Chapter Text
Chapter One: Daffodils
He had grown accustomed to the creaks and moans in the walls of the old hotel. The way the floors twitched and groaned under his feet, the sway of the chandeliers in an illusory breeze, the rumble and rattle of rusty pipes behind wood.
The ghosts were apprehensive at first; they had seen many hotel owners try and fail to get the Undervale up and running, and Nathan wasn't anything special.
It would go like this:
A new human would take ownership of the hotel. They tackled every task with enthusiasm, a twinkle in their eye, and a spring in their step. But with every new ghost and monster encounter, it wore them down piece by piece. The few guests that did happen to stop by the Undervale were scared off by the ghosts and oddities, pipes would clog and break, the lights flickered and went out, the roof leaked whenever it rained, and the stairs would give way under your feet to rot and termites.
They would all give up eventually. Pack their bags and try to pass on the hotel to some other poor soul.
It was a story tried and true: this hotel was cursed to damn all who set foot in it.
But Nathan was determined to be the first to succeed. Granted, he didn't have an excellent track record. And he didn't actually want this hotel in the first place (he was drunk and won it in a gamble), but goddamn it, he was going to make this work.
So he ran into it headfirst, spending every waking moment fixing, repairing, and getting to know the inhabitants.
It was exhausting.
Debt piled and climbed until it was unbearable, unpaid bills sat heavy on the desk, and the lobby was devoid of any human life.
But when he closed his eyes, he could imagine it, bustling and lively. Guests trickling in, lit fireplaces, kids running around and playing in the lobby, phone ringing, and clogged toilets. He would rather deal with a clogged toilet from a guest than rusty pipes crumbling to dust on his fingertips.
He could almost hear the music, maybe a live band! He should look into local bands to play in the events room. That would bring in business.
Lost in a daydream, he almost didn't notice the pot boiling over and spilling onto the stovetop.
"Shitshitshit!" He snatched the overflowing pot from the burner, and the water calmed with an exhale.
He was trying to make spaghetti.
Usually, he didn't cook much; ingredients were expensive, and he didn't have the energy–but he had a kid to feed. If he didn't feed him three meals a day, he would find the mauled corpses of squirrels dripping out of the vents.
Not that Abaddon was a normal child by any means. Well, not that Nathan knew what a demon trapped in a boy's body is supposed to act like. Abaddon was temperamental, aggressive, and a pain in the ass.
But he was also strangely endearing; his childlike wonder for human innovation and technology was borderline adorable.
When he found Abaddon sitting in a ditch tucked in the woods, he had no idea what he was signing up for.
He walks aimlessly amongst the trees, trying to shake the clinging thoughts from his head. His mind is clouded, overstuffed, and aching with pain.
He inhales the spring morning air, scented with pine, orchids, and something ancient. Winter’s grasp slips from the mountains, leaving behind cold mornings and wet patches of dirt.
The weight of the world rests on his shoulders, heavy and suffocating. Unlike Atlas, his knees shake and his muscles seize. His body aches with every step, weighted by his sober mind. Every trembling movement punctuated with the dripping, sticky thought: Not. Good. Enough.
All of his problems have one origin– himself. His unfinished education, his broken relationship with his family, the hotel. Every abandoned project and failure ties itself to his legs, tugging him down into the grass. He pulls himself up, but the strings are tangled in the gnarled tree roots, pulling him down.
He tries a breathing exercise—something his therapist told him to do a long time ago—breathe in for four, hold for four, exhale for four, and hold for another four—a neat box built with a nice, even number.
But his heart still palpitates, and the thoughts stick to his clothes like a lingering cloud of cigarette smoke. He could go for a cigarette right now–
His foot snags, catching on a stray root. He stumbles, tumbling face-first into some wildflowers.
He lifts his head, his eyes meeting the small yellow daffodils right in front of his nose.
He sneezes.
He’s allergic to daffodils.
It wasn’t a problem back home, in the city, but out here, these flowers grew like a disease. They were pretty to the eye, sure, but the microscopic pollen makes his eyes water and his nose itch.
He scrambles to stand, dusting off the dirt. Sneezes again. Turns heel and retreats from the traitorous flowers.
That is enough outside time for today.
Walking back to the hotel, he realizes he is heading in the wrong direction. In fact, he thinks he hasn’t been in this part of the forest before. The trees twist and turn in unfamiliar paths.
He is about to turn around and return to the trusted path when he hears a humming sound.
The voice, is youthful and diminutive. The tune was something he didn’t recognize, the notes bending and curving in a way that he knew deep in his bones was foreign and aged.
He follows the voice– is there a lost kid in the woods? Is it a ghost? The mystery intrigues him. He needs to find the source.
He almost trips over a sudden drop in the ground. Regaining his balance, he peers over the edge.
It was a pit, maybe manmade, a couple of feet deep. At the bottom sits a boy, perhaps six years old, or eight at most, if he had to guess. He was scrawny and pale, sickly looking, dressed like a pilgrim. His form was solid and breathing — human, but definitely something strange.
The boy looks up at him, his sunken blue eyes holding an age far beyond Nathan's comprehension, complexity etched onto the delicate glass.
He reaches a hand down to the boy with a gentle smile, “Hey, bud.”
The child smiles back, grateful and almost shy.
He hoists the surprisingly light kid out of the ditch, “What’s your name?
The boy looks up at him, still holding his hand, “I am Abaddon, High Prince of the Black Realm, the Cobra King, and Gatekeeper.”
This response catches Nathan off guard. He knew kids were weird, but this is really weird. His voice was intense for a child, holding a sense of ancient knowledge.
He laughs awkwardly, “Right, Abaddon. Where are your parents?”
“I do not have parents. I was born from the primordial ichor of the deep pits of Hell.”
“Ooookay then, well, let’s go back to my place, and we can find where they are. I live at the old hotel just out of this forest. We can get you some clean clothes, some food in your tummy, and I can call around town. You probably need a bath too. No offense, Abby, but you stink. Can I call you Abby?”
“No.”
Abaddon was a handful. He threw tantrums, constantly broke things, and came home with dead animals. The closest human thing Nathan could compare him to was a stray feral cat with opposable thumbs.
However, he could be subdued with snacks, calming music, and television (which he called the “torture box”). It distracted him long enough for Nathan to clean up after him.
Over the past seven months, he discovered that Abaddon liked Fruit Loops, enjoyed torturing ants, and played games. He hated baths, most humans, and asparagus.
Nathan never thought he would be a parent. Sure, he had always dreamed of having a child one day, maybe a girl, but he was never responsible enough to be a parent. He felt like a kid sometimes, himself. Every other adult in their thirties liked potlucks, sudoku, and complaining about politics. Nathan, on the other hand, loved watching Korean dramas, having ice cream for dinner, and collecting stuffed animals. He never felt like he fit in with adults; he wasn’t responsible, reliable, or independent.
Taking in Abaddon forced him to grow up. He had to go out to buy healthy groceries (frozen dinosaur nuggets are a healthy food, right? It’s a good source of protein!), constantly watch him to make sure he wasn’t drinking cleaning supplies and sticking forks in outlets, and put the demon to bed every night at 8 PM. Not that Abaddon sleeps anyway, as he insisted. But Nathan could swear he heard snoring echoing through the vents a couple of weeks ago.
The demon was an unwelcome sense of familial normalcy, bringing routine and chaos to his life. It felt weird, but they were starting to settle into a rhythm.
“Nathan!” Abaddon burst into the kitchen, his voice booming, startling him, “There is a woman on the phone for you!”
Thank God. A guest, finally.
Nathan was honestly surprised that Abaddon could answer the phone. He had tried about a month ago to teach him, but he didn’t seem to absorb any of the information.
“Put them on hold, Abaddon, I’m in the middle of something,” Nathan said over his shoulder, still holding the pot of water and pasta.
“It is not a guest.”
The tone of his voice sent shivers down his spine.
“Did she say who she was?” Nathan set the pot back down on the stove, the water beginning to simmer once more.
“I think she called herself Karoline. Or was it Karen?”
Dread dripped down his back, cold and sharp. “Katherine?”
“Yes! That is the title.” Abaddon wandered over to Nathan’s side. “What are you making?” He tilted his head with the question.
“Spaghetti– could you do me a favor, Abby? Watch this pot and make sure it doesn’t boil over. I’ll be right back.” He pulled over a chair from the dining table, picked up the boy, and set him on the chair.
Abaddon stood over the stove, his eyes gleaming red with glee. “Yes, I will ensure this water does not disobey. It will suffer severe consequences.”
“Don’t burn down the hotel!” Nathan was already out the door, running down the hall towards the lobby desk.
Why was Kathy calling? Is something wrong? Did someone die? Did mom die?
He hasn’t spoken with his sister since shortly after he arrived at the hotel. It was a messy argument that ended with the two screaming at each other. She was mad that Nathan now owned a dying hotel, calling his decisions “ridiculous” and “insane”, while he insisted that the hotel would eventually be profitable.
He had tried to text Katherine since then, asking for money, but everything he sent went unread. If she were calling the hotel, then something must be wrong. Terribly wrong.
Nathan, out of breath, staggered behind the hotel desk, picking up the telephone.
“Undervale, this is Nathan.” He breathed into the receiver, his words trembling.
“Nathan!” Katherine sighed over the line, “Why haven’t you been answering your cell?”
He cringed. Last week, he accidentally dropped his phone in the toilet, and it was beyond repair. He didn’t have enough money to replace it at the moment.
“Oh, I uh, misplaced it somewhere in the hotel.”
Another sigh.
Nathan cleared his throat, “Why are you calling? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing is wrong. Mom just wanted me to ask you if you were coming for Thanksgiving this year.”
He hadn’t gone to family Thanksgiving in the past couple of years; he stopped going because he hated Katherine’s husband with a fiery passion. He didn’t get along with his brother-in-law; they were complete opposites. Ron was a football-loving, beer-drinking, redneck asshole. Nathan was a nerd, a baseball lover, and loved soap operas. They did not mesh well together.
“Oh, well, y’know, the hotel is probably going to be busy during the holiday season, so I should probably stay here.” A lie. He knew that the hotel would be dead (no pun intended) as it always was. He would probably spend Thanksgiving drinking too much and falling asleep on the armchair, watching reruns of sitcoms.
“Ron won’t be there.”
“Why not? Trouble in paradise?” He teased.
“We’re getting a divorce.”
“...Oh.” Silence hung in the air too long, a hazy smoke. “Jeez, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Katherine sighed again, although he had lost count of how many times she had done so, “Besides, the kids have been asking about you. I think they miss you. Speaking of kids, who was that boy who answered the phone? He sounded too young to be working there.”
“Oh, Abaddon? He’s my…” Nathan scrambled for an answer, although there was no simple label to describe his relationship with the demon, “He’s my kid.”
“You have a kid?” He could practically hear her raised eyebrows.
“Yeah.” He was in too deep to back out.
“I didn’t know you had a kid.” Her voice sounded small, hurt.
“He’s adopted. I only got him a few months ago.”
“How old is he?”
He honestly didn’t know Abaddon’s exact age; he knew that he was at least a couple of thousand years old. “He’s nine.”
“You should bring him for Thanksgiving. I’m sure Esther would appreciate having a new playmate.”
“Yeah, totally.”
“At least think about it.” Oh, he had thought about it, and he’s already made up his mind. He was most definitely not going to the family Thanksgiving.
“Kathy, I gotta go, I think I hear Abaddon burning my pasta. Love ya, bye!”
“Love you–”
Nathan slammed the phone back onto the switch hook, hanging up.
It wasn’t a lie; he had indeed heard Abaddon yelling from the kitchen, something about “recalcitrance” and “punishment.”
He dashed off towards the kitchen, praying nothing was on fire.
"What is this thanks of giving?"
"It's a holiday about having a meal with family and being grateful for what you have. Wasn't Thanksgiving around in the 1700s?"
"I have never heard of it." Abaddon shoveled spaghetti into his mouth with his bare hands, sauce dripping down his chin and onto his shirt.
Abaddon refused to use utensils most of the time, calling them "inferior modes of nutrition transportation". Nathan really needed to teach him how to use a fork.
"Well, my family wants me to come over and celebrate with them." Nathan found himself often confiding in the demon; he had no one else to talk to. Even though Abaddon didn't understand what he was talking about 90% of the time.
"Are you not excited to celebrate the victories of thanks with your kin?"
"Not really, no. We don't get along." Nathan twisted pasta around his plate with a fork, his appetite alluding him.
"I can understand your quarrels. I despise my mother-in-law."
His eyes almost popped out of his head. "You're married?!"
Abaddon provided no further information, just shrugging and continuing to swallow the spaghetti without chewing. Nathan should also teach him table manners.
Another one of the demon's annoying quirks. He was very secretive about his life in Hell, dropping only occasional golden crumbs of information before refusing to provide any more details.
Nathan cleared his throat, "Well, I'm not going. I've got to man the hotel anyways."
It was silent, except for the disgustingly noisy slurping sounds from Abaddon.
"I would like to meet them." The demon spoke suddenly, standing on his chair. He could clearly see the red sauce stains covering the front of his shirt. That was going to be a pain to scrub out later.
"You would?"
"Yes. I am curious about where you came from."
Nathan pushed back his chair, grabbed some paper towels, and wet them under the sink. "I'm not going, Abby."
"I must insist." Abaddon had that gleam in his eye like he always did when he was about to wreak absolute havoc.
"No means no." He grabbed the collar of Abaddon's shirt, starting to dab at the stains. It only smeared, making it worse.
The boy's eyes flashed red. "You must take me!"
"No."
"Yes!" Abaddon stamped his foot, making the chair wobble dangerously.
"No." He said firmly.
His eyes turned back to a baby blue as he unleashed his ultimate weapon: puppy dog eyes.
It was a silent battle, Abaddon looking up at Nathan through his eyelashes with wide, sparkling eyes, lips turned downward into a cute pout. Then, he went in for the kill. "Please?"
Abaddon never said please.
Nathan tried to hold strong, not give in. But his glare faltered, and he gave a forfeiting smile. "Okay."
"YES! I EMERGE VICTORIOUS!" Abaddon jumped up with his hands in the air, grinning, then landed on the chair, slipping, and tumbling to the tiled floor.
Nathan picked the boy up by his scruff. "But we'll need to get you some new clothes. You're dressed like a pilgrim."
"Why? These are the clothes that came with the body."
"Because you just stained the entire front of your shirt with spaghetti sauce. I really should get you a bib or something."
Abaddon squirmed in Nathan's hold. "Put me down!"
Nathan set him gently on the floor, and the demon immediately scampered off to the vents.
He sighed—time to go shopping.