Chapter Text
1.
Abaddon was a demon. Something to be feared. Something to be intimidated by.
In Hell, he had a large castle, he had armies and power beyond human comprehension. Now, despite the fact he had lost all of that, he still caused fear amongst the people of Midwich. It reminded him of what he was made to do.
Passed down from generations of property owners, back when it was an asylum, then a prison, then an asylum again, Abaddon had been chased out with brooms, or drowned, or burned (He found the burning quite nostalgic). And many other ways they tried to get rid of him. He believed they tried hanging him once…
Hm.
He doesn’t seem to remember them anymore. It gets a little repetitive after 200 years.
Nevermind how much he remembered. It all burned down to one thing.
He was not something to coddle and nurture.
Sure, he was trapped in the body of something to coddle and nurture, but nobody in their right minds would want to do that.
And Nathan Freeling was definitely not in his right mind.
Ever since the day he pulled Abaddon out of his self-dug grave (essentially), he had insisted on taking care of the boy-demon. Not that he knew Abaddon was a boy-demon, but he felt it should be obvious at this point, judging by the amount of scratches and dead rats he has left behind.
Over the course of a few weeks Abaddon has noticed a few things about him.
He seemed too kind for his own good, and so cheery and optimistic it almost seemed fake. How sickening.
Perhaps his most damaging trait was how he never fully finished any of his projects. The hotel was a prime example of this. Floorboards full of holes, tears in the wallpapers (many of which were by Abaddon himself), bedsheets still stained with the bodily fluids of previous asylum patients. Some of the rooms hadn’t even been changed from their original desecrated conditions.
And lastly, Nathan Freeling was a dense man. He had taken the boy's outrageous actions as “behavioral issues.” He ignored the ghosts’ warnings about his true nature, believing they were jokes. He treated Abaddon like a normal child, or, as normal as a child who leaves dead animals on your bed can be.
Abaddon could have left at any moment. He especially wanted to leave when Nathan tried to force him into the bathtub on his second day there. However, the man left him alone for the most part, and fed him fruit loops, and patched him back together when he got torn apart by whatever beasts reside out there in the woods. It was the most hospitality he had ever received.
Acceptable. Abaddon tolerated the man’s presence.
But inevitably, Nathan found out. Only because that stupid, loud-mouthed cowboy told him. He would have to punish the ghost later. But that would have to come later, once Abaddon figured out how to get back into the hotel after Nathan inevitably kicked him out.
He could hear the man calling out his name, and his footsteps echoing throughout the hallways as he ran around trying to find the “child.” It was amusing the man still hadn’t figured out his hiding place in the vents.
Abaddon watched through the spaces in the vent cover, wondering when he should reveal himself. It would be really amusing to drop through the vents and watch the man shriek in fear, but it was also amusing to watch him constantly search for him.
And if he went down now, he would immediately get kicked out, and then have to find a way to sneak in. It was tedious, and something he didn’t want to do. Besides, if he was thrown out now, he would no longer have access to those fruited loops.
And strawberry yogurt.
And those sandwiches with jam and “peanut butter” in the middle. (The man had tried and failed to explain what peanut butter was to Abaddon, as peanuts “are not mammals” and therefore “cannot produce milk to make butter with.”)
Of course, he could always sneak into the hotel's kitchen, but it was much easier to have the man give it to him in the morning.
Abaddon closed his eyes, lost in thought.
Breakfast. It was a ritual Nathan always insisted on Abaddon joining, despite his comments on how he was immortal and therefore didn’t require food. Eventually, they settled into a morning routine.
Every morning at exactly 6 AM, Abaddon would hop out of the vents and climb on top of Nathan’s body, kicking and scratching at the man until he woke up. Sitting on the sink he watched as Nathan brushed his teeth, washed his face and brushed his hair.
At some point he forced Abaddon to do this as well. At some point Abaddon had given up on wriggling and screaming at the man to stop as long as Abaddon got to swallow the toothpaste after brushing his teeth. He enjoyed the burning sensation.
Then Abaddon would command Nathan to hoist him onto his shoulders, and they would traverse downstairs into the kitchen. The man gave Abaddon his Froot Loops, or occasionally something else he asked the demon to try (which he usually spat out.)
Abaddon would watch as Nathan made his coffee and whatever slop he was eating (if he ate at all), and then the man would try to strike up a conversation with him.
“Abaddon!?” The demon snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at Nathan again through the vents.
And he saw the man staring right back at him, eyes wide.
Ah. It seems Nathan has caught him “red-handed”, as he would say.
Well, it seems the decision has been made for him. It wasn’t too big of an issue. Abaddon’s been breaking into homes in Midwich for 200 years, he could figure out the Undervale too. Even if he would miss Nathan’s hands combing his hair in the morning, and riding on his shoulders as they went downstairs it would be more annoying to have to sneak into the hotel every time he wanted Froot Loops.
“Abaddon!” Nathan yelped as Abaddon dropped (or rather tumbled) down from the ceilings in front of him. It was amusing to see him jump in fear. Yes, he should be feared by the man. He’s Abaddon, after all.
“Hello, Nathaniel. I see you’ve been informed about my true nature. If you’re going to kill me, make it qui—”
Strong arms wrapped around him, keeping him restrained as he was crushed into the fabric of a blue sweater.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!? YOU DARE RESTRAIN ABADDON, KING OF—” His face was pushed into Nathan’s chest, muffling his angered shrieks. No matter how much the demon scratched or kicked, he would not let go.
“RELEASE ME, YOU NEANDERTHOLIC—LET ME GO!!”
“I’ll let you go if you stay still and stop scratching me!”
Abaddon relented. “I will hold you to that, mortal.”
Nathan sighed, and loosened his grip slightly but not completely. “Why were you in the vents!? I was so—”
“Terrified? That is a reasonable reaction to my—”
“—worried about you!”
What.
“Gosh, I wouldn’t know what I would do if something happened to you bud!” Abaddon looked at Nathan as if he was the priest who bound him instead of an optimistic middle aged man running a failing hotel. “You good..?”
“You are not scared of me?”
“Why would I be? Demon or not, you’re pretty good company! Y'know, it gets pretty lonely here when the only people you can talk to are noncorporeal.”
“I am NOT ‘company’! I am a demon, you’re supposed to cower, to—”
Nathan’s arms tightened around him again.
It was stuffy.
Restricting.
Horrible.
“LET GO OF ME, OR I SWEAR TO LUCIFER I WILL PUT A CURSE ON YOU FOR 1,000 YEARS!!” Abaddon started scratching and punching Nathan again, sinking his teeth into his forearm.
“OK, OK I GOT THE MESSAGE BUD!!” Finally, the man unwrapped his arms around Abaddon and he scurried off into the hallways.