Chapter Text
D3rlord isn't scared.
D3rlord may be back at the gates, but he isn't scared.
D3rlord stares at the gates until they mix and swirl and seep into the rock and stone, D3rlord stares at the gates as they melt into lines of letters and words that he can see but cant make out.
D3rlord is Derek Hutchins, and Derek Hutchins is possessed.
It's weird; seeing so much and yet feeling so little…It feels as if he's underwater and something is just holding him there, not letting him drown no matter how much he begs and pleads for it.
He never does anything particularly "interesting" when he's like this, he just watches and waits as time goes by. He sees when he can see, and he talks when he can talk.
D3rlord— Derek has started counting his paper cuts to pass the time; he's at 7, or maybe it was 4, or twelve, or are those just the healed ones—
"Must you be so loud, Knight?"
Derek blinks as his vision returns to him, the newfound feeling in his arms and legs hurts.
The book is closed now, he barely felt his hand move to slam it shut.
"I'm the loud one?" Derek thinks.
He looks down at his thumb, eyeing the paper cuts with a frown.
One,
two,
then three-
Oh, that one is healed.
then four,
then—
"See? You talk far too much…You're much louder in your head, Knight."
"I hate you."
"Rude."
Derek listens to the silence that follows, he counts the seconds as Hastur thinks.
Derek likes the silence, he doesn't get it often.
"Knight, I require more books."
"There are no more, you read them all…"
Derek sighs.
He swings his legs over the edge of the couch, the pain flares and makes him wince.
D3rlord grabs his sword as he stands up.
Derek ignores the ache in his legs and the call of his crutches as he walks toward the front door.
D3rlord puts on his cape before he leaves the house. (Derek is in pain.)
D3rlord stares at the door as he adjusts his cape. (Derek is going to fall.)
D3rlord is— "Knight, what exactly are you doing?"
What?
"What?" Derek breaths. He's out of breath? He didn't walk that far.
"You've been silent, Knight. What are you doing?"
He's going outside. D3rlord is going outside. He has to go outside.
"That seems…foolish, Knight."
Derek didn't say that out loud.
"You did."
Derek ignores the voice in his head as he stares at the door, and then his legs start moving.
One step,
Now two,
Turn around— No, not like that.
The ankles shouldn't twist like that, the knees shouldn't pop like that.
This burns. Is it supposed to burn?
I don't know. How would I know? I think I should know.
Three steps, then four, five, six, this, hurts.
Why?
How would I know?
Stumbling, tripping, getting back up only to stumble some more.
Derek hates this, he squeezes his eyes shut.
"Stop." He can't.
"Why should I, Knight?"
Derek nearly falls on his face upon gaining the feeling in his legs again; he scowls at the pair of crutches in front of him.
"You wanted to go out, did you not?"
Derek grabs the crutches and ignores the voice in his head.
"…Knight?"
Derek doesn't know where he's going.
"You can't ignore me for long, Knight."
Derek wants to lie on the floor and sink into the earth as he hears the voice in his head fizzle away, as he feels the pain in his legs cease, because this is no way to live.
"How rude, Knight."
But Derek can't return to the earth, no; Derek has to go outside.
It's cold. Is it always this cold in March?
Derek squints as the sun hits his eyes. Has he really been inside for so long?
"You ask a lot of questions, Knight."
"Shut up." Derek thinks.
There are eyes on him, he feels them dancing on his skin as they tear into him, peeling him back layer by layer; Derek can almost see it as he looks down at his arms, the way his skin peels back, revealing the red and the—
Someone is talking to him; one of his mother's neighbors that Derek has never cared about nor has he spoken to before.
"Derek! How have you been?"
"Fine." Why are you talking to me?
"That's good, it's nice to see you outside and about again."
"Mhm…" What do I say to that? I don't know you.
Why do you frown at me? Why do you pity me? I don't know you.
Derek blinks and all he sees is green.
Green, green, green, all in front him, all paired with lines of mailboxes and parked cars.
Just how long was that conversation?
"Five minutes and thirty-eight seconds, Knight."
Oh.
Derek wants to go to the park.
"What about my books, Knight?"
Derek can hear the frown in Hastur's voice. But does Hastur even have a voice? Can Hastur even frown?
"My mother is at the library; you'll get your books."
"Hm. Glad to hear an actual response from you, Knight."
"Shut up."
Derek leans on his crutches as he thinks despite Hastur's explicitly telling him not to.
"Stop telling me what to do."
"One, I am trying to help. Two, you are being childish, Knight."
Derek starts walking. His mother has always lived close to the park; it's only a few blocks away.
"Knight, I do not like it here. I wish to return to my books."
"They're my books, and shut up."
It's windy.
Derek is quiet as the wind floods his ears and drowns out Hastur's whining, he squints as the breeze dries his eyes.
He used to spend entire summers at the park. As a child, he would wake up at the crack of dawn and follow his mother around the house until noon as he asked to go out.
It was always to the playground, or to see the ducks, or to simply just be outside.
Now all he did was sit on a bench in silence as his crutches threatened to slide to the ground.
"I've already said that you shouldn't prop them against the bench, Knight."
Derek ignores him.
"How long have I been here for?"
"Two hours, Knight. You find solace in the most boring activities."
Derek is quiet as he listens to the wind.
Derek is quiet as his phone rings once, then twice, then—
"That is the third time your mother has called you."
Derek freezes, his eyes widening slightly as he stares at the myriad of missed calls and worried texts.
"And you didn't tell me?" He mutters, no longer worried about being seen talking out loud to the being in his head.
Hastur scoffs.
"'And you didn't tell me?'" Derek does not sound like that. "Yes you do, Knight. And I tried to inform you four times, but you ignored me."
Derek stands up, he stumbles slightly as he reaches for his crutches.
He is twenty-five years old and his mother is going to murder him.
"She will do no such thing."
Derek will die of embarrassment as soon as he reaches the front door, he's sure of it.
Derek's phone starts ringing again, the noise starts to blend in with the wind…He feels as if he's underwater once again, seeing everything and hearing nothing as his body moves without his input.
"You were going to fall on your face, Knight."
Hastur's voice is so loud when he traps Derek inside of his mind. Derek hates it.
"I suspect that you'd hate the feeling of your face against the pavement more."
Derek could almost feel it; the dull impact, the sting, the clatter of his crutches against the uneven rock. He despises when Hastur shoves images and sensations into his mind, they always stem from pain.
Derek blinks as he slowly regains the feeling in his arms and legs; he finds himself standing at the front door.
Time feels like it passes in intervals. One moment he's at the door, the next he's being pulled into a way-too-tight hug by his mother, but there's something that catches his eye, or someone, rather.
He stands awkwardly by the couch.
He hasn't noticed Derek yet.
Derek is staring at Avery. Hastur is staring at his vessel.
Derek wants to laugh; he doesn't think he should.
"…My vessel is the friend your mother keeps talking about?"
"He isn't 'your' anything."
"If you, Knight, can stare at him like an idiot, I can call him my vessel."
Derek's mother is talking, muttering apologies, saying where she was, explaining who Avery is and why he's here…And Derek doesn't hear a word of it as he just stares.
Avery eventually looks back at him; one can only avoid the feeling of eyes on them for so long.
And the smile that makes it's way across Avery's face is a look that Derek wants burned into his mind forever.
"Could you two just speak already?"
Derek quickly glances back at his mother to make sure Hastur wasn't heard.
"What am I even supposed to say?"
"I don't know, Knight…Maybe say hello to him instead of unraveling his soul with your eyes."
"…Hello, Avery." Derek forces out. That was awkward. He shouldn't have said that.
"Oh?" His mother smiles, "You two know each other?" She asks, a hint of hope can be heard in her voice, a hint of hope that makes Derek's heart constrict and his face heat up.
"Great, just go insinuate that I don't have any friends at all…" Derek thinks.
"…But, Knight, she would be correct."
"Shut up."