Chapter Text
"COME BACK HERE, YOU BRATS!!"
"Run for your life, Mugsy!!"
"Heeeeelp!!"
The two boys screamed in terror while running away from a furious Devil and his fire; after the sweater accident, he was more determined than ever to collect Cuphead's soul and put it in his vault.
Without realizing it, the kids ran into a blind alley.
"Oh no!"
"We're doomed!"
They hugged each other, trembling in fear as the Devil got closer and closer.
"YES! Your soul will finally be mine!!"
He laughed evilly.
"This time you've got nowhere to-"
CRASH
A big flower pot had fallen on the demon's head, knocking him out.
The two brothers looked at each other and decided to take advantage of that stroke of luck, running back to their cottage.
King Dice was laying on his velvet couch, dressed in nothing but a lilac satin robe and drinking his second glass of Bourbon that late afternoon.
After being fired by his boss and losing his beloved show, his reputation had sunk down: aside from his most loyal fans, people accused him of being nothing but a fraud, a cheap crook and other similar insults.
This made him fall into a state of depression, shutting himself inside his luxurious apartment in complete solitude.
He sighed wistfully, sipping what was left of the liquor and laying on his back.
"You are no longer my number one. And you will not be hosting your precious little show."
The Devil's words tormented his mind like scalding needles.
"I can't believe he took my show away from me...I've always been his right hand man, and now I'm a nobody!"
Dice groaned, searching for the bottle of Bourbon on the floor.
"That selfish jerk! He doesn't deserve me or my skills!"
He huffed in annoyance when he noticed that the bottle was empty. Shrugging, the man stood up and dragged his feet towards the liquor cabinet.
Before he could choose another bottle to poison himself with, the phone in the living room rang.
"I bet it's that journalist again! I've had enough!"
King Dice marched to the ringing device and grabbed the receiver.
"I TOLD YOU I'M NOT INTERESTED IN ANSWERING YOUR QUESTIONS!"
"M-Mr. Dice?...."
Dice blinked in confusion: that wasn't the journalist.
"Henchman?"
"Yes, it's me."
"Why are you calling me?"
He asked coldly. He didn't really want to unleash his bitterness on Henchman, but he was tipsy and in a bad mood.
"Uuh, you see...the boss ain't alright. Something's wrong."
"What do you mean? Is he sick?"
"It's better if you come down here and, uh, see for yourself."
"I don't know why I should. I ain't his number one anymore, remember?"
"Please, oh, please Mr. Dice sir! We don't know what to do!"
The die man rolled his eyes and sighed: why did he have the feeling that he was going to regret this?
"...send the elevator at my house. I'll be right there."
When King Dice arrived in Hell, unpleasant shivers ran down his spine: the screams and laments of the damned souls, the unbelievable heat, the tall flames creating terrifying shadows...
It was an awful place to be.
He walked away from the elevator and into the throne room, which caused him to automatically wince at the memory of his last visit there.
He decided to ignore the dreadful feeling and just move on.
"Mr. Dice! Thank the flames you're here!"
A round, pudgy purple demon came running towards him, clearly worried.
"Henchman, what's this all about?"
"Uuh, the boss has been acting weird! He's in his bedroom, come with me!"
The man rolled his eyes, but followed the demon anyway: he couldn't care less about what his boss was going through. Probably another hissy fit or something like that.
Henchman led him hurriedly to the Devil's private quarters and opened the door of the sumptuous bedroom.
Dice entered and looked around, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't see him."
He heard a soft whimper coming from under the bed and (much to his annoyance) King Dice had to lay on the floor to have a look; what he saw surprised him: the Devil was curled up in fetal position, holding his tail like his life depended on it and crying quietly.
His ears were drooped and he was trembling like a leaf on a windy day.
"Boss? Are...are you alright?"
The demon sniffled, moving as far away as possible from Dice, looking scared and lost.
"What's wrong with him?"
King Dice asked Henchman, who sighed and shook his head.
"No idea! It's like he can't recognize anyone. I found him knocked out in a alley, with a big bump on his head. So I brought him home, but he got scared and hid under the bed."
"Scared? Scared of what?"
"Uuh, I don't know. Hell, I guess."
Dice had to admit that the ambience wasn't exactly relaxing...to a mortal. But to the Devil? It didn't make any sense.
His boss loved to hear the screams and cries of pain coming from the tormented souls.
And yet now he was cowering under his bed.
"I called our doctor, he'll be here soon."
"You have a doctor in Hell?"
"Oh, yeah! In case there are any accidents. I sent Stickler to call for him."
Right on cue, the green demon opened the door and re-adjusted his glasses.
"Here'sh the doctor, mmnnhh..."
The doctor was identical to Stickler, except for a pair of grey mustaches, a white lab coat and a medical head mirror on his forehead.
"Doctor Stickler Sr.! Please, you need to help the boss!"
"Yes, yes, yes, no need to worry about it."
"Well father, I sschall leave you to it now. I have to sscheck that the sshoul count doesn't sshtop, mnmmnhhh..."
Stickler jr. said in his usual dull tone as he walked out of the room; the doctor sighed.
"My son is a good employee, but I wish he would keep his enthusiasm in check. Now, where's the patient?"
Both Dice and Henchman pointed at the bed.
"Well, for Hell fire's sake! Get him out of there!"
"Uh, I...guess I'll try."
King Dice shrugged, kneeling down once again.
"Hey there, fella: wouldn't you be more comfortable out here?"
The Devil whimpered and shook his head no.
"Aw, don't you worry: no one's going to hurt you, the doctor just wants to check on your bad bump."
The demon carefully touched his head and winced in pain.
"Yeah, you see? Let's take care of that, mh?"
Dice tended an open hand towards him.
"My name is King Dice, remember? You can trust me."
After a few more moments of hesitation, the Devil took the other's hand and slowly got out.
He wouldn't let go of Dice's hand though, and the man had to sit with him on the bed.
"Good. Now let's see..."
The doctor checked on the Devil, putting an ointment on the bump and making sure he didn't have any other injuries.
"Physically he seems to be fine. Now, let's ask him a few questions."
Doctor Stickler Sr. cleared his throat.
"Do you know who you are? Where you are?"
The Devil blinked and shook his head.
"Just how I feared: total amnesia. He doesn't remember a thing."
"That's terrible! What will we do now??"
"Calm down, Henchman. All we can do is wait and see if he'll get his memories back on his own.
I recommend absolute rest and relax."
"I have the feeling he won't get much rest if he stays here. Look at him."
The Devil had curled up in Dice's lap, trembling slightly as he still refused to let go of the man's hand.
"Mmh, perhaps you're right...then it's settled: you should take him with you until he's healed."
"WHAT?!"
"You said it yourself: he can't stay here, and it looks like he likes you, it's the logical thing to do."
"Now, wait just a minute!"
He rudely pushed his boss on the bed and stood up.
"I ain't going to play babysitter! I couldn't care less about this whole situation! He fired me, remember??"
"Yes, and I'm sure our king is going to be extremely generous once he'll regain his memory. He might give you back your show or anything else you want."
"Nice try. How do we know that he'll ever get his memories back? I don't work with 'maybes' and 'ifs': I want a guarantee."
The doctor rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Henchman, tell my son to give you a blank contract."
The round demon nodded and poofed away.
"A...a what?"
"It's a magical pre-signed contract that will get you anything you want depending on what you write on it. It can be anything...even the cancellation of a previous soul contract."
The die man's eyes widened: that meant he could get his show back and also get free!
"Really? No clauses? No strings attached?"
"No. All you have to do is write whatever you desire and sign. In exchange, you will take care of our king until he's healed...which means you'll also be responsible if something happens to him."
The doctor glared at Dice meaningfully.
"If you won't, the blank contract will destroy itself. So you better treat him well."
Henchman reappeared in front of Dice and handed him the parchment.
The man grinned and grabbed it.
"Don't worry, doc: I'll handle him with kid gloves."
He turned his head towards the confused demon on the bed, looking at him like he was some sort of golden goose.