Work Text:
Vicky made herself seem scarier than perhaps she really was. She stormed out of the gym and towards the bathrooms. She needed some space. She needed to let off some steam. She needed to – she needed to cry.
Slamming the door shut behind her, Vicky marched over to the sinks and leaned in to glare at herself. “You won’t cry,” she directed herself. “Big girls don’t cry,” she continued, a little weaker. “You need to stop being so pathetic,” she finished in a half-whimper.
It really wasn’t a convincing performance and soon she gave in to herself. Vicky sunk down so she was slumped over, draped on the sink as she sulked at herself in the mirror. It really didn’t take much to make her cry – most of the time, it was sheer panic that got her to this point and dodgeball never failed to get her on edge. Then all it took was one person from the other team saying something negative to her and she was off to her own personal races of thinking the worst of herself. Sniffling, she let herself drop the rest of the way to the floor, shimmying under the sinks and pulling her knees up to hide her face while she quietly cried. Her self confidence had always been at a stellar low and she just wanted to drop into a void. Maybe Oz could help her with that someday.
The creak of the bathroom door filled the mostly quiet space. Vicky stiffened, panic rising in her chest. She couldn’t let someone see her crying, or huddled under a sink, and especially not the unholy combination of the two. Eyes darting around, she realized it was too late to duck into a stall, so she pulled her knees even closer and got as quiet as possible to avoid detection.
A backpack dropped to the floor in front of a pair of slightly distressed jeans. She could just hear the faint sound of very loud music from headphones as the newcomer seemed to tend to themselves in the mirror. Craning to get a better look at the backpack, she finally saw a patch messily stitched onto the side – a skull on fire with a blade stabbed through it. Vicky’s heart dropped. Damien.
The panic that was building suddenly spiked and that, in turn, sparked another bout of fear and the need to cry. She clutched her hands over her mouth as the sobs rattled in her chest, begging for escape. She shut her eyes tight, focusing every ounce of strength on not crying. Her chest heaved and seized with the effort as her lungs convulsed in a desperate plea for air. This was too much. The more she waited, the worse it would be when he found her. And then he’d laugh at her and tell everyone about it. And they’d have something new to mock her with during dodgeball and she’d have to leave school and flee the country and change her name and – the first sob came out as a gasping whimper.
Damien nearly fell as he recoiled from the crying sinks. Instinct caused a few posters hung in the bathroom to catch fire as he prepared to attack whatever was ambushing him. Then his face scrunched as he heard the pitiful sobs that followed, hiccoughing out of his classmate. “What the fuck? Vicky, is that you?”
He crouched down, arms draped over his knees as he looked at her down there. She looked on the verge of an anxiety attack, wide eyes full of tears and shaking right before she covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook as silent sobs racked her body. The surprise of it all struck him dumb for a few seconds while he tried to figure out what was happening. “Are – are you ok?”
More sobbing.
“Shit…did someone pick on you or something?”
Slightly louder cries.
Damien grimaced. He really wasn’t good with talking to people – or rather, trying to empathize with emotions that weren’t anger, rage or unholy-retribution-like wrath. But he had been watching Vicky for some time. He had watched how easily she could be pushed to tears. And he had been trying to figure out why seeing her on the verge of tears made his chest feel tight, like he wanted to punch the stupid face of anyone who made her like that. Reaching out, he tugged at her wrist. “Hey, come out of there. It’s…” – don’t call it creepy, she might freak out more – “It’s gross under there and your pants will get messed up.”
Vicky sniffled as she lowered her hands to look around her. The floor was pretty gross, and she really hadn’t looked at the underside of the sinks until then. Damien was right. Wiping her tears on the back of her sleeve, she crawled out but stayed kneeling as she continued to wipe away the tears with her sleeves. Why wouldn’t they just stop?
The demon huffed a sigh, falling back on his haunches and then dropping to a sitting position. “Oh, fuck it. Come sit over here.”
The tears stopped out of sheer shock as Vicky looked up at him. He was pointing to the spot in front of him. She blinked as the tears recovered to continue their quiet flow. “Wh-what?”
“I said, come sit fucking here. I can’t just let you leave crying like that if anyone saw me come in here. They’ll think I made you cry or something.”
When she stayed stunned, Damien rolled his eyes and lurched forward to grab her wrist and drag her into place. Before she could pull back, she was sat between his legs with his hands on her shoulders getting her sat comfortably there. He dragged his backpack over and his well-known affinity for knives had Vicky back on the very edge. She started to edge away but he caught her shoulder and held her still while he fished in his backpack.
“Look, you’re not allowed to tell anyone about this, ok? It’s the only thing that’ll look worse than me making you cry,” he muttered as he finally produced…
… A hairbrush.
Vicky blinked. “What?”
“Just shut up and look forward, ok.”
Too amazed to reply, she just obeyed.
Damien’s hand reached around to pull her hair back over her shoulders. His fingers were warm on her neck and he was gentle. Then she felt the first soft pull of the brush through her hair. He caught a few knots and carefully started to work them out as he continued. Vicky’s mind went blank. She must have passed out from lack of oxygen or this was a fever dream, or she had died – or something other than what was really happening.
“Getting your hair brushed is supposed to be, like, calming or something,” he muttered.
Vicky remained silent. She really didn’t know what to say.
But he was right. The sensation on her skull was soothing and the strokes were so meticulous and kind. She sniffled once, but could feel the anxiety, fear and dread slowly drain out of her body with each fluid motion of the brush through her hair. Her tumultuous thoughts died down to a quiet trickle and she started to lean back into the strokes.
Damien noticed the shift. At first, he was just relieved she had stopped crying. Then he felt a surge of something else that made his cheeks flush hot as he noticed her leaning further and further back towards him. She was so petite, and soft and easily broken. It freaked him out. But he also felt like he wanted to protect that. “A-anyway, what the fuck happened?”
Vicky blinked back into reality. Her cheeks flushed hot at the question. “It’s stupid.”
“So? You still gotta tell me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yeah you do.”
“It’s dumb!” she protested.
“I want to know!”
“Why?”
“Fuck, Vicky. I don’t know. Cause I care or some shit like that?”
She turned on him, eyes wide. “What?”
His eyes flashed wide and he grabbed her arm, turning her back forward. “I’m not done yet!”
They sat in silence for a few seconds as he resumed the brushing, almost to the other side of her head now as he made her hair shiny and silky with his work. “But really,” he muttered. “I wanna know so I know who I have to beat to a pulp later.”
Vicky sighed. “It’s…nothing. I just…one of the wolfpack just taunted me during the dodgeball game and I – I don’t know – it made me think about what if it wasn’t just a taunt. Like what if I’m really just bat munch?”
That – didn’t even make sense. Damien blinked, hesitating with the brush for a moment. She really was easily upset. But he guessed that was endearing or something. A smile tugged at his lips while he continued.
“What the fuck, Vicky. You’re not bat munch. You’re a fucking Frankenstein. By nature, you’re a combination of the raddest parts of other people that were handpicked for you. You know – the opposite of bat munch.”
The brushing came to a stop as he finished off the last locks of hair by her ear. Putting the brush aside, he reached up to comb his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear.
“You really think so?”
“Yeah. It’s fucking metal. Don’t let anyone make you think less of yourself without your consent, got it. That’s up to you and no one else.”
Vicky felt her heart beating a little livelier than usual. And she felt a dull warmth in her face like a blush. But it made her soul giddy and she turned back to him with a smile that brightened up her entire face. “Thank you, Damien!”
He looked stunned, his face turning a shade redder. He turned to look away, covering the lower half of his face with his hand. “Yeah, fuck. Whatever. Just…don’t tell anyone about this, ok? I’ll deny it to my grave.”
She nodded, her smile radiating more. “Promise.”