Chapter Text
The sound of heavy combat boots echoed through the eerily silent halls of the Undervale. Esther’s pace was quicker than usual, neck craned out in front of her. It was clear she was looking for something –- or, more accurately, someone. She bit back the urge to call his name. He had quickly learnt someone calling his name typically meant he was in trouble and would flee at the sound of it. So, Esther had resigned herself to the old-fashioned method of scanning every room of the seemingly endless hotel. She mentally cursed herself for not getting him microchipped when they took him to get his rabies shot.
After what felt like a millennia, Esther finally found who she was looking for. Sitting cross-legged on the ground of the parlour was Abaddon, currently occupied with carving his sigil into the skull of a ram. Whether this was to claim it as his own or to perform some kind of ritual was anyone’s guess. Esther tried her best to act casual, leaning against the doorframe and contorting her face into what she hoped was a carefree smile.
“Abbie! Don! The Cobra King! Donnie-boy!” She rattled off, strained.
“Esther,” he replied bluntly. He didn’t look up from the skull.
After a moment of awkward silence, Esther cleared her throat. “So… Any pressing plans for the night?”
Abaddon hummed noncommittedly. “I was considering tracking Mothman again. The beast may have claimed victory in our last battle, but I am not so easily defeated.” He furrowed his brow, gazing out the window at the vast expanse of the forest. “He may have won the battle, but I will win this war.”
Esther nodded slowly. “Cool, cool. Are you, like… married to the idea of doing that tonight, or…?” She trailed off, kicking at a frayed section of carpet.
“Why?” Abaddon squinted, finally meeting Esther’s eye.
Esther scoffed, waving her hand. “Oh, nothing, nothing. I was just wondering if…” The words died in her throat again, and she kicked herself mentally. It was simple. Beyond simple! Why was she struggling to get the words out? The worst he could say is no. Actually, it'd be horrible if he said no. Abaddon eyed her suspiciously, observing her mental struggle as an outsider.
She took a deep breath.
“I’m going to a party and I want you to come with me!” She finally blurted out.
Abaddon crinkled his nose. “What type of party?”
“The type with drunk teenagers and awkward hookups?” Esther sucked her teeth as Abaddon’s expression further soured.
“Sounds dreadful. I’d much rather spend my night settling my score with Mothman.”
“Oh, please? Give it a chance, dude!” Esther pleaded, resorting herself to sit on her knees in front of the demon. “We can go crazy! We can totally trash the place and then dip, free of consequence or responsibility cause of how utterly fucked up everyone’s gonna be! Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Abaddon seemed to perk up slightly at the idea of mischief-making. “No consequences?”
“Yeah, man! A total free-for-all. C’mon, it’ll be awesome.”
He huffed, chewing the inside of his cheek in contemplation. “Why are you so eager for me to come with you?”
“Are you kidding? You’re my best friend!” Esther exclaimed in disbelief.
“What about Heather?”
“Heather’s my girlfriend. Which, I mean, doesn’t mean she’s not my friend anymore, but -–” Esther saved herself the trouble of explaining ‘trivial human bonding traditions’ to Abaddon again (which confused her as to why he had such a hard time grasping the concept –- wasn’t he married in Hell? She supposed human and demon marriage traditions must be vastly different.) by cutting herself off and changing the direction of her sentence. “She’s coming too, but I wanna share this experience with both of you. This is my first time getting invited to a classic, crazy high school party. It’s important to me.”
After a moment of contemplative silence, Esther spoke up again.
“You also make a really good bodyguard.”
Abaddon’s gaze hardened. “Will this place be dangerous?”
“Well, it could be. I’m a freshly eighteen year old girl going to a party full of drunk strangers. I can hold my own, but you can never be too careful.” Esther found herself parroting sentiments her mother had hammered into her the moment she got old enough to start going out on her own. Not that she did go out, save for her expeditions into the forest and other, dangerous outdoor places with Abaddon. That was a whole different kind of danger to what she’d encounter at riotous house parties, though.
Abaddon nodded sagely. “Then I shall accompany you. If anyone dare lay a finger upon you, they shall feel my wrath,” his eyes flared red with the emphasis.
Esther placed a hand over her heart, touched.
“We should start getting ready, then. I’m supposed to be picking up Heather in an hour. I suggest you change into some different clothes.”
Abaddon frowned. “What’s wrong with my attire?”
Esther gave him a quick once-over. He had donned himself in traditional Victorian clothing, seemingly having graduated from the old Georgian style he wore when his vessel was still young. Esther grimaced. Waistcoat, cravat and breeches weren’t typically the type of thing that’d help you blend in at a house party. Besides, his clothes were stained and radiating a concerning stench akin to something you’d smell in a morgue.
“Just trust me on this one, dude. I think Ben left behind some clothes that’d fit you.”
Abaddon grumbled, but ultimately resigned himself to listening to Esther. He supposed she knew better in this scenario…
While Abaddon went digging through the clothes Ben had deemed unnecessary for college, Esther had busied herself with making sure she looked presentable. She didn’t usually bother putting on make-up, but she decided she’d at least do the basics tonight. She hummed, sitting back in her desk chair to admire her handiwork. It was a little sloppy due to the inexperience, but she didn’t mind. Would Heather mind? She wouldn’t think so. Heather didn’t mind when she was covered in dirt and the blood of cryptids –- she wouldn’t mind if her eyeliner was a tad wobbly.
Three melodic raps on her doorframe pulled her from her musings. Abaddon stood in the doorway, body unnaturally stiff in the unfamiliar clothing. Esther had to stifle a laugh.
“This fabric is unpleasant.”
“It’s a cotton hoodie, dude.”
“Exactly.”
Esther shook her head, pushing herself out of her chair and patting down her pockets. “Alright, I think I have everything I need –- protection talisman, runestones, pocket tome, gum, pentacle… Oh, keys!” She swiped the offending item off the desk and twirled it on her finger. She spared a glance at her phone. It’d take twenty minutes to drive to Heather’s, and an extra thirty to get to their destination. It was currently 6:12; if they left now, they’d hopefully get to the party just shy of 7:00.
The two piled into Esther’s car. She’d saved up for the vehicle for years. It was a cheap little shitbox, but it was hers, and Esther loved it to bits.
The drive to Heather’s was uneventful, save for the brief argument over the radio. Esther had ultimately relinquished control to Abaddon to stop her from crashing the car. The Beach Boys’ best hits were being blasted through the car’s tinny speakers, Abaddon humming along happily.
They pulled into Heather’s driveway just as the track went from God Only Knows to Surfin’ U.S.A, one of Abaddon’s personal favourites. Esther’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the girl emerge from her house. She looked beautiful -– nothing new there, of course. She quickly checked her hair and teeth in the side mirror as Heather approached the car.
“Hey, Esther! Are you listening to The Beach Boys? Didn’t think they were your style.” She questioned, tilting her head.
“Not my choice,” she gestured with her head to the demon in the adjoining seat. “Speaking of –- Abaddon, you’re gonna have to get in the back.”
Abaddon stopped humming, expression turning icy. “Why would I have to do that?”
“Because the front seat is reserved for girlfriends. Out.”
“No. I participated in the human ritual known as ‘calling shotgun’.”
“...No, you literally didn’t.”
“I declared it in my head.”
Esther stared at Abaddon, slack-jawed. “It doesn’t count if you don’t say it out loud.”
“Guys.” Heather introjected, not wanting the two to get into another argument. She knew they often drew blood when they fought. “I’m fine to sit in the back.”
“No, you’re sitting in the front!” Esther fought, desperate to win the uphill battle.
“I don’t want to sit in the back!” Abaddon growled through gritted teeth, eyes burning with fury.
“Well, tough! It’s my car!” Esther retorted, slamming on the steering wheel and accidentally setting off the horn. Heather jumped before sighing audibly.
The two locked eyes in a silent declaration of challenge. Who would budge first: the unmovable object of Abaddon, or the unstoppable force of Esther? Heather could only watch in abject horror, genuinely convinced one would lunge for the other’s throat at any second.
After a painful bout of silence, Esther spoke.
“Rock, paper, scissors?”
“...Alright.”
Abaddon chose paper. Esther chose scissors.
“Fine! You win this time, vile witch. But mark my words -– I shall remember this transgression until the very heat death of this universe!” He growled, words dripping in venom.
“You can’t even remember what we had for breakfast.”
Esther’s comment was met with a slam of the door.
Heather gingerly reopened said door, sliding into the front seat. Esther sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Sorry about him.”
“It’s alright. I’m pretty used to your rows by now,” Heather reassured, adjusting her glasses. “They’re kinda entertaining once you get over the initial fear that one of you is genuinely about to attack the other.”
Esther let out a snort. Abaddon grumbled in the backseat, knees pulled up to his chest. He’d decided he no longer wanted the opportunity to converse with the two girls in the front, slipping his headphones on and glaring fiercely out the window. Faint music could be heard leaking from the speakers of his old-fashioned walkman. Getting Abaddon to understand how this vintage device operated was hard enough -– Esther dreaded the day she’d have to teach him how an MP3, or God forbid, a phone with Spotify installed worked.
“...The bones and feathers hanging from your mirror are a projectile hazard if you crash.”
Esther rolled her eyes playfully. “Must you live so relentlessly in the real world, Heather?”
“I’m just saying!” She laughed, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Actually, about that,” Esther segued the conversation with a sly precision that took years to master. “You’re not planning to drink tonight, are you?”
“...No, because I’m a law-abiding citizen. Why?” She questioned, suddenly growing suspicious.
“Right, right. And you’ve got your license on you, yeah?” She continued, dodging Heather’s question.
Heather looked over at her, expression stony. “Esther.”
“Heather,” She whined, so much already conveyed in so little words. “I know I make stupid, reckless decisions, but drunk-driving is not one of them.”
“I know, I trust you.” Heather managed, conflicted. “But you could avoid that altogether by not drinking.”
“I don’t plan to get blackout, girl!” Esther argued, keeping her eyes fixed on the road. “I just wanna get a little tipsy. How will I have fun party stories if I’m not even a little drunk?”
“You can have fun without drinking.”
“I know, I know –- but it’s part of the experience!” Esther geared up to further hammer her point home before being interrupted by Abaddon, tapping her on the shoulder.
“Esther, do you have any mints left?”
“No.”
Abaddon groaned, flinging himself back into his seat. He resisted the impulse to kick the back of her chair.
“Anyway, as I was saying,” Esther continued, regaining momentum. “This is my first, and possibly last, time getting invited to a party like this. I might never again get the opportunity to live out my cliché high school movie party dreams!”
Heather sighed, leaning her head against the window. “What if something bad happens to you?”
“I have a pocket full of black magic, three emergency pen knives, and a fiercely loyal, immortal demon bodyguard slash brother. I think I’ve got all my bases covered.”
“I know, I don’t doubt it. I just can’t help but worry about you.” Heather spoke softly, feeling painfully vulnerable. In a bold show of confidence, she placed a hand on Esther's knee gently. “You mean a lot to me.”
Esther’s face softened. “You mean a lot to me, too.”
The group sat in silence for a minute, only punctuated by the hum of the motor and the faint buzzing of Abaddon’s walkman.
“Alright, I’ll be the designated driver.”
“Yes!” Esther cheered, dangerously close to accidentally veering the car. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’m gonna tattoo your name on my forehead, you beautiful woman.”
“Please don’t do that.”