Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He wasn’t sure when the seed of this particular idea was planted. Centuries ago? Perhaps longer? It seemed to have been there for a while, wiggling in the back of his mind as he watched his loved ones be reincarnated again and again and again, as he watched civilizations shift and rise and fall and rise anew. No, he wasn’t sure of when the concept came to him — but he was sure of the moment that caused him to act on it.

It was during that brief, fleeing time between cycles where Mabel’s soul, with all its memories of its subsequent lives, with its warm glow and ever-present feeling of optimism, with its wisdom of lifetimes, floated before him. 

“Hey Mabel,” he smiled as the soul took the form of his sister. She had chosen to appear middle-aged, laughter and smile lines evident, along with her ever-present grin. Except, something was different. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, heart somehow stuck in his throat and plummeting to the bottom of his stomach simultaneously. Mabel was never anything but happy to see him between cycles.

“I’m worried about you,” was the answer — soft and full of compassion.”You have so much weighing on you, and that weight only grows with time... You can’t keep all of this to yourself.”

He wanted to argue, to snap that he was fine, he could deal with it, he was used to this, but he knew that she was right. He wanted to hate her for it, but he couldn’t.

“What… I don’t know how to...” he stumbled over his words, chest tight.

“You need to find a way to ground yourself to reality. And it needs to be a way that doesn’t rely on me or any other mortal,” the words should have cut him deep, but they were delivered so tenderly. All he could do was stare. 

“You’ve been through so much,” she continued. “You need something that is always accessible to you, especially when our family isn’t around.” 

He knew he looked completely lost — how could anything but his loved ones be what grounded him to reality and humanity? Mabel’s snort of a laugh confirmed it. 

“Bro-bro, for an all-powerful demon you can be so dumb!” Mabel shook her head, grinning. “I suggest talk therapy.”

“Talk… therapy.” he deadpanned. Yes, Alcor the Dreambender, one of the most powerful demons, in talk therapy. That would end well.

“Yep! I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I think it’ll help in the long run.” Mabel gave him a grin, and this time it lit up her whole face. 

“I’ll… think about it…” he sighed, already knowing that he’d be spending her next reincarnation cycle working on this.

“All I’m asking is that you try,” she gave him a pat on the arm. “See you next cycle!” 

And like that, she was out of the mindscape. 

“All I have to do is try…” he mumbled. “I can try.”

Chapter Text

A few cycles after the Transcendence settled and humanity had (mostly) accepted their new “normal” so to speak, specialized courses in all subjects were inducted at colleges and universities on a global level. Psychology was no exception — the beings that came out of hiding and were widely acknowledged as myth previously were still beings with minds and troubles and traumas. They were still people who needed help and support. 

Still, he was worried that there wouldn’t be a single therapist out there — human or otherwise — that would understand, even after all of this time in a post-Transcendence world. He doubted that another demon would be any help, not that any of them would even offer.

No, he was truly an individual case.

A summoning buzzed in the back of his mind, interrupting his brooding. He considered ignoring it. He considered letting it go to voicemail. He considered it.

He answered.

“W͙̙̞̍̌̈́H̳Ò̋ͭ D̻͐A͎̥ͬ̐R̲̈ES ̼͓̬S͉͓̈́ͦ͐ͅUMṂ̫ͫ̈̋ͅO̦͕ͥͬN̽͐͗ AL̑̋CO̹̱̦͋ͨ̋R͈͛ ̺͉́ͭTͣ̽̌HE͈͚̓ͤ ̬͎̂ͨD̙̟RE͔͍̔ͪA͇͑͋ͅM͊̌B͉EN̲ͧDER̩̽?” His voice echoed across the walls and was met with hushed whispers. Disbelief. Awe. Fear. On every face in varying measures, save for one. They were blue, with pointed ears that he would’ve called elven at one time or another. Their purple hair fell in their eyes — their wide, wide eyes. Eyes that were not looking at him, but around him.

“WH̐̑̍Y̲̥͍͌͑̔ Ḥ̪̺A̩VĔ͇͚̦ͯͦ ̱̟̱Y̦͉ͧ̅O̾ͮU̻͍͖͐̂̉ ͖̭͍̎̍ͤS͎͉͋ͨUM̖̺͂ͧM̝͖O͚̣̾͗N̝͙̤ͬͤ̿Ẹ͎̗ͬ͆̂D̤̫̙̔̅̈ ̙́M̫̣͑̇Ě̤͚͎͛͋?͎̽” he asked, floating upwards for effect. 

“I — uh — shit man, did someone slip me some zap because those colours are deeply, deeply, horribly unhappy colours.” Their eyes flitted around him before somewhat focusing on him. “Can I touch your sad rainbow?”

He blinked. Then he took in his surroundings — plastic cups, bass-heavy music, the stench of cheap alcohol — and came to one conclusion. He’d been drunk dialed. Great. 

“Look̩̍, ̗̯̹yȏ͙͇ͯu͎͓ͬ͂'̖̂re̞̤̹ ̠̑a̹͔͛̿ll͋ͣ͌ ̈ͧͥun̑͊̃ḓ͖͐̄e͕r ͓̪͗́̚ͅs̙̖̓̓ome̬̯͎ ͓in͗fl̝̪̑ͫuͪề̹̠n̠̜c̘ͩe ̝͚͔́ͣ͗o͓͊r͒ ̤͉̣a͕̭͈̎̉̉n̄̌o̹ͥthë́̉r͕̫̾̚ ̗͖̼͆͛̃so͓͖̓̐,̬͋ ͮ̓” he met the ground with a faint tap , “gi̓̚ve ͎̼͑̿m̲̓e ̫͕̃̌t̰̜͙h̥̣̀́e̖̓ b̰̪o̟̯wl ̾̌ͦȍ̻f͍ ̇ͣ̿c͋a̯̔n͖̲̈́̾d̫̳̼͐ͭ̋y̥ and͕͆ w̍e͛̅̐'l̗̇͑ͅlͬ̋ ̲̑c͔͕ͭ̾a͉͑l͓ͯl ̺͙̿͂i̞̚t̔ͩ ̥e̲ve̻͉̳̔̈́̈́n ̪̯͔̈̓ͭfo̥̮ͯ̅ͤͅr̺̯͇ͯ͌̒ ̘̻͂̑ṁ͇̱̔y en̠̲͚t̤̋ert̜̅ain̤̝i̤ͅn͚̟̉̚gͬ̈̈ ͓yo̱ͦu ̩b̂ý̻̘̤ͦ̎ ͖̣͚ͩ̄̓s̟̽h̰̖̋̉o̜̎w̺̱̼ͤ̄̽i̱n̖̩g̻͈̃ͩ u̜͂p.̣̓”

The one who had spoken before stepped closer, squinting now. They took another step. Another. They were just outside of the circle, nearly on top of the line of it. The other party-goers urged them to take a step back, but none of them dared get closer.

“Um… Mister Dreambender sir?” they mumbled. “H-how much do you like those shoes?”

Before he had a chance to say anything, they doubled over, retching. Yep, this was happening alright. He let them finish emptying their stomach and waved a hand to clean up. 

“Sorry,” they whispered before they crumpled to the ground.

He sighed at the startled outcry and subsequent exodus of the room (and most likely the house). 

Once the room had cleared, he bent down and gently rolled the passed-out person onto their side. They groaned at the movement and mumbled a question.

He nodded.

They both disappeared in a flash of blue flame.