Work Text:
He was falling. Falling, falling, falling. Water surrounded him, chills reaching all over. He gulped, seeking sweet oxygen, but all he was given was more of that fateful liquid. His muscles screamed, begging for release, forcing him up, but it was no good; the river had all but claimed him. Although his body struggled, his brain knew that it was all over. He had learnt by now; it was no use trying to resist fate. The very thing he had sought to destroy.
For what felt like the hundredth time, he closed his eyes and let the darkness claim him.
A voice jolted Diavolo back into the room.
He looked around, taking stock of his surroundings. He appeared to be in a clothing store of some kind. Piano was playing in the background over the speakers. The tune would have been sinister under normal circumstances, but the bright colour palette and snatches of cheerful chatter from between the rows destroyed any impact it might have had. He looked up and noticed a television, the letters CCTV branded across the top. It was split into four squares, one of them showing him standing there. Him standing there, and-
“Daddy, what do you think of this one?”
He almost jumped a mile in the air. What was that? He regained composure quickly, figuring that this was a busy shop and there were plenty of children around. No big deal.
Then, a nudge at his leg.
He looked down instinctively and was immediately greeted with the strangest sight of his life.
Stood by his side was a young girl, somewhere between six and eight. She was staring at herself in the mirror opposite them, wide green eyes sparkling with curiosity. She was wearing a strappy dress he could only describe as sunset coloured, yellow fading into orange. It contrasted magnificently with her pink hair, which curled wildly on top of her head.
She tentatively lifted the hem of the dress, holding it out slightly in front of her. The silky fabric floated back to her legs as she let go, earning an awed gasp. She did it again, and again, and again, flipping the dress up and down with her fingers, gasping every time.
“I take it that you like it?”
He didn’t know what else to say. Who was this child? She seemed under the impression that he was her father, and he could kind of see the resemblance? Pink hair wasn’t exactly common, after all. He tried to put an arm around her but stopped almost immediately, realising that his arms were inexplicably full of clothes.
“Daddy forgot a ba-ag,” she sung, skipping off to the entrance. Her dress swished behind her as she moved and she gloried in it, retrieving the basket with a twirl. She sprinted back to where he was stood, laughing the whole way. Her joy was infectious; It was like a Mexican wave of smiles as she passed people by. One man in particular seemed overjoyed by her antics, nudging the goth figure next to him and pointing.
Upon closer inspection, the pair were vaguely familiar, but also not. It was almost as though they had met in a previous life. They were certainly distinct looking: one was wearing a white-spotted suit with an exposed chest; the other was clad in a black leather robe and purple lipstick. In any other store, the sheer absurdity of their get-ups would make them stand out by a mile – but not here. For some reason beyond his comprehension, every single person that smiled at the girl was completely and utterly – well, bizarre.
A seven-foot-tall figure loomed above everyone in the room, a mass of black leather and muscle. This did not phase the girl: she jumped up and tried to grab his jester’s hat, the sound of the bells ringing throughout the entire store. This grabbed the attention of someone who had hair like a carrot, who in turn pointed her out to someone with long brown hair in five pigtails. She earned a smile from a man wearing a blue crop top and tiger print jeans, and a cheer from a boy? girl? donning an orange headband and halter top, a frog plushie shoved between the chest straps. She ran past even more fashion disasters, each outfit more absurd with the last. The only person who seemed displeased by her presence was an albino teenager wearing a suit with holes cut in. He knew he had sunk low when Goth Leather man almost looked normal compared to everyone else.
After making her rounds of the store – doing everything except giving him the basket, mind you – the girl (his daughter?) had been side tracked by a circular clothing rack. He felt inclined to pay for the item she was wearing. He made his way to the till, the other clothes still clutched awkwardly. He stood in the queue while he watched the child ferret around a sea of jumpers.
“Children are miracles, aren’t they?”
He whipped around and found himself facing quite possibly the strangest man he had ever seen – although that bar was getting higher and higher by the second. He was wearing a purple blindfold with an eye cut out, his body coated in black latex with square holes cut out, exposing one side of his torso. The asymmetry was topped off with a lavender undercut, concealing his other (already hidden) eye. Was he stood in a shop visited entirely by lunatics?
He looked down at himself. Normally his pink hair made him quite the attention-grabber, but here he was almost a killjoy.
Then he realised that he hadn’t responded. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess.”
“She’s just beautiful! So enthusiastic!” He sighed, looking at the moving rack. “I love children, I wish I could have some of my own one day.”
“This might seem like an overstep, but have you considered adoption?” Chest-panel-spotty-suit appeared behind the two of them, several figures in tow. “Leone and I are foster carers. It’s the best decision we ever made; don’t you agree?”
‘Leone’ rolled his eyes, but the effect was rather undercut by his smile. “They annoy me to hell and back sometimes, but I love them really. You didn’t hear that!” The last part was angled at the figures behind him, particularly Orange Headband.
“Aww, Dad loves us – “
“Quiet, rat.”
There was a loud screeching sound as Trish as she re-emerged with what had to be the ugliest sweater he had ever seen. It was bright pink, for a start, and bizarrely cropped short, with strands to frame the torso. Most notably, however, was the hole cut out of the chest; presumably to form some kind of window for cleavage, but the diagonal angle made this seem unlikely and impractical. Who was this made for? If the girl were to wear it, it would swallow her whole. He should probably point this out, given that this might be his daughter.
“That that won’t fit you.”
She did not listen to him, instead opting to throw it into the basket. “It’s for you!”
“I don’t want it. It looks ridiculous.”
It felt harsh saying it to a child, but it was both necessary and true.
Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say.
“You don’t like it?”
Tears welled up in those brilliant green eyes, threatening to spill out onto her porcelain face. He doesn’t know about children, what is he meant to do now? Luckily, Purple Man did.
“It looks Di Molto! You’re so fashionable!”
Orange Headband slipped his frog plushie out from between his chest straps. “Smoochy loves it!” He nudged the frog’s mouth against her lips, making her giggle. He had never been one for children, but even he had to admit this little scene was the cutest thing he had ever seen.
His parental instincts, buried under layers of anger and dismissal, finally kicked in. “Daddy was just being silly; he loves it really. How about we get it with your dress?”
The girl cheered, jumping up and down enthusiastically. Everyone joined in with her.
“You get that jumper! Slay queen!”
“Ah, you’re gonna look fabulous!”
“You will look most magnificent”
“Never say slay queen again.”
Purple Man finished their transaction, leaving him free to dump his armful of clothes onto the counter, alongside the jumper. With his arms regaining freedom of movement, he was able to pull the girl into his side, pulling the label off her dress, earning a look of disapproval from the man behind the till, something he was sure that his studded jacket and mostly shaved head had made him well acquainted to. He returned his gaze.
“We’re buying it anyway.”
He scanned it wordlessly, putting it in a bag alongside the rest of the stuff. Diavolo didn’t even know what half of it was but he picked it up anyway, holding one bag in each hand. He nodded at the family behind him as he left the shop.
Another nudge at his side. This time he stopped before looking down. The girl was holding out a hand, wide green eyes almost pleading.
“I can’t. I’m using them for bags.”
He could have sworn that Spotty Shirt was looking at him a moment before. Although he wasn’t when he looked over, he did notice that he was balancing all his bags on one arm and clutching the frog plushie in the other.
A second later they were walking out the store, hand in hand. He noticed that she was wearing green nail polish, although the location of it was not confined to the ends of her fingers. As he looked at the strokes on her wrist, he noticed the beaded bracelet she was wearing. Blocky letters on the string spelled out ‘Trish’. He gripped her hand tighter instinctively as they approached the busy road.
“Daddy look, gelato!” She let go of his hand, sprinting forwards… into the road.
“TRISH, NO!”
He surged forwards, chasing after the girl. Her dress was flowing just out of reach, her tiny legs carrying her impossibly fast. He made one final lunge, grabbing a fistful of orange satin and pulling it closer.
“Trish – “
Then, it happened.
Bright lights.
The screech of brakes.
And a swift decent into blissful oblivion.
He woke up not long afterwards. His head was pounding as he sat up, all the blood rushing out of it making stars appear in his vision. He noticed that his face was covered in sticky tears, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember how, or why.
He was overcome with a sense of déjà vu as he looked around again. He was sat in a non-descript box, water dripping from the sides, somehow. There were no clues as to how he got here, no memories to guide him. He smoothed a hand over the side, noting the rough texture.
A scrap of fabric fell out as he did it. He picked it up, noting how soft it felt. It was bright orange, torn from something – maybe a shirt. He couldn’t be sure, especially since he had never been one for shirts.
Then, it came running back to him. He had a daughter! She had been running into the road, in search of ice cream, and then–
“TRISH! ARE YOU OK?” he screamed at the wall. He wasn’t sure if she could hear him but it didn’t matter, the chance was enough. He had to be sure, had to know that she was ok. Failing that, he had to at least try, do the best he could for that precious little part of himself.
“Who’s Trish?”
“Yeah, who’s Trish? And why d’ya care if she’s ok?”
“She’s my daughter. She went into traffic and–“ His throat felt thick, tears welling up.
“Dude… y’ don’t have a kid. Never have.”
“Yes I do! I just went shopping with her! We got this sunset dress, see!” He held up the scrap of fabric.
“No dude, you’ve never had a kid. We’d know, y’ live with us.”
“What y’ do have though, is debt. And we want repayment.”
“I haven’t got any money on me. I could go and get some– “
“That’s what y’ said last time. An’ time b’fore that, an’ time b’fore that. We don’t need a roomie anymore”
“Not one who doesn’t cough up, anyway.” The two men laughed, quickly devolving into a smoker’s cough. Then, the sound of batons against a hand.
“Well! Time t’ make ‘im pay for the last time.”
“What ‘re ‘e waitin’ for?” he said nonchalantly, as though they were talking about the weather and not their imminent plans to murder him.
“Tell your daughter we said hi.”
Then they struck.
As the blows rained down upon him, he cried. Not out of pain, or confusion, or about how bitterly unfair it all was.
No, he cried at the memory of what could have been. It could have been his life, and it was snatched away from him, like Trish’s laughter in the wind.
And it was gone forever, those shining green eyes never to return.