Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Life with this human and his created daughter was pleasant enough. Satanick smiled as he lounged underneath the shade of a tree, arms resting behind his head. He enjoyed the warm breeze this world had to offer, though its weather did vary from time to time. It didn’t seem based upon emotion either, like his world.

From his peripheral vision, Satanick turned his eyes  at the sound a page turning. Victor sat nearby, his back against a tree as he quietly read a book. The wind would occasionally blow pieces of the man’s long black and white-streaked hair into his face, but Victor just seemed to ignore them, focused on whatever it was that he was studying today. That man – always so preoccupied in his works. Well, at least he had some peace and quiet to himself today to read. After all, the sleeping head of the child was resting on her father’s lap, undisturbed. The girl’s two-toned hair blended in with Victor’s pants – well, the curly black half of it did. The straight pink side stood out quite a bit. The sleeping eyes of this big-eyed child were resting peacefully over her cheeks. Satanick stared at the stitching that ran down from her forehead to the bottom of her face, curved slightly more to the left-hand side; the clear markings of a created being.

It had been a truly fascinating thing to see Victor make her. His own daughters that he had lost – now, they both lived on in the form of this girl, Crea.

As Satanick lie on the grass in this peaceful afternoon – the blue skies showing only a few specks of white clouds in them – he couldn’t help but ponder why this brilliant scientist kept rejecting his offers to come to his world. Over and over, Satanick could see Victor slowly getting sicker and sicker. It was a slow process, one that could not be easily distinguished by the untrained eye, but Satanick could see it. After all, his focus was on this man day after day that he visited him in this world. And each night they would talk, Satanick soon found himself growing increasingly attached to this man. He had begun to see how broken Victor truly was. Some nights, Victor would confide in him when Satanick was pressing for answers. Amidst the brandy and smoke from Victor’s cigarettes, Satanick had found out about who Crea truly was created from – about what had happened to Victor’s wife and two little girls. What pained Satanick was seeing the man cry. Satanick had done his best to offer comfort to Victor during these things, but he could see how hurt Victor was inside.

What made matters worse was seeing Victor’s health deteriorating. Some days, the man could barely get out of bed. When he did, Satanick could see he was in pain – in more ways than one, though he continued his day and duties like nothing was the matter. The occasional twinge on Victor’s face and the beads of sweat on his brow was all that Satanick had to see to realize that Victor was only getting worse. So, Satanick did the only logical thing – he had offered Victor to come to his world with him, where he could give him immortality to live on forever with Crea.

Victor had denied him that request and each request after that. Satanick had tried multiple times to try to convince Victor to come with him – to take him up on this offer – but Victor always refused, shrugging him off. Satanick could see Victor was starting to get mildly annoyed with him; then again, Victor was always somewhat mildly annoyed with him at times. The thought alone made Satanick chuckle to himself, thinking of Victor’s exasperated face and sigh whenever Satanick would get under Victor’s skin.

Now, as he stared at the man sitting there in his white, button-up shirt, black slacks, and that signature monocle he would wear over his right eye, Satanick felt a slight ache in his chest, imagining that at this very moment, Victor was steadily dying. The thought horrified him at this point. He wasn’t quite sure what ailed Victor, nor did he care what the official diagnosis was; what he cared about right now was that Victor had continued to deny living forever.

Victor must have noticed or felt Satanick’s gaze on him, as he slowly turned his head to stare at Satanick with those dark eyes of his. Victor raised an eyebrow curiously at him. “What’s the matter?” Stoic as always; Satanick smiled at this characteristic trait of Victor. Satanick’s smile just seemed to further confuse the man, and he let out one of those signature sighs of his, redirecting his attention back to the book in his hand.

Satanick turned his eyes back upwards towards the green leaves of the tree above them blowing in the breeze and at the blue sky peeking through. How he truly wished for these days to continue….

As the night was beginning to settle in, the darkening sky, increase of the wind, and the dampness in the air were clear indications of the coming storm. Amazing that this world’s weather was so unpredictable. Victor told him that this was common on summer days. The calm before the storm, was it? Satanick smiled at the phrases used in this world. Humans were quite the funny creatures, he realized.

Crea had been tucked into bed just a little bit ago, and Satanick followed Victor upstairs to a sitting room for their usual evening of smoking, drinking, and chatting. Satanick honestly looked forward to these moments with Victor, as it gave him more time to spend with the man. After all, he had to cherish each moment he got with him before….

Satanick quickly shoved aside those horrifying thoughts. Yes, he realized death was an inevitable part of this species, but why – why, oh why – did Victor keep rejecting his offers? Shouldn’t every human want this opportunity to live forever? From a devil’s perspective, Satanick couldn’t figure out why Victor was so deadest on avoiding this possibility.

Victor noticed the troubled look on Satanick’s face as he stared down at the amber liquid in his glass, not bothering to raise it to his lips, though his right hand was still wrapped around it. Victor looked at those black fingernails around the glass, raising his eyes to stare at Satanick’s forlorn expression. “Alright, tell me what’s wrong,” Victor finally spoke up.

Satanick raised his gaze to meet Victor’s dark eyes with his purple ones. He forced a smile onto his lips, now raising the glass to take a sip of the strong liquor. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” he waved off. “Honestly.” Saying that, he felt terrible for lying, as he clearly knew that he was not being honest with Victor.

Victor noticed this as well, sighing as he leaned back slightly in the wooden chair, tilting it back on its legs as he took a draw from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the air. He propped his feet up onto the table in a relaxed manner, crossing his right ankle over his left one. “You’re a terrible liar, Satanick. You wear your heart on your sleeve, you know. So, tell me, what’s on your mind?”

From his tone alone, Satanick got the impression Victor was a bit more…agitated than usual. Was he perhaps not feeling too well this evening? Sometimes the rain could be quite draining, especially for the ill or saddened. Satanick felt his heart go out towards Victor if that was the case. Not wanting to add further frustrations to him, Satanick decided it was probably for the best to be honest, though he feared honesty was just going to make Victor even more upset.

Taking a deep breath, Satanick began to tell Victor what was truly bothering him. The thunder that rumbled in and the slight pitter-patter of rain could be heard on the windows. Satanick let out his breath before responding. “Victor, you know that I’m concerned for your health, right?” He felt a bit pained when Victor gave a slight chuckle at that; it was a legitimate concern, after all. Still, Satanick continued onward, his hand slightly tightening on the glass in his hand. “Why won’t you come with me, Victor? I told you I’d make you both very happy there.”

Satanick watched as Victor’s face seemed to droop and his demeanor darkened. Sliding his legs back down and sitting forward once again so that the chair was back on all fours, Victor crushed the cigarette that he was smoking into the ashtray on the table. “We’ve had this discussion so many times, Satanick. It’s starting to become bothersome.” In the silence, Victor took a swig from the brandy in front of him, pouring himself another small glass. Satanick couldn’t help but worry if he was going to drink too much with this agitation. Still, Victor continued the conversation. “I have told you – and I will continue to tell you – that I am not interested in such things.”

“But, Victor, why?” Satanick found himself blurting out. “I just want you to be happy with Crea. Forever. Don’t you want that?”

 “Satanick, enough already.” Victor’s voice was cold as he said this, his head hanging down, his black bangs obscuring his eyes so Satanick couldn’t see what he was truly feeling at that moment, though he could take a guess. His arms rested on his knees as he leaned forward. 

The outside storm only seemed to grow in intensity as the one inside did. Something inside Satanick egged him to continue his pleas for Victor to listen to him. How long could this continue to go on for?

A few months?

A decade?

Two?

Did Victor even have that much time left? The thought terrified him as Satanick continued to press forward with his request. “I’m sorry, Victor, but please just seriously consider – ”

It honestly surprised Satanick that Victor pushed back from the table, his palms on the wooden surface as he let the chair clatter behind him. Victor had now raised his gaze to stare at Satanick, and he could see the man was clearly getting upset. His jaw was clenched and his eyes looked a bit glazed. Satanick slowly stood up, walking around the right side of the table to reach out to Victor, placing his hand on Victor’s left shoulder. The man raised his arm up to push aside Satanick’s arm, and Satanick backed off, slightly hurt that Victor wouldn’t even let him offer this comfort to him.

“You want me to be happy? Is that what you’re getting at Satanick?” Victor glowered at Satanick, staring up into the man’s eyes. “I don’t need your pity, if that’s what this is.”

Pity? No, that was far from what Satanick was offering. He hadn’t even implied that, had he? Satanick slightly scowled at Victor, feeling a bit agitated himself that Victor was taking things so wrong tonight. “It’s not pity, Victor. I just want you to accept my offer. Why is that so hard for you?”

Staring daggers at Satanick for a moment, Victor shouted, “Why don’t you demons ever listen to reason?!” With that final declaration, Victor, pushed past Satanick to stomp towards the door, yanking it open so it banged against the stone walls.

Satanick stood there speechless for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Had he really pushed Victor too hard this time? Yes, that was probably true; the poor man probably wanted to be left alone now, but even so – upon hearing the front door slam – Satanick felt the urge to give chase to Victor. Was this man seriously heading out in the middle of this storm?

Sprinting down the cobblestone stairs, through the living quarters, and flinging open the wooden door, Satanick found Victor standing in the pouring rain, immediately drenched in this deluge that seemed to show no prospect of slowing down anytime soon. The wind whipped fiercely, flinging the raindrops harshly onto Satanick’s face as he decided to set foot into the downpour, not caring about the cold yet somewhat warm rain that drenched right to the bone. Even in the gloom of the evening storm, Satanick could see Victor standing still, fists clenched as he stared at the ground.

So badly Satanick wanted to reach out to him and touch him – to get Victor to look at him so he could see the remorse in his face. Instead, he stood a few feet away from Victor, choosing to call for him above the raging wind, rain, and thunder. The sky lit up momentarily as lighting streaked across the sky. “Victor!” Satanick called out, waiting for the man to finally respond to him.

After what felt like an eternity, Victor finally turned towards Satanick, and despite the rain running down his sopping black hair into his face, Satanick felt like he could see tears in Victor’s eyes. It panged Satanick’s heart to see him in such a hurt state. Maybe he had gone really gone too far with trying to convince Victor to take up his offer on immortality. Still, Satanick reached out a hand to Victor, hoping to reconcile things with him.

“Victor, please come back inside!” he called over the storm. “I’m sorry! Please! It’s dangerous out here!”

Even from the distance between them, Satanick could see the scoff Victor huffed out. “You say it’s dangerous, but I say it’s more dangerous inside that place with you!” He raised a finger to point accusingly at Satanick. “You continue to hound me day after day to come to your world, and for what?! So I can live another day? Another decade? Another lifetime?!” Victor took a deep breath before continuing his tirade. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll continue to say it until you get it through that thick skull of yours, Satanick – I don’t want to live!”

With those final words piercing Satanick’s heart yet again, despite knowing that Victor meant he didn’t want to live past his given lifespan, Satanick felt the ominous air around him; it was as if the howling sky above them was ringing out a final toll. The normally composed Victor that Satanick had grown so fond of was baring his soul before him. Satanick couldn’t help but feel responsible for seeing the man become like this – for screaming out his frustrations to the sky that lit up fiercely.

As the lighting crackled across the sky, followed by a loud clap of thunder, Satanick stared in complete horror seeing that quick bolt shoot through Victor’s body. It happened so quickly, yet everything seemed to be moving so slowly. Satanick watched as Victor’s eyes widened momentarily, his body stiffening. Satanick’s heart felt like it stopped beating when he saw Victor crumple right in front of him, hitting the ground in a heap.

Satanick felt his throat tighten up immediately; he couldn’t quite breathe. His mind screamed. His heart raced. Even his felt like they were glued to the grass beneath him even though they felt cramped yet jiggly at the same time. Finally able to find his voice around the lump in his throat, Satanick screamed, “VICTOR!” He found himself bolting over to Victor’s collapsed body, sliding to his knees in the slippery, wet grass. At first, Satanick was unsure if it was appropriate to touch a human’s body after it had been struck by lightning; would he further damage Victor?

Ignoring those fears for the time being, Satanick grabbed onto Victor’s biceps, his eyes scanning up and down Victor’s body. Satanick could see on Victor’s left shoulder the scorch mark left by the lightning, along with the burned skin underneath the tattered shoulder of the shirt. Trying to be gentle, Satanick began lightly shaking him. “Victor! Wake up!” he screamed, hoping his voice would reach the man. Those closed eyes didn’t blink or show any reaction on his still face. Victor looked unconscious, his mouth slightly open as if he was breathing. Satanick leaned over Victor, putting his left ear over Victor’s mouth to see if he could hear or feel his breath. He watched Victor’s chest for any signs of breathing. While the deluge continued, Satanick couldn’t tell if the man was truly alive or not.

Chapter Text

Panic began to course through Satanick’s veins. Sure, he’d felt mild fear before in his lifetime, but this was beyond something he had felt before. Everything in his body screamed at him to run to help while also to remain frozen in place. He had to get Victor out of this storm; he had to get Victor help; he had to save Victor. So many thoughts scrambled through Satanick’s mind as he began scooping Victor up into his arms, cradling the man close to his chest.

No! No, no, no, no!

Victor was not going to die! Not today! Not ever….

Satanick scrambled up as quickly as he could, ignoring his drenched clothes that stuck to him and the long, wet hair that hung in his own eyes. Slipping in the grass, he rushed inside the home, placing Victor down onto the rug on the wooden floor of the main living space.

Satanick continued to scream Victor’s name, as he stroked Victor’s wet hair back out of his face to stare at it. He didn't care that he knocked the monocle away either, hoping to see some signs of movement. When none showed, he began tapping on Victor’s face. “Wake up, Victor! Wake up!” With each plea for Victor to open his eyes, Satanick could hear his voice rising in intensity and fear.

Save him! his mind screamed at him. You have the power! Do it!

Yes. Yes, he surely had the power. He could easily get Victor healed up and back to normal by giving him a portion of his power, but even he wasn’t sure if he could raise the dead; he’d never done that before.

Dead….

That horrible, final word. Satanick hated it. He hated that this word could be applied to his dear friend. No – Victor was more to him than that. He knew that. He knew that deeply, though he wouldn’t dare tell Victor his true feelings. He couldn’t, lest Victor reject him…just like he had rejected his many proposals of going to live in his world.

Stupid! Satanick shouted at himself. If only Victor had listened to me and come to my world! If only I had been more forceful!

Satanick’s mind screamed at him as his heart began to tear to shreds; he felt like he could feel the flesh and blood of his heart literally draining throughout his body and into his stomach. Tears stung his eyes as he unknowingly continued to smack, shake, and scream at Victor to wake up. Finally, Satanick realized that he had to save him. Somehow, someway. Even if it would be potentially easier to turn Victor immortal right then and there, Satanick couldn’t risk going against Victor’s commitment of not wanting to live forever. Even now, he couldn’t do that to his dear Victor's wishes.

Leaning over Victor, Satanick pinched Victor’s nose with his left hand, tilting his chin back with his right fingertips. Satanick had never done this to Victor – never would he have done this of his own volition – but he had to get Victor breathing again. Forcing his mouth over Victor’s, Satanick began trying to breathe the breath back into his lungs. He pulled back after a few breaths to look and listen for any signs of breathing from Victor.

Still none.

“Don’t,” Satanick whispered out, placing his hands on Victor’s chest to begin compressing his chest, trying to get his heart started again. “Don’t do this to me, Victor. Don’t you die on me!” Satanick continued to press on Victor’s chest, feeling the man’s chest give way at times. He feared breaking a bone, but he had to get Victor breathing; somehow, someway – Victor had to make it.

“Victor!” Satanick continued screaming his name as he pressed on his chest, soon rotating back to giving Victor more breaths. It took a while for Satanick to register that Crea was standing in the hallway, her face a blank expression as she watched with her large green and black eyes as to what was happening in front of her.

“Professor,” she said, her voice somewhat sleepy still. Satanick realized she must have been woken up by his screaming. Part of him felt bad for having disturbed the girl, but he was too focused on Victor.

Wait. Crea….

“Crea, go back to bed!” Satanick begged her as he went back to pumping his hands on Victor’s chest. Even he knew that was a horrendously idiotic request to make to the girl, who could clearly see the professor – no, her father – lying supine on the floor in a puddle, not moving a muscle. Even though Satanick had ordered her to return to her room for sleep, Crea naturally moved closer to stand next to Satanick, watching him as he continued his frantic routine of trying to resuscitate Victor.

Crea stared down at the face of her professor. His dark eyes were hooded by his eyelids, his expression completely blank. Crea noticed the markings and scorched mark on his left arm, and she contemplated what had occurred based on the evidence in front of her. Kneeling down directly next to Satanick’s right side, the girl stared at Satanick’s horrified yet determined face. His deep, purple eyes begged just as his voice did for Victor to wake up. If the professor was merely sleeping, why did Satanick have tears running down his face that mixed with his sopping wet hair? Weren’t people supposed to cry when they were sad about something big? At least, that’s what she had learned from reading.

Not wanting to interrupt, but curious on why the professor wasn’t moving, Crea asked, “Lord Devil, what’s wrong with the professor?”

Whatever was left of his bleeding heart, Satanick felt it break even further hearing this child ask him such a question. What could he possibly say to her at a time like this? Surely he had to say something, right? Letting the tears fall onto Victor beneath him, Satanick choked out as calm a response as he could for Crea. He did not want to lie to the child, nor did he want to let her see anymore of the pain that was already so clear.

“He – He’s dead, Crea.”

Those horrible, horrible words. Satanick felt ill saying them. No way. No way was he going to let Victor die on him! But the longer he kept trying these feeble, human-like attempts at “resurrecting” him, the more it dawned on Satanick that Victor was truly slipping away. Despite that – even if every cell in his body tried to reason with him to just give up – Satanick continued to try to fill Victor with breath in his lungs and his heart to pump again.

Crea sat there in silence for a few seconds, trying to process what death meant. Death was that final thing in life, wasn’t it? She had seen and read many stories that had described somebody’s life and death. One particular memory that stood out to her was about a children’s book that the professor had read to her once; she couldn’t quite  remember all of the details, but she remembered one moment vividly....

The sound of Satanick’s sniffling had Victor pause mid-sentence as he was finishing up the story. He sighed, glancing over at Satanick. The devil was sitting in a wooden chair  near Crea's side of the bed as he blew his nose into a handkerchief, dabbing at the corners of his eyes. Victor sat on top of the blanket on the girl's bed as she sat tucked in under the white sheet. She looked blankly over at Satanick, confusion clear on her face.

“Satanick, what’s the matter with you?” Victor sighed.

Satanick sniffed, looking over at the pair of them. “Well, when you said this would be a story about a bunny, I was excited. I love bunnies, you see. But you didn’t tell me it was going to be a sad story?! Why read it to poor Crea?” Satanick waved a hand at the child, who seemed unfazed by the horribly sad moment in the book of the rabbit passing away. 

Taking a deep breath, Victor let out another heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and index finger. “Satanick, not every story is going to be a happy one. Now, please, if you’d let me finish, you’ll see the meaning behind this book.” Lowering his hand, Victor refocused his attention on reading the final few pages of the story book, Crea’s attention focused on it. Once finished, Victor closed the book, settling it on his lap. He gave a small smile down at Crea, trying to gauge her reaction. “Well, Crea, what did you think about the story?”

“It sucked!” Satanick loudly proclaimed, still sniffling, and Victor leaned his head back against Crea’s headboard, his eyes shutting in frustration as he let out another sigh, this time through his nose. After a moment, Victor looked back down at Crea, who was staring up at him, as if waiting for his next order. The child was still his, after all, but it bothered Victor when she didn’t show much emotion. He had made that painfully clear to Satanick one evening while talking with him privately – how the girl never once laughed or cried. Still, Victor hoped that one day, maybe she would become… like they once used to be. Shaking off these thoughts that once again liked to creep into his head unawares, Victor asked Crea, “What did you think, Crea?” trying to emphasize that he did not want Satanick’s two cents on this.

Crea looked down at the cover of the book for a moment – registering the story they had just read together. On the cover was a little girl with brown hair in pigtails, hugging a fluffy, gray rabbit. It seemed like a pleasant enough story, despite the sad middle but satisfying ending. Crea nodded as she determined what she thought of the story. “I thought it was nice, Professor.”

Victor looked at her for a moment, a bit curiously. “ Just nice? You…didn’t find anything sad about the story?”

Crea thought about it again, trying to figure out if maybe she had not answered correctly. “Hmm, well, I suppose it was sad when the bunny died – “ Satanick’s whimper to the side she ignored to continue on “ – but that’s part of life, isn’t it? That things live and die? The girl was able to find happiness at the end, so why should she be sad?”

Sitting in the silence that followed – even Satanick had finally stopped his sniveling – Victor closed his eyes, soon opening them to gently pat Crea’s head with his right hand, his left still resting in his lap on top of the book. “Yes, I suppose you are right, Crea.” The small yet somewhat sad smile Victor offered her only confused Crea a bit more. 

Crea’s attention snapped back to the moment at hand, seeing Satanick pressing once again onto the Professor’s chest. Was he trying to get it beating again? But, why? Wasn’t death supposed to be the natural final stage? So, why was Satanick trying to save him so desperately? Crea soon found herself clutching at the top of her plain white nightgown with her right hand as she placed her left hand onto her father’s cold, wet pants leg.

And why did she suddenly feel this pain in her own chest as she recalled the sad little girl crying over that bunny, only this time, she saw a crying devil over the Professor’s body?

“P – Professor,” she quietly whispered out. Part of her felt like another word was slipping past her lips at the same time. Her “p’s” now wanted to become “f’s.” She could hear a faint echo in her mind of another word. She soon whispered out, “Father,” as she felt hot, wet tears beginning to leak out of her eyes. She had never felt this before. Was this what crying was? But – but... why cry? No matter how much she tried to reason in her mind from her gathered knowledge, Crea couldn’t process or explain why she felt the way she did – she just did. She soon found herself weeping over his legs, calling out, “Professor,” while part of her also screamed internally for her father.

Satanick noticed Crea crying over her father’s legs now. Never had he seen this child cry. Neither had Victor. In fact, that was one thing that highly disturbed Victor – that Crea had never smiled at the little joys around her or wept over the things that would make someone normally cry. Now, at such a horrible time like this, the child finally realized what all of this meant. The first time she experienced emotion should have been a cause for celebration. Instead, it was only in grief.

No.

No, no, no!

Satanick was not going to allow that. Victor was going to live. One way or another; he was going to get to see his daughter’s face again.

Determined, Satanick pressed his mouth over Victor’s again to breathe into his lungs, and with that, he felt a part of his power traveling through his body to fill Victor. Part of him felt that he should stop this surge of emotion that was causing the power to radiate out of him. He felt strange using even this bit of power, afraid that Victor would despise him for meddling with something like this. No, this tiny bit of power couldn’t make Victor live forever, but he hoped that it would be enough to bring him back. Foolish it was, he realized. Foolish to try to prolong a life that Victor himself didn’t seem to want to continue. Yet, seeing Crea’s shaking shoulders as she wept over her father, Satanick knew he could not allow Victor to pass on so easily – not until he got to experience the one thing that he longed to see from his created, little girl.

Pulling back from Victor’s mouth, Satanick once again positioned his hands on Victor’s chest, giving a final push to restart to his heart. He could feel that little spark of power once again flowing through him – from his palms into Victor’s chest. “Come on, Victor; live!” he cried out. With that final push, he silently prayed, Please forgive me, Victor.

A sudden, deep gasp and the jolt in Victor’s body had Satanick’s head whipping over to see Victor’s eyes shoot open as he sucked in a deep breath, as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. His body began to settle back onto the floor, some of the tension easing up. His wide eyes soon began to settle into a calmer disposition as his eyes darted around up at the ceiling, soon settling down to stare down the length of his body and into the teary eyes of both Satanick and Crea. He couldn't quite recall what had occurred or why he was on the floor - or even why he felt such a burning in his left shoulder - but he could clearly see what was before him. 

As Victor’s breathing began to settle into a more natural repetition – albeit it, quite aching in his chest – Victor ignored those jabs of pain as he stared into the tear-streaked face of Crea.

Tears. She was crying tears?

And was that…a look of disbelief on her face?

“Crea,” he whispered out, his voice a bit croaky. A sense of warmth, pride, and happiness began to settle over Victor as he slowly began to smile. Even his right arm seemed so warm and heavy to raise as he tried to reach for his creation – no, his daughter. As the exhaustion began to take hold of him, Victor gave a soft smile to Crea before his eyes met Satanick’s. Those deep purple eyes that sparkled with both shock and relief were the last things he saw before he fell into a deep slumber, his lips turned upwards into a content smile.

As Victor’s arm lowered back to the floor with a thump, Satanick feared that Victor had once again slipped away from him past death’s door. He immediately placed his right ear over Victor’s chest. Hearing the steady thumping of his heart and the swishing noise of his blood in his veins, Satanick’s pale face began to have the color return to it as he gratefully closed his eyes to joyfully weep over Victor’s body. With his left hand, Satanick gripped Victor’s right hand in his. Warm; his hand was now becoming warm again.

Feeling Crea sliding closer to him on her knees, Satanick turned his face and body to stare at the child’s confused, joyful, and saddened expression all in one. Not wanting to lift his head off of Victor – he loved hearing the pounding of life returning to this man’s body – Satanick reached forward to wrap his right arm around Crea’s small shoulders, pulling her into both his and Victor’s chests. He nuzzled the top of the girl’s head with his face. This child had given her father the best gift of all, and Satanick was forever indebted to her for getting to see Victor’s sweet smile.

“Lord Devil?” He heard Crea’s slightly muffled voice against his chest. He glanced down at her as she turned her face upwards to stare into his teary face. “Is – Is Father okay?”

Father. The innocent, sweet words of this child made Satanick weep even more, hot tears pouring down his cheeks as he gave a sweet smile of his own to the girl. “Yes, Crea. He’s okay. He’s gonna be okay from now on.” Saying those words, Satanick promised himself that he would make sure of this. To finalize this internal deal, Satanick whispered out, “I promise.”

As the two lie over Victor, letting the cacophony of their rampant emotions settle down, the outside rain had died down, leaving behind only the soft dripping of the raindrops that fell off everything the outside world had to offer.

Chapter Text

Victor let out a groan as he slowly cracked open his eyelids. He felt quite achy, his eyelids still heavy with sleep. Just what had happened? As he tried to recall the events of last night, he recollected snippets of becoming angry and storming out of the home into the storm outside. He remembered a slight pain course through his body – like an electrical shock had suddenly sparked inside him. At that moment, he felt his heart violently freeze before everything went black. Thinking about it now, Victor realized his left shoulder was quite sore more than any other part of him; well, besides his chest. As he tried to piece together why his ribs felt so bruised, the soft snoring at his side had Victor looking down towards the foot of his bed only to see Satanick resting his head on the bed near his left hip. The devil had his arms crossed as a makeshift pillow for his head to rest on. Despite leaning forward in a chair to rest his upper half on the bed – which seemed quite an uncomfortable position to be in – Satanick’s face seemed peaceful. Victor noticed the way the devils’ features seemed much calmer than what he could remember of last night.

Wait - last night?

Victor could now recall the fear, shock, and relief he saw on Satanick’s face and in his eyes while he leaned over him with a crying Crea. Upon remembering her and the brand new emotions she had shown for that brief moment of consciousness, Victor pushed himself up slowly on his elbows, trying to stifle back a groan when he felt the soreness radiating through his chest, torso, and left arm. Despite keeping his lips pressed together to not utter a sound lest he disturb the sleeping devil, a groan still managed to escape as he scrunched up his eyes in discomfort. The rustling nearby had him opening his eyes to see Satanick’s smiling face inches away from his now.

“Gah!” Victor gasped out, sliding back down onto the pillows to put distance between himself and Satanick’s way too cheerful wake up. He groaned again at the sudden movement sending waves of pain over him again.

“Hey, now; easy, Victor.” Satanick chastised him, sitting back more appropriately in the wooden chair. “You don’t want to go overexerting yourself like this. A bolt of lightning really can’t be good for the body.”

Lightning? So, that’s what it was. That explained a lot, Victor came to the conclusion. Honestly, he was surprised he was still alive at this point….

As he thought about that, Victor realized why his ribs probably ached. He closed his eyes for a moment as he thought about the repercussions of what Satanick had done for him. “So, you tried to save my life?” he stated it as a question, but he meant it more matter-of-factly.

“I did. I really did try, Victor.” Hearing such…emotion in the devil’s voice had Victor opening his eyes again to stare dismally at Satanick, who was looking back at him with such concern. Some of his cheerful and almost smug attitude was beginning to wane. Such a serious look for such a strange devil, Victor thought.

“You know, you might have broken one of my ribs. This smarts quite a bit, Satanick.” Victor found himself almost…teasing the devil. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt the need to almost get this man back to his usual self – whatever that might be.

It appeared to work a bit, as Satanick gave a soft smile back to Victor, his eyes seeming to lighten up a bit in those deep purple depths. “I worried about that. It was quite the chore to get you breathing again.” Satanick quieted down once again, lost in thought – his expression alone indicated that. “You…. You had me worried for a bit, Victor. You…had died.”

To hear that final verdict left Victor feeling strange; almost confused, if he were to be honest. He had died. For even a few, brief moments, he had been classified as dead. No breathing. No heartbeat. It was something Victor had thought about for a while now. Ever since death had taken his world away from him – his wife, his daughters – it had always been a large factor in his life. Cheating death had become his life’s work, after all; Crea was proof of that. Even if she would never, ever be the same as his two, beautiful girls, Crea was his lifelong evidence that death had no power. Yet, death had still lurked over Victor in the form of illness slowly draining his own lifeforce away from him.

Lost in thought, Victor stared at the stone ceiling above him, lifting his right arm up to stare at the back of his hand. He couldn't elaborate on what exactly he was reaching for. Was he perhaps searching for a reason – a purpose? After all, he had cheated death to bring Crea to life. And now, death had once again been thwarted; only this time, it was thanks to a devil that had refused to let him pass on. Looking at the back of his hand, still flesh-colored and not ashen in death, Victor let out a sigh as he tried to reason why in the world this devil would try to find reason in saving him – a man that didn’t deserve to live. After all, those most precious to him would never truly be returned to him. Why should he be allowed to survive if death had tried to take him away?

“Satanick, may I ask you a question?” Victor asked, slowly lowering his arm back to his side.

“Of course, my friend,” Satanick said, leaning closer to Victor, as if anticipating something profound to be asked. Surely, Victor wouldn’t disappoint; Victor imagined that’s what Satanick would be thinking in that head of his.

With a serious expression, Victor looked directly into Satanick’s eyes to ask him, “Why did you save me?”

He could tell this question took the devil aback with his look of confusion and almost shock on his face. Looking down a bit – was he embarrassed about something? – Satanick soon whispered out, “Victor, you need to live.”

Victor raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. “And why is that, Satanick? Why should I go on living?”

Satanick raised his eyes, a spark of determination flickering in them. That look – Victor hadn’t seen that displayed to him before despite this man’s wide range of emotions. “Victor, you may not realize it, but you are needed. Don’t you see that? You have those who deeply care about you.” Satanick leaned forward, clasping onto Victor’s right hand in both of his. Victor looked down briefly to state at those dark fingernails holding onto his pale hand. He looked back up to stare into Satanick’s determined stare. “Victor, you must live. For Crea. You have a little girl that needs her father. So, so much. Don’t you see that?”

Victor let Satanick’s words sink into his brain and heart, slowly, as if trying to digest them. Did Satanick truly mean what he was saying? Was Victor truly needed? Even if he was, did he deserve to keep on living? So many doubts and questions lingered in the back of Victor’s mind. Years of these feelings couldn’t just be swept away so trivially by these words. So, why did they pierce him so much?

His thoughts finally returned to Crea. His created daughter. No – his daughters. She deserved to keep on living; after all, she was still so young with so much life ahead of her. And this time, their lives could never be snuffed out so soon with her immortal life. But did she really need him around to live a happy life for all eternity?

As Victor’s mind now drifted to the thoughts of forever, he remembered all of the many times – including yesterday – that Satanick had tried to offer him such a ridiculous offer. Even now, he could hear those first words Satanick had said to him when proposing to give him an immortal life.

“Together with me – Please come to my world…. I promise to make you both happy in a world where time is endless.”

Echoes of those words spurred Victor to finally ask, “You’re a demon, aren’t you? Couldn’t you have…used some sort of spell on me if you truly had wanted?”

Satanick smiled playfully, leaning forward even more as he released his one hand off of Victor’s, still holding onto him with his left hand. “Correction – I am a devil. You know that, Victor.” He flicked Victor teasingly on the forehead with his index finger sliding along his thumb. Victor stuttered out a light gasp at this sudden act, and that made Satanick smile even broader.

“Secondly,” the devil lord continued. “I…I didn’t want to force you into something I know you hated.” He gave pause again as he took a deep breath, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts. “Victor, I have to admit, I used a tiny bit of my power to get you breathing again – to get your heart pumping.” He opened his eyes, almost pleading with him in the way his face showed a pained reaction. “Please forgive me for that. But, I swear to you, I did nothing more to you. I…I won’t force immortality onto you anymore. Because….” Another pause, which Victor dare not interrupt, as he saw Satanick clearly hurting from what he was trying to say. With a glazed look in his eyes – was he seriously getting teary-eyed? – Satanick confessed his regret. “Because of me trying to convince you of something you did not want, we almost lost you, Victor. I almost lost you. I'm so, so sorry for that.”

A squeeze to Victor’s left hand had him look down at Satanick’s hand still on his, only to turn his gaze back to the raw emotions this man was sharing with him. Honestly, Victor wasn't quite sure what to make of all of these revelations. His mindset – his world – which he had so carefully and meticulously constructed over his lifetime seemed to be crumbling. Truth be told, it felt strange, but also, almost…freeing. The crumbling wasn’t as catastrophic as he imagined it could be. If anything, it just felt like things were shifting.

Hoping to change the subject ever so slightly so it would give Victor a brief moment to think things through, he asked, “Where is she? Where is Crea?” He truly did want to see her, worried about what had become of her since last seeing her.

Satanick gave a soft smile to Victor, not pressing the issue of what he had just confessed to Victor. He could sense the man wanted to see his girl. “I’ll go fetch her for you, Victor. She couldn’t sleep quite well last night – poor thing worries too much – so I sent her back to bed. She should be rested now.” Slipping from Victor, Satanick looked back at him for a moment before striding out of the room, leaving Victor in the quiet, alone with his own thoughts.

So, Satanick was another person that cared about him, huh? Of all people, this devil that lived in a completely different - and apparently endless - world cared about him. Victor wasn’t quite sure what to make of this or how to feel about such a thing, but it did make him feel a bit…loved. Victor sighed as he once again turned his gaze to the ceiling above him. Love should only be for those that deserved it. Was he allowed to be loved after all of his sins and immoral work? 

And poor Crea. She was worrying now? So, those emotions he had seen were true after all and not just his delusions. Knowing that Crea was somehow expressing such emotions made Victor reach his right hand up to his collar, hoping to stave off the overwhelming warmth and uncertainty he was feeling in his heart. 

The pitter-patter of feet had him lowering his gaze to see the relieved look on Crea’s face as she raced into the room in her long black dress. “Father!” she cried out, leaping onto the bed, her knees hitting right next to his hips on the thin frame of the twin bed. He knew she was holding herself back – after all, Crea was quite strong for how he made her – but it still ached when she flung her arms around his neck, weeping into his horribly aching shoulder. Groaning, he tried to shut aside the pain as he felt another pain gripping at his heart. Tears that hadn’t been shed in a while began to gather in Victor’s eyes as he realized what had just occurred.

Crea had called him “father.”

Crea was crying.

Crea truly was…feeling.

Ignoring all else, Victor raised his arms to wrap them around Crea’s small frame, holding her close as he wept into her bi-colored hair and she continued to weep onto his wounded shoulder. Never would he have imagined the day would come that Crea would call him “father.” Never would he have imagined that this child would cry, or worry, or express joy. But sure as the sun that shone through the window, hope began to fill Victor; yet another thing he would never have imagined in his lifetime.

Lifetime….

The word now seemed to hold a longing to it. As if it should be long; vibrant; full of life….

Steeling himself, Victor opened his teary eyes, searching till he found Satanick standing off to the side, small tears in his own eyes. “Satanick,” Victor whispered, his voice a bit hoarse from crying and enduring Crea’s enthusiastic hug.

“Yes, Victor?” Satanick was alert, ready to respond to his dear friend’s wishes.

“I think…I’d like to make a deal with you.” Those words should be detrimental for any other human that said them to a devil, but seeing Satanick’s face light up and the tears starting to leak over his eyes, Victor knew that the deal would most surely be in both of their favors.

Crea joyfully skipped around through the daisy field, loving to see the pale purple petals dance around her as her black and white sneakers romped over a few flowers. The more she leapt, the more one could see the green soles of her sneakers. Some of the purple petals became stuck to her red-striped socks that matched her shirt and her red and black ensemble. She felt a bit bad about crushing some of the flowers, but with such a large field surrounding her, it didn’t bother her as much. After all, lush new ones always seemed to pop up every day in this world she lived in.

“Crea ~!”

She slowly stopped her skipping till she came to a stop, turning to look over her shoulder in the direction of the sing-song voice that was calling her name. The soft wind blew her black curls into her face, and with her hand, she pushed back the tendrils to see the waving arm and hand of the devil lord. She turned on her heel to jog back towards Satanick, the hood of her black hoodie bouncing behind her, and her black skirt and white petticoat swishing around her knees.

The closer she got, she saw her father sitting on the soft, green grass of the field, his legs spread in front of him as he rested on the backs of his palms. The breeze blew his ponytail in Satanick’s direction, who was beginning to take a seat next to Victor once again, resting his right elbow on top of his bent knee.

Slightly out of breath, Crea gave a big smile to the two. “Yes?” she asked, curious as to why Satanick had called her over.

“Crea, don’t step on the flowers so roughly. Why not go pick some instead? For a bouquet or a flower crown, perhaps?” Satanick gave a soft smile. That black and red cape of his with his matching wings may have appeared quite devilish, but the way he spoke and acted towards Crea and her father left no room for doubt in this girl’s heart that Satanick was truly the kindest devil she had ever met in this new place she called home.

Nodding her head in agreement, Crea replied, “Sure thing, Lord Devil.” Crea once again bounded into the flower field, though this time with a bit more finesse as she looked for the brightest and prettiest of the daisies.

As Crea set off on her new mission, Satanick turned his gaze to Victor, who had his eyes looking at Satanick from his peripheral vision. Satanick chuckled. “What’s that look for?”

Victor rotated his eyes back onto his daughter, a small smile on his lips. “Even after all these years, she still calls you that.”

Satanick gave a small smile, though a bit of a twitch could be seen near his left lip – a slight tremble. “I – I know,” he whined. “It’s so sad. She won’t even call me her second papa; brings a tear to my eye.” Satanick mockingly placed the back of his right hand over his eyes, as if getting ready to cry.

Victor merely rolled his eyes. “You’re quite pathetic for the lord over an entire realm, you know?”

Satanick couldn’t help but laugh at Victor’s stoicism; just another thing he found so intriguing about this human. Well, he supposed that Victor couldn’t be classified as a human these days. Even after all this time, Satanick still felt his heart soar at Victor having accepted his “deal” to come live forever with him.

“I kid, I kid,” Satanick insisted, lowering his hand from his face, resting it once again across his knee. Glancing down, he saw Victor’s right hand in between them, perched in the grass to keep himself steady as he enjoyed the lovely weather the Pitch Black World was experiencing. Now that he thought about it, the weather had been quite gorgeous for a while now. Satanick smiled, knowing whom to thank for that.

Reaching out with his left hand, Satanick placed his hand on top of Victor’s. He loved that Victor took notice of this right away, turning his gaze to the devil’s hand on top of his, then up to Satanick’s soft, phlox-colored irises. Victor returned the smile, now being the one to ask, “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing. I just was thinking about how lucky I am that you accepted my offer, Victor.” Satanick gave a sly smile once again. How he loved to see the exasperation on Victor’s face; another lovely trait of his.

This time, the exasperation didn’t last for long as Victor turned his wrist so he could intertwine his fingers with Satanick’s. He turned back to watch Crea happily returning to the pair, two large fistfuls of daises in her hands.

“Yeah, well…. I’m happy you gave me the chance, Satanick.”

As the evening sky began to roll in, Crea proudly presented two bouquets to both of her fathers.

Update as of 2/14/2021! Everyone, go give alllllllllllll the love and support for this beautiful piece of art that Makko has done for the ending sequence! Go, go, GOOOOO! <3 Thank you, king! 

https://twitter.com/MakKoeda/status/1360978115804200962