three. 

When he was finished, he’d forgotten why he was upset in the first place, so he decided to hang around outside the parlour. There was a small creature who kept blowing air in his ears when he passed the room, and Abaddon was determined to catch it, even if it took all night. 

His stakeout didn’t last long.

He could pinpoint the exact moment Nathan returned to the hotel, mainly because the man was walking around the building shouting his name. He didn’t sound angry. It reminded Abaddon of those first weeks in the hotel, when Nathan would wander around calling for him just to talk his ear off. He supposed he couldn’t expect Nathan to stay sore if he himself had gotten over the exchange.

When the footsteps drew closer, Abaddon peeked around the corner to make his presence known. Nathan jumped at the sight of him, clearly startled, then smiled widely down at him.

“There you are! Come here a sec, I got something for you.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a familiar little package— a Pez dispenser.

Abaddon immediately went to snatch it. He turned it over a few times; he didn’t recognise the character. It looked like some kind of robot.

“It’s Iron Man,” Nathan supplied, as if he could hear the gears in Abaddon’s head turning. “I don’t think you’ve seen that one yet. It’s pretty good. Well, the first—” 

Nathan cut himself off.

“Doesn’t matter.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Point is... I felt bad for yelling at you earlier. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling kind of… off today. You know what I mean?”

Abaddon gave Nathan a flat, unintelligible look. He had no idea what the man meant. Instead of asking, he flopped onto the floor and started trying to tear open the package.

Nathan seemed to take that as an invitation to slide down the wall and sit beside him.

“I felt all kinds of weird,” he said with a long breath. “Like… anxious and angry, just bad. My brain is doing this emotion soup thing, and it’s making me act all funky.”

Abaddon wasn’t listening too hard; he had finally freed Iron Man from the plastic prison. However, he could feel Nathan staring holes into the side of his head; he had to say something.

“Okay,” he spat, offering the smallest acknowledgement possible. He forced himself to look over. Nathan was, as expected, frowning.

“Did I hurt your feelings?” Nathan sounded genuinely worried, which made Abaddon want to argue, clear his name, something— but he stayed neutral. If he argued, Nathan would argue, and at the moment, he didn’t even want to be speaking civilly.

“No.” He bit into the packet of Pez candies, paper and all. He tried not to react to the taste.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Nathan nod.

“Good. That’s good.” He paused briefly. Then he spoke, and the words that came from his mouth felt like a bomb going off. “Abaddon… I really don’t want you to hate me.”

Abaddon made a very pointed effort not to look at Nathan as he responded.

“I know.”

Another beat of silence.

“Do you hate me?”

Abaddon didn’t reply. He had known Nathan for just about seven months, if his calculations were correct, and if he were asked at any point prior in those seven months, he would have said yes. But at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to utter the word. Though he supposed his silence spoke for itself.

Chapter Text

Abaddon stood at the edge of the woods with an ice pick in one hand and a trash bag dangling from the other. He was completely dishevelled. Blood was spattered from his shoes to the collar of his shirt, his hands coated entirely in the sticky red substance. Glancing down, he noticed the dirt and twigs stuck to his knees— probably from when he’d crouched behind a tree, waiting for his target.

Deep in the forest lay his victim, a tall beast with what must have been a dozen legs and large sweeping wings. From afar, it was Mothman-shaped. However, it was not Mothman.

This hadn’t been a random attack; Abaddon had been planned for weeks, figuring out the best way to remove that thorn from his side once and for all. Killing it seemed to be the best option; he was so ready, and yet… he’d failed. All that planning, an entire morning of meticulous preparation, wasted on some creature he hadn’t even known he needed to worry about.

His trash bag hung heavily at his side, still dripping with blood. A physical reminder of his shortcomings. It had been an integral part of his plan. 

First, he’d filled it with three heavy rocks, then a handful of various nuts and berries he’d scrounged from the area. This half-rate snack tray wouldn’t draw in Mothman, but it was good for luring in something else. He’d had to wait nearly three hours, but finally, a bit before the sun was set to rise, three squirrels ventured into the bag in search of breakfast. 

Once they were fully inside, Abaddon made quick work of twisting the opening shut. They barely had time to squeak in protest before he swung the bag hard against the side of a tree. The rocks were meant to bludgeon Mothman, but they certainly assisted in the swift killing of the squirrels.

The rest of the morning had been spent using the same ruse for his real target; the only change was swapping the nuts for squirrels. Abaddon hoped it would be enough; he wasn’t the best hunter, and he didn’t have time to wait for a deer to fall into his lap. Mothman usually went for bigger targets, but he wasn’t above picking over the dead.

It was hours before the large creature finally arrived. Abaddon barely glanced at it before swinging the trash bag and bashing it over the head. He didn’t have time to waste.

As it staggered, he pulled out his ice pick and struck again and again until it collapsed. He didn’t stop. He drove the ice pick into its skull until he was sure it was dead.

When he was finished, he was panting and dripping sweat from the effort. He stepped back to get a proper look. It was then that he saw that this creature was not Mothman. Not even close. Sure, it was large and winged, but the resemblance ended there. It had more in common with a myriapod than a moth; its shiny black exterior was tough-looking but, like any bug, quick to crumble under pressure. 

The worst part was that he was now left with the cleanup. He hadn’t killed the creature he’d been hunting, but he couldn’t leave this one behind either. Abaddon decided to take the time to sever its head, then dropped it into the trash bag to use as future bait. The rest of the body needed to be buried as quickly as possible; the longer he waited, the longer the smell had to marinate. 

Unfortunately, the thing was far too massive for him to drag all the way to his usual burial site on his own. So he needed to head back to the hotel. He remembered Nathan pushing a wheelbarrow around during his brief attempt at yard work; it was perfect for hauling the remains. He would also need to grab the good shovel from the shed and dig his hole before returning to that neck of the woods.

From the edge of the trees, Abaddon could see the entire garden, from the dying hedges to the bottomless pit. He’d expected Nathan to be inside at the front desk; the plan was simple: poke his head in, ask about the wheelbarrow, and hope the man didn’t feel the need to escort him. Instead, he was startled to find him outside at the side of the hotel, turning on the faucet. It wasn’t like Nathan to water the garden. Why the sudden interest? 

It was like the universe was punishing him, foiling all his plans, which made no sense, because he hadn’t done anything to deserve such misfortune!

The worst part, in Abaddon’s opinion, was that upon closer inspection, Nathan appeared to be practically unclothed! The only thing he wore was a pair of yellow shorts, which were not enough. Abaddon felt he was seeing far too much of him. He hadn’t wanted a reminder of all the places humans could grow hair.

Abaddon let out a low grumble of frustration, dropping his trash bag and ice pick behind a tree. He’d retrieve them once he secured the wheelbarrow, but for now, they needed to stay hidden. The less conspicuous he looked, the fewer questions Nathan would ask. He glanced down at his bloody hands and wiped them front and back on the sides of his pants. From an outside perspective, he probably still looked a mess. 

Hopefully, Nathan wouldn’t feel the need to question it.

He started toward the back garden, where Nathan was now holding with what looked like a very shiny sleeping bag. Abaddon took a steadying breath, bracing himself for the conversation as he approached.

“Where is the wheelbarrow?” he asked, stopping a good ten feet from the man.

To Abaddon’s surprise, there was no reply. Nathan wasn’t fully facing him, but he should have noticed him in his peripheral— and if not, he certainly should have heard him.

“Hello?” Abaddon’s voice grew a bit louder, though he refused to move any closer. Still, Nathan continued his blatant disregard. Abaddon bit the side of his mouth in anger. “Do not ignore me!”

Nathan seemed to sense his frustration and finally glanced over, then back at whatever he was holding. “Give me a second, I’m trying to—”

A sudden snapping sound cut him off. Abaddon instinctively took a step forward to see what Nathan had been fiddling with. He watched as Nathan tossed a zip tie, the likely source of the noise, into the grass. The sleeping bag, which on closer inspection was definitely not a sleeping bag, unfurled across the lawn like a runway.

Abaddon tilted his head to the side. “What is that?”

“Slip’ n Slide,” Nathan announced with a grin, using both arms to aggressively fan out the tarp. Once it looked straight and aligned, he gently laid it across the grass.

Abaddon repeated the name under his breath. “Slipping slide…”

He pondered over its purpose, wondering why a slipping slide would be in their yard. Was it a trap? Was Nathan finally taking a page from Abaddon’s book and attempting to capture his enemies? Highly unlikely.

Nathan stepped over the slipping slide and grabbed a box from the nearby patch of dirt. He carried it back to where Abaddon stood and tipped it over, shaking two stakes and a paper booklet onto the grass. He kicked the box and the pamphlet aside, then dropped down into a crouching position.

Curious, Abaddon drew closer. Nathan seemingly pulled a small rubber mallet from thin air and began manoeuvring the stakes into the small openings the slipping slide had been designed with. He hammered them in haphazardly, nearly smashing his hand in the process. His only reaction was to sheepishly look up at Abaddon and laugh it off with a relieved: “That was a close one.”

Once both stakes were fully in the earth, Nathan grunted and pushed himself upright. Abaddon watched him stride to the water hose and lift it from where it had been slowly forming a small oasis beside the hotel. Nathan held his hand under the flowing water. Only then did Abaddon notice the spray attachment was missing. He wasn’t aware it could be removed. 

Interesting. He decided to keep that in the back of his mind for the next time Nathan threatened the hose.

“Hey, Abaddon!”

Abaddon looked up, then back down to see Nathan positioning his thumb over the centre of the stream, sending water spraying in every direction. 

“Do you think this is too cold?”

Abaddon didn’t have time to answer before Nathan jerked the hose upward, nearly hitting him with a shower of water. Abaddon shot him a dangerous look and immediately reinstated the ten-foot rule, though he wasn’t convinced ten feet would keep him safe from the hose.

Nathan merely laughed and angled the spray back toward the plastic tarp. He paced up and down the slipping slide a few times, coating it until he apparently decided it was ready.

This made Abaddon once again question why Nathan had decided to set up the slipping slide at all. The thought jogged his memory: the millipede monster. 

His eyes flicked instinctively toward the forest where he’d left its corpse.

“Now we just wait for it to fill up,” Nathan declared, hands on his hips as he looked over at Abaddon. Abaddon hadn’t even heard him approach. He jolted and stepped a few paces to the left to reestablish the distance between them.

Nathan was no longer holding the hose. Abaddon scanned the garden, wary of a surprise attack, until he spotted it. The water was still running— he could hear it— but the hose itself had vanished beneath the slide. He frowned, then shook his head erratically. He needed to focus.

“Where is the wheelbarrow?” he asked again, now certain he had Nathan’s attention. “I need it.”

Nathan threw both hands up, waving them frantically.

“Wait, wait— just wait a second!” He pointed at the slide, which seemed to be… inflating? “Just watch! Wait until it fills with water.”

Abaddon threw his head back, his interest in the slipping slide already gone. He had far more important matters at hand. He’d let himself get sidetracked, and he needed to retrieve the wheelbarrow and bury the creature before Mothman picked the corpse clean. He couldn’t risk his nemesis learning the scent of its blood; Abaddon would have to find new bait. The severed head would be completely useless!

“I don’t have time for this.” Abaddon spun on his heel and set off for the shed. He’d find the wheelbarrow himself.

Nathan rushed after him, grabbing him under his armpits and guiding him back. Abaddon groaned but allowed himself to be turned toward the slide.

“Trust me, my friend— you’re gonna love this.”

Abaddon had a feeling he absolutely would not.

Abaddon’s disinterest never seemed to faze Nathan; today was no different. Nathan wasn’t even looking toward Abaddon as he launched into a tangent about his childhood: how he and his sister used to have a slipping slide and how much fun they’d had with it. Abaddon didn’t catch most of the details spouted throughout his rant; he didn’t care what Nathan did as a child. But he did gather that the slipping slide wasn’t a trap, which made him even less interested.

Nathan finally loosened his grip, though he still kept a hand on Abaddon’s shoulder, holding him in place.

Abaddon stared at the slide. Small holes had formed along the surface of the barrier, and thin streams of water popped through the plastic. The runoff pooled at the circular end and trickled back toward their feet. The slide had turned into a shallow river. Abaddon looked up at Nathan as cold water soaked into his shoes, a disgusted expression undoubtedly plastered across his face.

“Look at that,” Nathan said proudly, nodding toward the slide. “Perfect.”

“It’s broken,” Abaddon pointed out, jabbing a finger at the small holes in the barrier. Nathan was stupid, but he wasn’t blind. Clearly, he had to have seen the damage.

“No, no,” Nathan laughed. “It’s supposed to do that.”

Abaddon put up a hand, attempting to dismiss him.

“I must go,” he said, reaching up to brush Nathan’s hand from his shoulder. Instead, Nathan’s grip only tightened, both hands settling firmly on either side of Abaddon’s shoulders. Abaddon stiffened and looked straight up to see Nathan looking down at him from overhead.

“First,” Nathan raised a commanding finger, then dropped his hand back onto Abaddon. “I want you to try it.”

Abaddon wrinkled his nose. “Try what?”

“The slip’ n slide!”

Abaddon’s gaze drifted back down to the slide, water still rushing toward them. He still didn’t know what exactly he was meant to do on the slipping slide.

“One slide,” Nathan said, trying his best to sound persuasive. “Just one.”

Abaddon’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. He must have looked like a fish out of water. Finally, he managed something that seemed halfway dignified.

“It is imperative that I retrieve the wheelbarrow and carry out my utmost critical affairs.”

He tried to string together a few of the most sophisticated words he knew in hopes of swaying the man. He should have known that wouldn’t work; it never worked.

“Just because you’re using big words doesn’t mean what you’re doing is actually important,” Nathan teased, poking a finger against Abaddon’s cheek.

Abaddon growled and swatted his hand away. “It is important.”

It was! He was wasting valuable time; there was only a small window when Mothman wasn’t active, and daylight was slowly slipping away. Mothman was nocturnal, but he emerged before sunset and lingered past dawn. He was out more often than he wasn’t, which meant Abaddon had very little time to work.

And then there was the other glaring issue: Nathan still hadn’t explained how the slipping slide worked, so even if he wanted to, he couldn’t do “just one slide”. Thankfully, Nathan was always strangely good at reading his mind— at least when it came to things that didn’t matter.

“All you have to do is run, dive, and slide on your stomach,” Nathan said, making a sweeping gliding motion with his arm. “Easy peasy, summer breezy.”

Slide on his stomach? In water? Why would Nathan assume he wanted any part of that? Nathan stared at him expectantly, repeating the gliding gesture with a cheerful little “whoosh!”

Abaddon shot him a foul look. “I’m not going to do it.”

“Oh, come on!” Nathan begged, clasping his hands and waving them dramatically in Abaddon’s face. “It takes five seconds. Not even five!”

Abaddon didn’t speak; he simply forced his face into the dirtiest, most unamused scowl known to man and demon alike.

Nathan gave a loud, theatrical sigh. It sounded forced, but Nathan had odd inflections; it was never totally clear when he was being genuine and when he was poking fun. 

“I guess I’ll show you where the wheelbarrow is.”

That was more like it. Abaddon shifted to face him with an anticipatory gaze. Nathan scratched the back of his neck and looked right over Abaddon’s head.

“It’s over there, behind that corner,” He said, pointing in the opposite direction of the shed.

That idiot. Of course, he wouldn’t keep the wheelbarrow in a sensible location.

Abaddon turned the direction Nathan was pointing, glancing far beyond the slipping slide for any sign of the wheelbarrow. He was just about to take a hefty sidestep to avoid the stream running across the grass before him.

Then hands pressed into his back.

He should have anticipated it, but his body froze, refusing to react. Time dragged itself out, trapping him in this slow-motion horror scene. His feet slipped out from under him and crashed chest-first against the slick plastic tarp.

The buttons of his shirt dug painfully into his skin. Luckily, he was able to roll onto his back, but the relief didn’t last long. He skid dangerously close to the slide’s edge several times before finally crashing into the barrier with a loud, hefty splash.

He felt water in every crevice of his face, in his nose, his eyes, his mouth, his ears; it was unescapable! When he pushed himself up onto his knees, the first thought that came to mind was: that was not less than five seconds. He wouldn’t even give it the benefit of the doubt of being a flat five. 

He span his head back so quickly that he became slightly disoriented. Nathan was a psychopath— a complete and utter psychopath.

Demons were corrupt, cruel, and downright evil. But humans had a word for someone so unbelievably malicious, someone who lacked any sense of empathy or guilt. 

Psychopath.

And Nathan was undoubtedly that.

Abaddon slammed his hands into the shallow pool of water.

“What is wrong with you!?” His hair was wet, dripping into his eyes. “That was horrible! How dare you subject me to that!”

Nathan seemed at a loss for words, scoffing and gesturing wildly between Abaddon and the slide.

“It was only horrible because you had improper form!” Nathan argued defensively, crossing his arms. He sounded serious, as if it truly were Abaddon’s fault. Abaddon hated him... he hated him so intensely it felt as though it were a physical sensation.

“It was horrible because you pushed me!”

“It was a small nudge, and I nudged you straight!” Nathan raised a finger, like he was about to make some grand, trumping point. “You were the one flipping and flopping all over the place!”

Abaddon’s eye twitched. “I didn’t want to go on the slipping slide.”

His voice dropped to a deathly low tone, dark enough that if he were in Hell, thundering storm clouds would have rolled in overhead.

Nathan had the audacity to wave him off as he positioned himself at the top of the slipping slide. He stretched his arms outward, then up toward the sky.

“It’s simple! Okay, watch!”

This time, the world didn’t slow; if anything, it sped up. Abaddon was still trapped in the shallow pool when Nathan suddenly hurled himself forward, flopping onto his stomach and barreling straight toward him. Abaddon scrambled, slipping once before managing to launch himself over the barrier and land in the grass.

That was definitely less than five seconds; he was lucky he had time to avoid the wrecking ball that was Nathan. He sat up just in time to see said destructive force laughing, half-hanging over the edge of the slide. Mud and grass clung to Abaddon’s clothes, and the splash from Nathan’s landing had drenched him even further. He growled as Nathan climbed out, not an ounce of remorse on his face.

“You almost crushed me!”

Nathan only laughed. “You wouldn’t have let yourself get crushed.” As he passed by, he reached down to ruffle Abaddon’s hair.

Abaddon shoved his arm away— hard, trying to knock him off balance.

Abaddon crossed his arms tightly over his chest; however, this was not an act of defiance. He was freezing. The light breeze mixed with the water clinging to his clothes was a deadly combination. He felt like he needed to hold himself together or else he’d shiver right out of his skin. Even winter hadn’t felt as cold as this; how could that be?

He tried to shake some of the water off as he shot a glare in Nathan’s direction. The man was already stepping back into position. Winding up for another go, Abaddon wanted no part of it.

“I can only do this a few times,” Nathan said with a breathless laugh. “I might have the spirit of a spring chicken, but my body… is not…”

Not what? Abaddon furrowed his brows so deeply he felt his nose scrunch. He watched as Nathan gave an awkward bare of his teeth, then looked back at the slipping slide with a deep breath.

Abaddon’s confusion only grew, “Why get a slipping slide if you can’t use it?

“For you,” Nathan said, as if it should have been obvious. “I thought you might like to have some fun in the sun.”

Oh, whatever. That was honestly the first thought Abaddon had; it was such absolute ludicrousness that his brain short-circuited and defaulted to Nathan-speak. The man had purchased this for himself; the only reason he wanted Abaddon to join him was likely because it seemed like an awkward solo activity.

Nathan waved a hand toward Abaddon, trying to regain his attention. Unfortunately, he was successful in this. Abaddon sighed as Nathan waved his arms toward the slide.

“Watch this.” He took another step back and lightly jogged the small distance between him and the plastic runway. “Running start!”

Abaddon almost laughed; this was hardly running. He’d seen Nathan walk faster; the only difference was the exaggerated high knees. Then Nathan dove, very ungracefully, belly-first onto the slide. 

His speed was immediately alarming, especially considering how weak his “running start” was. Instead of slowing at the small pool of water near the end, as Abaddon had, he only seemed to pick up momentum.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

Abaddon watched, amazed, as Nathan completely overshot the barrier. Nathan tried to grab hold, but his speed carried him past it; the manual attempt to stop himself did no more than slightly fork his body to the left. Instead of landing chest-first on the patch of dead grass, he hit the dirt beside it, his side skidding loudly across the ground.

Nathan groaned, clutching his side and writhing in pain.

Abaddon’s eyes widened. 

Suddenly, he was very glad he had stayed the few seconds it took Nathan to make his second attempt.

He rushed over, scanning the man’s torso up and down. There was a streak of brown and red where he’d landed, and when he shifted, a couple of scrapes became visible on his back. Abaddon dropped to his hands and knees for a closer look, not caring about the dirt sticking to his palms.

“Are you injured?” He knew he sounded too eager— too excited for the answer, but didn’t care. He reached toward the bloody scrape. “Does it hurt?”

Nathan swatted him away with a heavy hand, his whole body flinching away from Abaddon’s touch. “Damn it, Abaddon— yes, it hurts! Don’t touch it!”

Nathan’s voice was dripping in anger. Abaddon didn’t understand why humans were like that. Pain made them lash out. Abaddon experienced pain all the time, and it didn’t turn him into a grovelling child. He especially didn’t understand why the anger was being directed at Abaddon rather than himself. It wasn’t like he had told Nathan to hurl himself into the dirt at fifty miles per hour!

“It’s not my fault,” Abaddon snapped back, matching Nathan’s defensive tone. “If you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.”

Those words left Nathan’s mouth at least twice a day. In his mind, Abaddon played a lot of stupid games. But now it was Abaddon’s turn to throw it back. Because he wasn’t the one acting like a fool, he wasn’t the one winning stupid prizes. Nathan was.

Nathan sucked in a sharp breath, then stared at Abaddon with wide, perplexed eyes. For a moment, the vague stare made Abaddon uncomfortable.

“Did you use that right?” Nathan suddenly asked. He pressed a hand to his forehead and began laughing; it was pained, but he was laughing. “Oh my God— I think you used that right!”

He sounded equally bewildered and amused. Abaddon crossed his arms. He used it right, and he was being laughed at? How was that fair? He took Nathan’s moment of distraction to reach down and poke a finger into the scrape on his back.

“Abaddon!” Nathan stopped laughing. He tore his hand from his forehead and shoved him backwards. Abaddon landed on his back with a scowl. “I told you not to touch it, are you deaf?”

Abaddon glanced at the blood on his finger before slipping it into his mouth. Nathan saw this and grimaced.

“I think it’s time to go inside. I need to bandage this up,” he sighed, seemingly taking a moment before attempting to stand.

Abaddon rolled off his back and hopped to his feet, fully intending to follow; he wanted a better look at the injuries before they were covered. Nathan dragged himself upright; he grunted and moaned the whole way. 

He stood for a moment, taking in the state of the yard. Abaddon followed his gaze. The slipping slide had been torn from its stakes, and a muddy carnage had been left in that corner of the garden. Water was still running, the stream only feeding the quickly forming swamp. Nathan shot Abaddon an assertive look.

“Go turn off the hose,” he directed, already limping toward the hotel.

Abaddon didn’t stop to consider the implications; he sprinted to the faucet and shut off the water. When he looked back, Nathan had already vanished through the side door. Abaddon bolted up the small concrete porch and slipped through it after him.

Inside, he caught Nathan’s back as he traversed up the side staircase. Abaddon followed the soggy trail of footprints that were left behind, careful not to run across the wet hardwood floors. Still, he moved at a brisk pace, trying to keep Nathan in sight. He followed the man all the way up to his bedroom. 

The door was left open, a clear invitation to enter.

Nathan was nowhere to be seen. He looked back and forth, slightly out of breath from the chase. Then he heard a familiar ‘thunk’ in the bathroom that connected to the bedroom. Abaddon made his way across the room and turned the doorknob.

Nathan stood in the bathtub, still wearing his yellow shorts, which now had a few pea-sized red and brown stains near the waistband. He’d pulled the showerhead from its mount. And after turning on the water and testing the temperature with his hand, he began rinsing the dirt and blood from his wounds.

Abaddon rushed to the edge of the tub. Nathan looked over, watching Abaddon for a good long second before shaking his head and letting the showerhead fall loosely to his side.

“Grab a towel,” he sighed. “You’re shaking like a chihuahua.”

Abaddon hadn’t realised he was still shivering. He grabbed a large towel from the rack, draped it over his shoulders, and returned to his place beside the bathtub. Inside, blood and dirt spiralled down the drain; much to Abaddon’s disappointment, the wounds were now mostly clean.

Nathan reached for the dish soap he kept in the bathroom specifically for Abaddon, squeezed a small amount into his hand, took a steadying breath, and rubbed it into the scrapes. He winced, teeth gritted.

The rinsing process went swiftly.

Abaddon watched as Nathan shut off the water and stepped out of the tub. He took a hand towel from the rack and dabbed at his side, cleaning off the excess water. Then he crouched in front of the sink and pulled open the cabinet. Abaddon couldn’t see what he was searching for, but after a few seconds of rummaging, a small metal tin appeared on the edge of the sink.

“What’s that?” Abaddon asked, climbing onto the toilet to get a better look.

“A first aid kit,” Nathan said, flipping up the tabs. Abaddon peered inside. It was mostly bandages, with a large brown bottle and a roll of white tape tucked beside them. Nathan pulled out the bottle, the tape, and two large gauze pads. “I need to clean these scrapes, then put these on.” He held up the gauze for Abaddon to see.

Abaddon scrunched up his nose, “You just cleaned them in the bathtub. I watched you put soap on them.”

“I have to clean it again with hydrogen peroxide.” Nathan shook the brown bottle, and Abaddon heard liquid splashing against the sides. It sounded mostly full.

Nathan opened the bottle and turned so his back faced the mirror. He tossed a look over his shoulder once or twice, adjusting his stance, then checked the bottle again before pouring a small amount into his hand.

He took a deep breath, then put his hand to his side and let the liquid drip lightly over the abrasions. He hissed and looked away for a moment before regaining composure and glancing in the mirror to check the coverage.

Abaddon watched in absolute fascination as the liquid began bubbling over the scrapes.

“Your skin is fizzing,” Abaddon said, leaning in, entranced.

“Yes,” Nathan muttered, attempting to remain stone-faced. “Don’t touch it.”

It was a preemptive warning, and he was right to make it, because that was precisely what Abaddon had been planning to do. Despite Nathan’s words, he started reaching toward the bubbling patch.

“Abaddon,” Nathan’s voice was perfectly even as he turned his body to dodge Abaddon’s reach. “I told you not to touch it, bud.”

Abaddon groaned and shifted from standing on the toilet to plopping down on his bottom. He decided to watch from a distance as Nathan tried to lay the gauze flat over the scrapes. Nathan managed to cover most of the ones on his side, but the ones on his back were hit or miss. Abaddon almost hoped Nathan would ask for help, just so he’d get a chance to feel the bubbles, but he didn’t ask for help.

Instead, Nathan poured the hydrogen peroxide over his shoulder— most of it splashing onto the floor. The scrapes on his back weren’t as bad, so Abaddon supposed Nathan didn’t need to cover them with the same large gauze he’d used on his side.

“You’re being very slow,” Abaddon said as Nathan winced again, using the hand towel to wipe the peroxide from his back.

“Yeah, because it hurts,” Nathan sighed, shooting Abaddon an exasperated look.

Abaddon scoffed and turned away. He’d already lost interest; there was no more blood, and Nathan was almost finished patching himself up. His mind was already drifting back to the woods, the millipede creature he still needed to be buried before evening settled in. He pulled the towel tighter around his shoulders.

The more he thought about it, the more he didn’t want to go back outside. He was still wet, and he was cold. Those were stupid reasons to delay something so important, he knew that. His mind knew this was what needed to happen, but his body didn’t want to. He sighed; it didn’t matter what his body wanted. It wasn’t even his body; he was just borrowing it.

He decided then and there that he’d go back outside as soon as Nathan finished bandaging himself. 

It was a short-lived milestone.

When he looked over again, Nathan was crouched in front of the sink, sliding the first aid kit back into its rightful spot. He straightened and faced Abaddon.

“How do you feel about watching a movie?” he asked, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “If you want, it could be something gory. A slasher?”

Abaddon weighed his options. He needed to bury the millipede creature; he wanted to! He was sure he did, but his mind kept offering excuses:

Like the woods weren’t going anywhere, and that the little screaming people in the TV were always fun to watch. He pulled the towel tighter around his shoulders. He hadn’t even had lunch yet; at the very least, the burial could wait till after lunch.

“…Fine,” he decided, hopping off the toilet seat. “But I want a grilled cheese.”

He began moving toward the door, but Nathan stayed motionless, planted in front of the sink. Abaddon halted in the doorway, growling softly in irritation.

“Are you coming?” he questioned.

Nathan nodded, “Give me a second— I need to change. I’ll meet you in the lounge.”

Abaddon paused in the doorway. His eyes narrowed, “A grilled cheese,” he repeated, just in case Nathan’s crash had scrambled his brain. The man gave an assured thumbs-up.

Abaddon waited in the lounge. He sat on the floor beside Nathan’s chair; it was the only seat with a clear view of the TV. He shivered and pulled his knees up to his chest.

He was still cold, but he’d traded his damp towel for Nathan’s comforter. It was far better at conserving heat. He’d yanked it from Nathan’s bed on his way out and dragged it behind him down the stairs. Almost tripping twice, luckily, he made it down in one piece.

Now he sat wrapped in it like a cocoon, trying to generate warmth. He wasn’t sure why he still felt so cold— maybe the blasting window unit was behind him, perhaps the fact that he wasn’t fully dry. He supposed he was always miserable after getting sprayed with the hose. He tried to blow warm air into his hands. His mouth was always full of hot air.

Nathan took his sweet time getting to the lounge. 

When he finally arrived, dressed in his usual relaxation clothes, he carried a plate with a grilled cheese and a bowl of soup.

“Hey, that’s where that went,” Nathan said, staring at the comforter wrapped around Abaddon’s shoulders. He wrapped it tighter around himself. “Jeez, you only went in the water once. How are you still shaking?”

Abaddon looked up at him, frowning slightly. “I didn’t ask for soup,” he said as Nathan set the bowl in front of him. He sniffed it suspiciously.

“It’ll warm you up,” Nathan said. He picked up the grilled cheese and dipped it into the bowl. Abaddon let out a squawk of protest. “Just taste it.”

Abaddon hesitantly took the dripping sandwich and nibbled the corner Nathan had dunked. It was… pleasant. He dipped it again, deeper this time. His knuckles were dripping soup when he pulled the sandwich back up to his mouth. Half of it was stained red. A long drip plopped onto Nathan’s comforter.

Nathan laughed, though there was a twinge of exhaustion behind it.

“Oh, I’m going to regret that,” he muttered, stepping toward the TV. Abaddon watched from behind as Nathan thumbed through his big book of DVDs. Nathan hummed softly, then pulled one from its plastic cover and held it up with a grin. “I love this one!”

Abaddon squinted, unable to make out the title— not that it mattered. He couldn’t read it anyway. Nathan turned on the TV, pressed the button on top of the DVD player, and waited for the tray to slide open before placing the disc inside and closing it again.

As Nathan made his way to his reclining chair, Abaddon listened for the familiar whir of the DVD spinning up. He liked that sound; he imagined it was an alarm waking all the tiny people who lived inside. The TV screen went black; it always went black before the menu appeared. Abaddon fixed his eyes on the screen, waiting.

“Didn’t you have something of the utmost importance to attend to?” Nathan questioned, with a stifled laugh, as Abaddon wiped soup from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Abaddon kept his eyes trained forward. “It can wait.”