Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Game Station Daycare.

As a father, I'd seen it before. I'd heard of it. Just above Levi City, within the backstreets of Beachside Suburbs, sat this cute little daycare center. They had glowing reviews online, the photos showed this adorable setup with the sweetest kids running through it, Hell! I'd even considered taking Little Johnny boy there when I first got custody.

… But something told me not to.

There was an odd aura about that place, an energy that put the whole thing off. It was a hunch I had since I first saw it on Voogle - no reason, just a hunch - but when she came into my office? I realized something more was going on. Something was wrong about this place. Something fucked up.

She was an Imp. A small, worried woman, named Ireene Canterwall, and she was coming to me in her hour of need. She slammed down some missing posters on my desk and begged me to investigate the Daycare; her brother had gone missing there when he went to pick up his son. But he wasn't the only one. According to her, at least five Demons had gone missing there, some Imps, some not. And there were even more! They just hadn't agreed to be investigated.

Although her story was outlandish, I took her concern to heart. During our meeting, I shot a quick text to my tech guy:

Daddy [2:31pm]: Hey. Can you check on these names for me? I need to know if there's connections in their last whereabouts:

Zeke Canterwall

Cheryl Wynner

Billy Bob Joseph

Lorrel Son

Jill Kinders

And as she told me about her brother, how he loved to fish and how his favorite beer was dreadfully tasteless, I got a reply:

800913 [2:47pm]: 7h3Y aLl D15aPP3aR3D. w3r3 lA57 533N @ 50m3 K1nd 0F DayCar3. 7H3R3'2 4N aV3RA93 0f a Y3Ar and a hAlF 837W33n 7h3m.

n3W KA23?

My client was telling the truth.

Daddy [2:52pm] New case.

I thus agreed to take it on. The absolute elation on this woman's face was so overwhelming for her that it brought tears to her eyes. Had I still been in my rookie years, I'd probably have teared-up with her. But when it comes to cases like this? You can't get too close to anybody, not in the beginning.

Hell ain't a normal whodunit show. Murder mysteries don't have the same appeal when killing is as common as a good cup of joe. Could the Daycare be to blame? Sure, but so could every other Demon in Hell. Even this lovely lady in front of me could be to blame for these disappearances, and perhaps she's simply using my company as an alibi for her own felonies. But with at least five missing, this case needed to be investigated properly. Something was afoot, no matter what, and I'd get to the bottom of it.

No kid should have to wonder what happened to their parents.

As I walked the much smaller woman to her car, I saw my employees' eyes sticking to us. A mixture of perked brows and rolling eyes was barely hidden out of my client's view as I held the front door for her.

"Ma'am, don't worry," I bent down to the passenger's window on her much shorter vehicle, "We'll find who did this."

The sparkle in her eyes was the hook, line, and sinker. As she sped off back down the street, I crossed my arms, my gaze chasing after her.

Five missing parents, and five safe kids? Not totally unusual, but definitely interesting.

Chapter Text

Now, I wasn't born into suffering or torment as most of Hell has been. No, my mom and pop were fine folk. They ran a small dime store at the corner, one of the few in our little town, and they made just enough money that our financial woes were low. The store I grew up in was run on a tight ship: all by the book, all straight-laced. Anyone that came in with a need for a fight got a face full of lead instead, and my mama was a hell of a shot. Even now, with her cataracts, her aim still drove my dad wild.

So once I became a detective, I took my own blood's headstrong dedication with me. Now, being in the investigating business ain't as cut-and-dry as retail, but I'd go on to say being headstrong is just as important as a detective, if not more so! If you're not willing to stand up for yourself, or even push the rules a bit, how are you gonna get anything solved? My team and I knew this well, and it was how we operated.

Thus, every time we got a new case, we'd gather around the conference room and start up a whiteboard for it. We'd usually have two or three cases running at a time, but for something this large, I was fortunate to have all hands on deck. And when I say all hands? I mean all of them.

My secretary, Miss Candy, was as sweet as sugar. She didn't have an evil thought in her head, and any negative emotions within her would disappear with a ball of chewing gum or a gobstopper.

My bruiser, Miss Cat Bee, was Miss Candy's younger sister, and an absolute firecracker. Although she loved to laugh and was the smallest of our group, she had enough rage in her to take out an army if she damn well pleased.

My tech guy, Boogie Bot, was the kind of boy you'd never really see. Instead, he spent his life in front of screens, traveling down into the darkest digital recesses of the world wide web. Despite the shit I'm sure he's seen, his heart was as gentle as a kitten's paw. He was a good boy, out in the trenches trying to do the right thing.

And my right hand man? That'd be Boxy. Boxy Boo. The man that fueled me to become a detective, Boxy was the Simon to my Garfunkel, the Abott to my Costello. Good Satan, do kids these days even know who those men are? Well, just know he was my partner in solving crime, basically. He specializes in crime scene observations. He collects clues, and I confront the suspects. It's how we've been working since we graduated college together, and with any luck, it's how we will be until the day we retire.

As we all settled around the now blank whiteboard, I posted the five missing posters up on it with small, colorful magnets. The shuffling papers and clicking keyboard welcomed us into our conversation.

And, of course, I started it, "Alright, gang, we got a new case today! This one's a doozy, so we're gonna have to keep our plates clear for it for a bit."

Between Boxy and I, I had the most charisma. That's not to say Boxy didn't have his own moxy, but a team needs a leader that can keep a level head, and Boxy? He ain't that guy. So he's always been glad to sit back while I blabbered away.

I started writing the missing Demons' names as I spoke them to the room, "We got five missing Demons: Cherylle Wynner, a 22-year-old Imp; Zeke Canterwall, a 37-year-old Imp; Lorrel Son, a 34-year-old Succubus; Jill Kinders, a 46-year-old Imp; and Billy Bob Joseph, a 54-year-old Hellhound. They were all last known to be traveling to or from a childcare center called Game Station Daycare down in the Beachside Suburbs."

"That's quite the range of victims," I heard Boxy grumble, "Are we sure these are connected?"

"Yup, each one of them had a child attending the aforementioned daycare," I told him.

"Do we have a timeline of disappearances?"

He had me there.

"Oh, yeah, yeah-" my elastic arm started wiggling as I scribbled the dates of each disappearance on the board, "They're pretty frequent, not a lot of time between them."

Boxy, always a contrarian, replied, "But it's still fairly random. Especially for a residential area."

"We don't know if they're even dead!" Cat Bee - who I call "Bee" to not get her confused with Candy - argued, "They're missing!"

I heard Boxy huff, but as I turned around, he just coiled his spring-arms together. Bee stuck her nose up with pride.

"That's a good point!" I wrote both "alive" and "dead" up on the board, "We don't know. We don't know anything, and we gotta enter this case as if we know nothing."

Nods were passed around the table, and I could see the thoughts racing behind their eyes. They were looking for a starting point.

And any time we needed direction, I always asked: "Boogie! You got anything yet?"

Boogie was a reliable boy, his mind always a few steps ahead, and this never changed around the meeting table, "I have victims' families locations, as well as full friends lists."

"Excellent!" I always cheered, I couldn't help it! It's exciting to start a new case, "Alright, our first objective is to answer this question: why these five? Are they all gone by the same hand? Or are they all victims of a different circumstance?"

More nods rolled from seat to seat.

As the adrenaline hit my bones, I started pointing around the room, "Candy, Bee! I need you two to visit the Wynners and the Jospehs. We're starting with them. I wanna know about their relationships to Billy and Cherylle, and I wanna know how they've been dealing with this mess."

"Got it!" Candy cooed, that big grin pushing her cheeks up as her sister gave a simple nod.

I turned to Boogie, "Boogie, send th-"

Before I could even give the assignment, Candy's phone pinged with a text. Candy plucked the phone from the table, her numerous phone charms clacking like a set of keys as she glanced at the screen.

"Thanks, Boogs!" she chirped.

Boogie's speed had always been hard to match, and it still threw me off. Made me feel old, especially since the boy was barely 19.

"Boogie, keep digging! I want the digital footprint of each of our victims. I wanna know their favorite Voxtube videos, how vile their tweets are, what their main searches are on Voxhub-"

There were stifled giggles around the table, and although I meant what I said, I understood the humor. I even let out a snort of my own before I continued.

"-we need to know these five inside and out."

"Yessir," Boogie gave a small solute without taking his eyes off of his laptop.

"And Boxy?" another voice said, "You're with me."

I grimaced over at my partner. The table stifled more laughs.

"And Boxy?" I crossed my arms, fighting the smirk that was pushing my face, "You get to man the front desk while we're working."

"WHAT?" Boxy scowled.

The table laughed.

"We need someone to handle incoming calls!" it was at that moment that I let that smirk whip across my face, "We got guys checking on the water this afternoon!"

Boxy deflated like a child's balloon one week after the party.

With that confidence boost, I puffed out my chest, "And I will head to the Daycare! Gonna scope the scene and take Little Johnny with me."

"Are you sure you should take Lil J?" Boxy's expression had flipped so fast that I missed it; the concern was etched into his massive eyebrows.

This man had giant, fuzzy caterpillars for eyebrows.

I deflated my own playful attitude to match his sincerity, "Yeah, I'm sure. After all, the kids aren't the target. I am."

"That doesn't help!" Bee objected, her brow just as furrowed as Boxy's, "Sir, I'm not sure it's a good idea for just you and J to go. Maybe someone should go with?"

The looks of concern bore into me, but I knew what'd calm them down. A flawless strategy that had worked since we first started.

"What do you mean?!" I laughed, reaching into my vest, "I got my trusty sidekick!"

With a gentle tug, I pulled my pistol out.

"I got Darrell."

The concern immediately vanished. Save for Boxy's, of course. 

He was somehow even more worried, "You're taking a gun to a daycare?!"

"... I'm not the first," I replied as I put Darrell back into my vest, "And I probably won't be the last."

"Anti Christ, Daddy," he grumbled.

The rest of the table was resolved; and seeing himself as the odd one out, Boxy accepted the situation with them, albeit begrudgingly.

"Great!" I clapped my hands, "Any questions?"

Boogie's eyes didn't even move from his screen, "Can we order lunch first?"

As if my own stomach had ears, it grumbled below me.

"... that ain't such a bad idea."

Chapter Text

Little John Longjohn was the only good thing about my past marriage. Let me tell you, if I had the opportunity to change the past? I would absolutely refuse, because any changes could affect my boy.

LJ, as I call him, was born prematurely. While his mom was out working and essentially ignoring the situation, I took all my files and folders to the hospital and sat next to his incubator for hours on end, day after day. I'd read stories to him, describe my day to him, and even bring members of the team in to meet him. There were some days the team would even stay with me, to support a father and son under stress.

Once LJ finally got the clear, I was the first one to hold him, and my Satan, it was the best moment of my life. My own flesh and blood, so small and sweet, laying in my arms. His big blue eyes sparkled like my mama's, and I knew that would drive her crazy once she saw him. The doctors told me he could have development issues, or that he could have difficulties growing and learning; but the day I saw those eyes, I vowed that I'd do anything to help him, no matter how bad it could get. Hell, I'd kill Lucifer himself to give my boy a chance at a good life.

Please don't tell Lucifer I said that.

But nonetheless, that's why I felt so comfortable taking LJ to the Daycare that day. Because I knew, above everything else, that I'd put him before the job every time. He was my bundle of joy, and if I was gonna go into this place incognito, I had to look as much like a potential client as possible. And LJ was the key.

As we rode up to the place in my vintage Beelze MK - an old ride from my dad - I saw a big sign a bit above my head. It had a train on it, and the big title "Game Station;" all in red, blue, yellow, and white. The front walls were rather drab, but a pair of red, see-through glass doors broke up the boring gray. I thus slipped LJ out of his car seat, placed him in his backpack carrier, and put him on my back as I locked up the car. Of course, if my limbs didn't stretch, this process would be much more difficult, but my species does have its perks.

Yet, as I turned for the front door, my gut churned. There was no reason, really. Not like there was some blood splatter around the door, or a stray bone on the ground. Yet the pit of my stomach just kept saying "there is something bad in there," which I of course already suspected based on my client's claims, but I usually didn't get these gut feelings from simple stories. I got them from hunches.

And I had a bad hunch about this place. The hunch was so bad that most detectives would call for backup, or at least abandon the idea of going in undercover. But I'm not like most detectives. With a hunch this bad, I had to get to the bottom of it, so I pushed forward and through that front door.

Now, I can't smell. Neither can my son. We don't have noses; none of our species does, but the air in that place still sat different. It felt as if I had a blanket thrown on me: sure, it was kinda warm and snuggly, but I sure as hell didn't ask for it! Around me, a bunch of baby Hellhounds and Imps alike calmly strolled about, playing with toys and talking to the staff, without a care or stress in the world. I could even hear LJ coo behind me, like he was just as happy to be there. My eyes flicked to the back of the room, and I saw quite the sight.

Three blue chairs sat three different kids, and behind those chairs and a desk sat a woman taller than anyone I had ever seen. She was like a whole-ass skyscraper, forced behind a desk that was a quarter of her size. Her body was covered in luscious pink fur, and she wore a little polka-dot dress and a bow tie, with a bubbly disposition to match. Indeed, although her teeth were massive and sharp, she was a ray of sunshine to the kids around her.

But she wasn't alone! There was another staff member her size, but he was blue and he was wearing the longest pair of jeans I'd ever seen. And there was a rabbit? There was- he was small and yellow. He could've been a child, but he was sitting on the head of some massive dog-caterpillar man whose long body disappeared down the hall they were sitting in.

This cast was absolutely bizarre, and had it not been for the air I had previously mentioned, I'd be on the highest of alert. But instead, I jumped when a voice called to me.

"Welcome to Game Station Daycare!" the fuzzy lady called, her voice as bright as her eyes, "How can we help you?"

I kinda glided across the room to her, "Hi, uh. I'm here with my little buddy LJ, and I've been curious about bringing him here."

Because of her size, she barely had to tilt her head to see my boy, "Oh my goodness, what a precious little guy! And in such a cute bag! My name is Kissy Missy, but please, just call me Kissy!"

Judging by her appearance and name, Kissy had to be a ragdoll. A lotta ragdoll Demons have rhyming names.

Behind me, LJ cooed again. My baby wasn't a huge talker, so to hear him vocal around new people also raised alarms.

"Hey, I'm Daddy Longjohn, and can. Can, can I ask: why does it feel like I have walked into a weighted blanket?"

She chuckled, "That's a Game Station exclusive pheromone. It comes from our owner, Miss Longlegs! You could say she was born to be a caretaker!"

It was then that I felt everyone's eyes on me. I had no idea how long they had been watching, but it did feel like the entire Daycare Staff was observing me, like I was some animal at a zoo.

"Ah," I chuckled back, "No wonder the reviews for this place are glowing."

"Now, if you're going to leave LJ here today," Kissy started pulling out drawers, "You'll need-"

"Wait!" I reached out, lightly smacking the desk, "I just. I wanna know more, look around, you know? Do you guys have like? Pamphlets?"

Kissy's posture shifted immediately. It was very small, from the way her massive arms rolled to her chest settling. I couldn't even discern what the shift was for.

"No, we don't," she replied, "But it's nice to see someone actually curious about our facilities. You're a rare breed, you know? Most parents just drop their kids and run."

Sounded like my ex-wife.

"No, no, I'd never!" I argued, "You see, my workload is picking up, and I need somewhere both for LJ to stay and to start being more social."

Her eyes lit up, "Then you've definitely come to the right place! Many of the children that have outgrown Game Station have become very attuned teens! Shockingly."

"Demons? Attuned, teenage Demons?" I laughed, “That sounds impossible.”

"It does, I know, but it’s true!" she chuckled slightly, "But if you'd like, I can get Miss Longlegs to come give you a tour? I'm sure she'd love to!"

Judging by that surname, Miss Longlegs was an elastic Demon like me. I'm a Longjohn, she's a Longlegs.

She lucked out on the surname game.

"Sure, that'd be perfect!"

"Great, give me just a second. You can have a seat or look around in the meantime," Kissy then whipped out this massive hand-held radio - made for Demons her size, clearly - and called for this "Miss Longlegs."

Taking Kissy's advice, I decided to survey the room itself. The ceilings were abnormally tall, with plenty of lighting to keep things bright. There were two main hallways that extended back into the building, each adorned with the same red, white, and yellow tiles that made up this common area. It frankly looked like a massive building-block facility, very kid-friendly. I even reached out and touched the wall, and I realized the building blocks were soft to the touch. So were the corners of the tables around the room and the chairs along the walls. Even the floor had cozy carpets.

If it weren't for my hunch, I'd still genuinely consider this place for LJ.

"She'll be here in just a moment!" Kissy called.

"Thanks!" I called back.

I then sat down in one of the rounded chairs. No, it was not my size. I probably looked just as ridiculous as Kissy, but I needed to observe.

So far, there were five staff members, including the owner I was about to meet. There were at least fifteen kids in view, but I could hear even more in the two hallways behind Kissy. I'd say at max there were thirty kids in the building, which meant there were five kids per staff member - a pretty good ratio, actually. Yet, despite the commotion, these kids were all relatively calm and orderly, most likely due to the pheromones.

I then wondered how far the pheromones went. Were the kids being forced into anything? Were the employees? What was the full effect of these chemicals, especially with prolonged exposure? It was a horrifying train of thought, one that frankly put me into a worried daze as I considered the implications.

But it was then that perhaps the greatest challenge of my career came into view. Now, I know that sounds dramatic, but I'm serious. My heart dropped when I saw her.

A long, pink neck stretched into the room. Kids were giggling at the sight, but I almost couldn't hear them as the head on the end of said neck swiveled about - searching for me, I presumed. This was Miss Longlegs, and that was only confirmed as the rest of her long body pulled itself from the ceiling of the hallway and into the room, taking careful effort to not accidentally bump any of the kids or staff. Her lashes were long, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and her surname was no lie: her legs went on for days. Her hips were huge, her shoulders small, and she wore a skintight bright pink jumpsuit that hugged her in all the right ways. If you looked up femme fatale in the dictionary? This was it. This was her. And she was in-charge of this whole thing.

My dumb ass immediately, almost instinctively caught feelings. Now were some of those feelings lustful? Sure, but were most of them? ... probably, but a small part of me still saw huge red flags. Although she was drop dead gorgeous, she was belladonna; she looked poisonous to the touch. This woman looked like she'd marry you for the life insurance, and my policy was at $250k. She had a gait that made her a predator in the jungle, and I was her perfect prey: single, recently divorced, and a dad. My heart was in my stomach, my eyes probably took up half my face, and my shoulders were up so high they threatened to touch the sides of my head.

My hunch was right.

I really should've brought backup.

Chapter Text

"Hello, Mr. Longjohn?" she smiled, her perfect lipstick framing her sharp teeth, "Miss Longlegs, but please, call me Mommy."

Her name. Was Mommy.

This was the worst day of my life.

"Hello, Mommy!" I sprung up to stand with her, "I'm - and please understand, this is my actual name, I am not messing with you - Daddy!"

The smile dropped for genuine shock. And then, a laugh.

"No way! Well, clearly we were meant to meet, hm? Two elastic Demons, passionate about children- Mommy AND Daddy? its fate!"

Oh god, she's one of those astrology bitches, isn't she?

"It's a pleasure," she offered her hand.

We thus shook, heartily, before she continued.

"So I hear you want a tour?"

"Yup!" I turned slightly to show off my son, as any good dad would, "For my little man, LJ."

"What an absolute cutie!" she cooed, and surprisingly, he cooed right after, “Oh! And very talkative!”

“Not normally!” I let out an uneasy chuckle, “Not normally-”

But she cut me off, “I assume you can ceiling crawl as well? I'd rather not disturb the children while we tour the daycare."

"Yup!" I adjusted LJ in his pack and took off my gloves.

"Then follow me!”

We thus made our way out of the room, using our elastic to stretch over everyone and stick to the ceilings. As we made our way down the first hallway, my count of thirty kids was confirmed, as the tall blue man guided them all into two rooms, one next to the other. Mommy's head stretched down to the first room's window, and thus mine followed.

"These are the classrooms," she instructed, "Kissy, who you met at the front desk, teaches the youngest kids the basics, while her husband Huggy involves the older kids in educational games. We play things like Sahoot, Pictionary, the like. These classes last for two hours every morning and every afternoon. We also like to try and include both digital and hands-on learning, as it's my belief that while the digital age has arrived, we must still work in the physical one. And our kids have to be ready for that. If you'd like, I can show you the tablets the kids use at the end of the tour. I have some in my office, along with lesson plans. Kissy and Huggy write up their own plans, and then I make alterations and approve them for use."

True to her words, the two rooms were clearly interactive spaces. Kissy stood at a digital whiteboard, showing colorful letters as her long, yellow claws pointed to them. The one named Huggy was separating his kids into two groups, clearly prepping them for a game that involved the basketball he was holding. My head swung between the two rooms, impressed by how attentive and cooperative the kids were.

"Over here, we have the play center."

I followed Mommy's words and saw… well, if Heaven was a playground. There were swings, slides, monkey bars- you name it? It was there, and it was all cushioned with soft, brightly-colored material. There were even murals on the walls of the different staff members.

"We always have at least two staff on watch when the kids are brought in here," she told me, "If the kids aren't in lunch or class, they're somewhere between here and the front entry. Sometimes we have special games that involve this area, and we theme it too, for holidays. We LOVE holidays here. Presents for Krampus, birthdays, egg hunts- I absolutely love making occasions special for the kids, especially since most of them don't get to experience that at home."

It was then that the demographic really hit me: the kids here were primarily Hellhounds or Imps.

"Are there… only Hellhounds and Imps here?" I asked.

Her reply was calm, almost rehearsed, "Yes. Game Station was made with them in mind. We've had other species of Demons come and go, but not as many as Hellhounds, let alone Imps."

"... why?" I daringly asked.

She gazed at me with an odd expression, "... why not? Do you believe the children of Imps and Hellhounds don't deserve a safe space?”

"We-well, no-" that came out completely wrong, "I. I more meant what drove you to make this choice. I honestly don't have an opinion on the matter."

She now grimaced, her eyes slitted, "Need there be another reason…?”

I shrunk, "... Not really."

Suspicious. As. Hell. This was so suspicious. The pheromones, the choosing of these specific demographics? The quality of this place?! There was no way this Daycare was as straight-laced as it looked.

Meanwhile, the lunchroom was small yet cozy, and Mommy told me she used her own kitchen upstairs to make lunches and snacks as needed. She lived above the Daycare?! That increases the pheromone concentration! I even asked her about that, to which she told me the ventilation system cycled out the air. The crew also did monthly deep-cleans, and she had to leave the premises for the entire day in order to make sure the air stayed healthy. She even showed me cleaning closets full of products to prove her point, but I did notice she didn't open one door at the back of the building. At first I thought it was just because there wasn't anything interesting inside, but it was the only door in the building that she didn't open for our entire tour. I even saw the water heater and the fuse box.

To prove my point, she then showed me the employee lounge, complete with a fridge, couches, and a locked-up minibar. Now, she did stress to me that the minibar was for after-hours exclusively, and was a recent purchase as a way to thank her employees for their work. I was even offered a drink, to which I politely declined. Although I'll admit, it was tempting.

Finally, we got to her office, which was like walking off of a beach and into a hurricane. This small room was engulfed by filing cabinets, computer servers, and stacks of papers that almost reached my shoulder. The only clear surface was the pink-carpeted floor, which we both walked across as we made our way in. There were a few things that helped her office not seem like a prison: it was drowning in pink, from the computer to the furniture to the walls. There were also cute plushies sitting on top of her computer monitor, and a small wall space dedicated to children's drawings, most likely from the kids in the Daycare.

"... and this is the web that holds it all together," she concluded, "No, it's not child friendly. I use this space to speak with parents one-on-one."

"Got that vibe," I gazed around, as did LJ as he burbled behind me, "I must say, this place is. Fantastic. I'm really impressed with the work here."

Her smile was so soft that I almost melted, "Thank you. Do you… do you think you'd let LJ come here?" she asked.

"I'm still not 100%," I pretended to admit, "I'll have to sit on it a bit."

She seemed to wilt at my hesitation, but her smile persisted, "Alright, I understand. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I ran through my questions in my head. Sure, I had thousands, but I couldn't ask questions a parent wouldn't ask. I had to keep up my fatherly role for the moment.

So thus, I smiled, "Nope, I think I'm good!"

And she smiled back, "Alright, well! I do have to get back to work. So is it alright if I lead you out?"

"Of course!"

Thus, we turned back around and strolled down the hall.

This place was perfect. Too perfect. Far too perfect. Why did Mommy have these pheromones? Why can't they just hold children before paperwork is signed? What's with the caterpillar-dog man?! And what was that one door she refused to open? This was all suspicious, and although I was glad to have a lot of information to bring to the team, I couldn't help but wonder…

Did this place already know I was investigating them? Is that why she showed me so much?

And could that be why I've felt a pair of eyes on the back of my head this entire time?

Chapter Text

Now just because I was done with the Daycare didn't mean my work was done for the day. Not by a long shot! So after I dropped LJ off with his Uncle Boxy, I took to the streets of the Beachside Suburbs.

Now, for those who ain't aware, this is how Envy works: 75% of the Ring is underwater, while 25% is above, roughly. Most of the action for Envy takes place under the water, where you'll see big names buddying up with Leviathan, who's an absolute behemoth herself. Above water, you have what's called an archipelago, along with a few islands dotted around here and there. These small pieces of land have Imps, halfbreed Demons, ostracized fish Demons, and even some landlocked lovers to the big guys down below. Leviathan herself owns a few of these islands - plops her lovers on them. Of course, I myself grew up on the land! Not in the neighborhood around the Daycare specifically, but on the same island.

Thus, when I went into the Beachside Suburbs, I knew exactly what I was looking for: the local, family-owned diner. Many-a-time have I strolled into a diner and immediately got a lead, and I was sure these suburbs would be no different. It took me some time, strolling and pausing to read large, blinking signs and billboards, but I eventually found the exact kind of place I was looking for: The Crabbin Shack.

What does that name mean? I dunno. It's not like the owners were crabs. There wasn't any crab-related decor, either! Instead, the place was so old and retro that it looked like where my grandparents would've met in the 50s, to the point I thought I might reunite with my dead grandad at the counter. But no, I was instead greeted by feral kids running about, their shit parents ignoring the danger the brats would put themselves in by throwing themselves in front of strangers. The other adults around the dining area seemed immune to their screams and cursing, instead munching away on juicy-looking burgers and babbling through crumbles of fries and burger meat. Despite the chaos and the dingy walls, the place was somehow relatively clean, which was definitely in-part to the exhausted man behind the counter.

Thus, I took my seat in a booth on the back wall. As I settled in - taking off my coat and hat and squishing them into the space next to me - an Imp glided up to me on a pair of rollerskates. She took my drink order without a "hello" or any semblance of decency before skating back through the rampaging toddlers.

I just hoped she would get my coffee order right.

But I had been right about this place! It was perfect. As I settled in, I unlocked my phone, checked Vitter, opened the notes app, and started taking in the conversation around me.

At first I just heard gossip, although I did struggle not to get invested. A mother was cheating on her wife with a man, and her friend had actually dated the same man just two months prior. One Imp was talking about his brother leaving him stranded at a party, and yet another Imp discussed how he got his cousin pregnant. Deplorable as it all was, I had to restrain myself from getting invested in these crazy stories, or otherwise I'd miss what I needed to hear!

The waitress brought me my coffee. I warned her I'd be here a while, but she didn't seem to care. However, before she could roll away, I tried to stop her.

"Hey, uh," I caught the name on her plastic tag, "Marty!"

Her response was immediate as she twirled around, "You ready to order?"

"N, no- I just want to know if you're familiar with Game Station Daycare?"

She seemed to come out of her minimum-wage daze, blinking the glaze out of her eyes.

"Oh, yeah!" she nodded, "My nephews go there."

"Do they enjoy it? I-" I stuttered, continuing to play my part, "I'm thinking of taking my son there. I'm not sure about the place."

"Not sure? About Game Station?!" Marty laughed, "I'll get Bettie for you, she'll tell you straight-up, that place is Heaven!"

"Bettie?" I asked.

"Yeah, she dropped her son off just this morning!" the waitress replied, "Lil guy was a pain in the ASS before Game Station. Kinda like the runts in here now-"

There was a crash somewhere in the dining area. With a quick glance around, I could see the front window of the jukebox had been shattered, and a gaggle of boys ran from it like it was on fire.

I could also see Marty's mouth twitch as she tried not to audibly groan.

"She'll be out in a sec, I gotta…" she sighed.

"My condolences," I replied, "I was In retail."

For a single second, our eyes met, and I felt the connection only two Demons who had worked in minimum-wage service positions could feel. She then rolled off once more.

As I waited for Bettie, I tuned back into the rest of the Crabbin Shack. I immediately heard a large shark man talking about the Daycare! He had clearly heard my conversation, and he was now pushing his jellyfish wife to send their son there - who I could only assume was one of the brats that had just broken the glass on the jukebox.

"... he might calm down! We might! Sleep!" he argued.

"No, I can parent my own fucking child!" the woman snapped, "I don't need some big-ass bitch and her furry friends to do my job!"

"You're his mother whether you take him to a daycare or not-"

"Cynti leaves her daughter there all! The time!"

"That doesn't mean you have to! Just for when he's out of hand!"

"Jocik isn't out of hand!"

"He hasn't sat down since we got here!"

My fingers tapped across my digital keyboard, typing down my observations as the couple argued. I tried not to profile them, since this investigation wasn't about them specifically.

But suddenly, the wife leaned forward, "Jarles, do you know what happened??"

Oh shit.

The father - Jarles, apparently - seemed to pause, "... no?"

"Don't you remember Lorrel?!" she whispered.

Although she was awful at whispering, as I could hear her without issue.

Jarles groaned, "You don't believe that shit, do you-“

"No! But she disappeared there! Something happened, and I don't need to know what it is!"

"Then maybe a babysitter?!" Jarles groaned, "Please…"

As their argument got worse - an affair with a babysitter now on the table - I let my ear wander once again, even if I was curious about the affair. 

But a soft, light voice cut into my ears: "Hello, sir."

My head flicked over and met the soft gaze of Miss Bettie. She was a stick-thin Beta fish, with impeccable makeup and a long tail dragging behind her. Her uniform was too large for her, but she tied it just right so she'd still look put-together.

"Did you ask about the Daycare?"

"Yeah! You can have a seat, if you'd like!" I offered her the booth across from me, and after some hesitation, she took it, "I'm thinking about taking my kid there, but I'm just. Not sure."

"Is your kid… energetic?" she was choosing her words carefully.

"Not really," I shrugged.

"Does it have… behavioral issues?" she cringed slightly.

And that's when I realized why, "You won't offend me with these questions! I'm a complete stranger, ask away!"

Her shoulders dropped with relief, "Ah, okay, uh. Does your child have any behavioral issues? Is it too energetic or too aggressive?"

I blinked. These questions were absolutely key.

"No, he's pretty average so far. Why?"

I couldn't take notes, so I repeated her words in my own head to try and commit them to memory. These questions were implying a lot.

"A lot of the kids at the Daycare are there because of… a lack of parenting," she sighed in defeat, "I'm a single mother, so the Daycare really helps pick up where I have to work. But some parents have plenty of time to take care of their kids, and instead they just leave them at the Daycare. What makes Game Station so unique is when they pick up, they really do pick up. They teach the children math, spelling, manners… It's a fantastic place. I'm so thankful they're here."

She wrung her hands, pulling at her scales.

"Ah, I see," I nodded thoughtfully.

Her intel made the casual, calm atmosphere of the Daycare all the more eerie. These were supposedly kids with little manners, yet these five Demons had made them as cooperative as Cherubim?! Could they manipulate adults the same way?

"You know about the pheromones, right?"

She nodded, "Of course."

"How do you feel about them?" I inquired.

"I like them," she snorted slightly, "Miss Longlegs gave me some for my home. It’s wonderful to be met with that calmness after work."

"You gotta forgive me, I don't have a nose-" I gestured to the blank space between my eyes, "Can you smell it?"

"No," she shook her head, "Not personally, no. But I do know some of the Hellhound parents will stick around just to smell it. It seems to be a pleasant scent that only those with more developed noses can pick up on."

I nodded. Using this information as a proverbial excuse, I pulled out my phone and typed down what she had told me so far. Despite taking a minute, I was surprised to find her patiently waiting for me to finish.

"One of their staff is a dog, I'm sure he has fun with the constant aroma," I chuckled.

"I'd hope he'd become immune after a while!" she giggled.

That was a good point. I noted that before putting my phone back down.

"Now, as for you, are you not worried about… the long term effects?"

Her brow turned up slightly, "It's the only option I have for my son."

"No I'm- I'm just curious, it's no reflection on you," I pulled back on the pressure, "So you believe they're harmless?"

"I do," she nodded.

"So you and your son never experienced side-effects…?"

She shook her head. Based on her short, distant replies, I had pushed too far with my questioning. But! I already had some incredible information, so I decided now was as good a time as any to end the impromptu interview.

I gave one last, firm nod, "Well, Miss Bettie, thank you for your time. I don't wanna keep you from work for too long! And you've really helped me, so again! Thank you."

She quickly pushed herself out of the booth, pressing down her apron and flashing me a smile, "Yes, yes, I'm very happy to help. It's a wonderful place. It really makes up for a lot…"

"It sounds like it," I smiled, "Have a nice day!"

She gave me an awkward wave, "You too-!"

And she scuttled back to work.

Well. … There were definitely some characters here in Beachside Suburbs. But they weren't good at keeping secrets, so that was nice.

However, if this trip had taught me anything, it was that the Game Station Daycare was truly the center of this mystery. Someone at that Daycare had done something to these missing Demons, but how? And why?

First thing was first: I needed more information about those pheromones.

Chapter Text

Any time I get a new case, I inevitably have a dream about it. It isn't always on the first day, but somewhere throughout the investigation, I will lay my round-ass head down and suddenly find myself at the office or driving along on the job. And the first night of this case was no different!

… except it kinda was.

It started at my desk. I was filling out some paperwork - probably to send to the police, since I recall seeing their big ugly emblem in the corner of the page - when there was a knock at my door. I invited the visitor in, only to see Candy crack open the door and poke her head through. Her face was pale as she spoke with hesitation.

"The… The door is here."

… the what-

I stood up, "The door is here?"

She then opened my door the whole way, and down the hall, I saw the door from the Daycare. The one Mommy didn't open? Yup, that door was now sitting at the end of a massive hallway, the latter that definitely wasn't there before. I can't afford a hallway that big! When I turned to ask Candy what was going on and how the fuck this door had gotten here, I realized she had disappeared. At this point, I knew I was dreaming, but my curiosity still drove me to press on as I started down the hall.

It was an oddly cold walk, with only the sounds of the air conditioning and my footsteps filling the hall. I rubbed my arms, trying to get warmer, and even curled them into a bunch in order to generate some kind of body heat. Yet with each step, I only got colder. It was like I was walking into a really long freezer.

Out of curiosity, I swung around and walked backwards, thus still progressing while getting a sweep of the area. The door I had entered through was now engulfed in the abyss, dark and ever-growing. The abyss seemed to follow me, even at a distance, so I spun back around and quickened my pace. Where had the door gone? Was the darkness really chasing me? It may have been a dream, but my brain was still uncomfortable with my circumstances.

I stretched my arm out, trying to reach the door before I got to it, but as my hand was about to touch the handle, something blocked it. A hand. Her hand. Mommy's gloved hand.

The darkness- it consumed the door, the floor, everything. I choked on the blackness, pulling my arms apart to flail about.

But a voice caused me to pause, "... Daddy, correct?"

I didn't know the tone. It sounded like a lawn mower on a Sunday morning.

"Yes?" I gasped.

"Get your non-existent nose out of my business," the voice growled, "This isn't your scene."

A strike of pain pierced my arm. I glanced down to see a massive, black hand digging into my flesh with its claws. The pain was fast, bubbling just as quick as the blood that started to pool along my skin.

"LET GO!" I roared, trying to yank my arm free.

"You're still in the clear, Daddy-o. Get out. While you still can."

With that, I woke up. I could barely hear LJ mumbling from his crib on the other side of the room as cars rolled by outside my window. The first thing I felt was my chest heaving; I was trying to catch my breath. The second was the stab of pain in my arm. It was duller than in my dream, but as I pulled my arm up to see, the shock was far, far worse.

Long drips of blood ran down my pale skin. They practically glowed under the lights from outside. I grinded my teeth as I stared at the wound, and in a moment of clarity, I lifted my second arm to check my hand… Nope. No blood. My other hand and its fingers were as clean as a whistle. My heart skipped a beat.

The realizations were slamming into me so hard that I stumbled out of bed. I almost tripped over myself as I made my way into the bathroom, to clean my arm and hopefully dress it. Under the bright bathroom lights, I saw five drag marks that wrapped around my arm, like the large hand that had held me in my dream.

Whatever attacked me in my dream? Was real.

Whatever had spoken to me? Was genuine.

And whatever reason it had for stopping me? ... I would not listen.

Perhaps the pheromones had caused this dream? Perhaps Mommy herself had invaded my mind, trying to stop my investigation? But threats had never deterred me. If anything, they helped the fire of determination soar even higher.

… I guess that's just the Longjohn determination in me, hm? Not even nightmares can deter me.

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night. Instead, I called Boxy over, and the two of us worked over what we had up to this point over a bottle of whiskey.

Chapter Text

Although I hadn't gotten enough sleep, I had drank two cups of coffee upon entering the office. I honestly used to do coke on days like this, but LJ changed a lot for me, including what I used to keep myself chugging along.

Boxy had still had some coke, though.

But now, the squad was once again lined up around the table! Nothing like a reconvening of the team. Everyone was shuffling with their notes, getting ready to present their findings and take even more notes.

In fact, Bee waved her hand with glee, "Pops, can we go first?!"

I nodded, "Absolutely! Go for it!"

She popped up out of her chair before flying over to the whiteboard, her wings fluttering like a hummingbird. She then took her marker - the orange one, of course - and started writing along the board.

"The Wynners are from Wrath. They're a farming family that has literal shrines to Cherylle all around the house. They fucking loved this girl. She was an only child from two parents that spoiled her rotten. She grew up wanting to be a wife and a mom, but she was in a shit marriage with the only good side being the two kids she popped out. Also I'm like. 99% sure the grandparents killed the dad. Like. Cherylle's husband hasn't been seen in years."

Bee crossed out the word "dad" on the board.

"The last time they heard from Cherylle, she was going to pick up her kids," Bee drew a massive arrow between Cherylle's missing poster and the Daycare, "Like. Literally, the last thing she was doing was going here. To our point of interest. The grandparents believe she would've made contact long before now if she was still alive and well, and guessing by the shrines, I believe them. They thought she walked on water, move aside Jesus."

I nodded thoughtfully, my eyes scanning the summary that Bee had scribbled on the board.

"Next, is the Jospehs," she tapped Billy Bob's poster, "He was the middle child in his litter, but he was also a runt, so his parents dropped him off at an adoption center and never turned back. His adopted family - the Jospehs in question - did everything they could to try and get him on to the straight-and-narrow, but this boy was bad. Or at least he was, until he got another Hellhound pregnant, and had four kids. She didn't want them!"

That stung slightly. I glanced towards LJ's bouncy seat, where he snuggled his elephant plush with a blissful smile.

"But Billy did. And when his adopted parents saw his personality change, they did everything they could to help. He got big checks from the county commission to help raise these pups, and he worked a lot in order to support them. Thus, he took them to the Daycare when everyone was out working. And just like Cherylle? He disappeared, but this time it was while he was gonna drop off his kids."

Yet another long arrow traveled across the board, from Billy to that damned Daycare.

"And. … Yeah! Ta-da!" she gave us jazz-hands, so I had to clap.

"Fantastic! Great work, girls!"

"Thanks!" both sisters cooed as Bee flew back to her seat.

But a new voice cut in, "So far, the main consistency between all five missing Demons is that they're all patrons of this one Daycare."

I glanced over to Boogie, "... you wanna go next, bud?"

Boogie blushed, the tiny, green pixels coating where his cheeks would be, "Uh, yes. Please. Do I have to get up?"

"No!" it was my turn to hop up as I went to the board, "I'll put your stuff up! You just talk!"

Boogie's systems whirred as began to spit out all of the statistics. Now, Boogie is a smart boy. He knows any doohickey inside and out, and he can fix almost any computer problem; but one thing he isn't great at is analysis. And that's okay! We've tried encouraging him into being more analytical, but he ain't a huge fan of it, and that's fine too. So when it comes to investigations, he specializes in data collection and organization, and he does a fantastic job.

As he finished up, I scanned what I had scribbled down. From a glance - between the hacked DMs, the posts, and the posts these people interacted with - none of these people had healthy relationships. There were some dramatic posts here and there, ones that sounded like a teenager wrote them, but others were super hostile, threatening, and even self-harming. By the look of things, my hunch may still be wrong! Maybe the Daycare just attracted these kinds of parents.

Or at least that's what I thought.

A loud beep broke the comfortable silence, and I kinda jumped from it.

"Dude!" Boxy suddenly burst out of his seat, running to the fax machine, "We got the tox back!"

"The toxicology report!" I cheered, spinning around to the door my partner had just run out of, "What's on it?!"

Boxy slowly walked back in, his giant eyes eagerly scanning the page. He curled his lips in thought as he made his way around the room and narrowly missed running into the table.

"... oh fuck," he fell into his seat.

"WHAT?!" I nearly screamed, my adrenaline spiking, "IS LJ OKAY?!"

I didn't mean to shout, but caffeine is a hell of a drug sometimes. Especially when your son is involved.

It was Boxy's turn to jump, "RELAX. YOU'RE BOTH FINE. It's just. This shit is wild. And someone secretes this?"

"Mommy Longlegs, yes," I nodded. 

"It's like. It's not. Mind control shit," Boxy struggled with his words, "But it makes you susceptible to persuasion. It's a calming agent, works both on emotion and rationale. I've seen this stuff used in offices when the higher ups hear their workforce is thinking about striking."

My heart dropped. I felt the whole table go into shock with me. It wasn't evidence of anything, but the circumstantial implications of such a compound were endless.

"So… no one goes back into that Daycare alone then-?" Candy breathed.

"Right, you're absolutely right," I muttered, turning back to the whiteboard.

"Why the fuck would anyone secrete that?!" Bee demanded.

"That would be very easy to research, actually," Boogie replied, and I even heard him crack his knuckles, "That's not a normal ability."

"Boxy," I cut through the conversation with my voice, "... What's the pheromone's street name? Does it have one? What's the background of this?"

"Materna Persuione, and it doesn't have a street name," Boxy answered, "It's a rare chemical, mainly secreted from mammals. A maternal version of your typical calming pheromone."

"Maternal?!" I wrote his words down, "Moms aren't supposed to mind control their kids?!"

"No, it's not mind control," Boxy argued, "It's just persuasion. Like, if you're morally against the suggested thing, you're probably not gonna do it. It can’t get that strong."

"Sorry, you're right, you already said that…"

Yet the pit in my stomach grew, and using this break in the case as a springboard, I started debriefing on my visits to the Daycare and the Crabbin Shack.

I went through each weird-ass employee, the weird-ass behavior of the kids, the weird-ass woman in charge. I divulged about the worried whispers of local parents and the oddly enthusiastic support of the Daycare. I watched everyone's faces contort into shocked confusion as I went on and on, even as I tacked my nightmare on to the end. To push my point, I stretched out my arm, showing the wound that I had been dealt in my slumber.

Candy leapt up in shock, “DADDY?!”

"It's the Daycare," I concluded, "It's the Daycare- whatever happened to our victims - alive or dead?? It happened at that goddamn DAYCARE!!"

And not one Demon at the table disagreed.

Chapter Text

We needed more data. More evidence. But the squad refused to let me go out again, citing my lack of sleep and gitters.

Candy and Bee took off for Beachside Suburbs, to see if there were any surveillance cameras that could catch a glimpse for our latest victim, Billy Bob. Perhaps there was a camera that caught him going into the Game Station Daycare? Boogie, of course, retreated back to his apartment, where he would develop full profiles for every suspect that worked at the Daycare. That left Boxy and I to organize and store the data and evidence we already had. It was a quiet job, so I'm not embarrassed to admit I did take a nap or two throughout the day. We also had Taco Beel for lunch. Always nice.

But as the day wound down, and Boxy and I began shutting down the office, we heard the front door jingle. We had already flipped the "Closed" sign over, so Boxy called out.

"Y'all got anything good?" which could apply to the girls or to Boogie.

But a new voice replied, "N… no?"

I whipped around, and for the second time that day, my heart dropped. Boxy was already looking on with me, his right arm circled around to his back, where his pistol was stuck into the back of his pants. The wall hid him from our visitor.

A bunny stood in the entryway, right in front of the front desk. His golden paws were dipped into the pocket on his green overalls.

"Howdy!" he chirped, "Name's Bunzo."

"Hello, I am Detective Longjohn. We're closed," I replied coldly, "Unless this is an emergency, I-"

"Nice office ya got!" Bunzo cut me off without a care, "We were wondering if you were that detective guy. I see your ads on Voxbook all the time."

"... we?" I asked.

"Yeah, the employees at the Daycare," Bunzo looked up at our company photo, hung proudly above Candy's vacant desk, "Man, you guys are adorable."

"Thanks, but we are closed right now. So if-"

"Oh, shit! Sorry!" Bunzo held up his hands in surrender with a kind chuckle, "Was just curious about ya! Just got off the clock and wanted to come see. Thanks for not immediately kicking me out!"

"... you're welcome," I deflated, "Go ahead and take a sucker off the front desk on your way out, if you'd like. They're homemade."

His dark eyes darted to the candy bowl, "Oh, SICK."

He plucked a sucker out, and in one sweep he unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth, "Thanks! Bye!"

"Bye!" I gave him a small wave as he trotted out the front door.

Boxy's head turned to me slowly, "... what the actual fuck."

"I… I dunno," I muttered back, "But uh. Let's log that before we go."

"Sounds good."

"... yeah."

Chapter Text

A lot of those true crime shows say "life ain't like the TV shows. This isn't CSI," and they're right. But they don't gotta be so condescending about it.

Although the first 48 hours of this case had quite a few breaks, that didn't mean we were gonna keep that momentum. Quite the contrary, as the next day, Miss Candy came back in to take over the front desk while her sister continued her surveillance search. Meanwhile, Boogie phoned in and informed us he was hitting some major digital blocks in his investigation, so he'd have to spend at least a day trying to break those down. So we didn't have much to do in terms of these missing persons.

But that didn't mean there wasn't more to do!

As Candy took care of clerical duties - some phone calls, some paperwork, that kind of stuff - Boxy and I focused on some of the cases we started before this big one hit. We made some phone calls, got some our notes together, and set out to work on a domestic situation.

See, we don't get huge cases a lot. We're not police! We usually just get lovers scorned, families looking for their runaways, smaller stuff. Today, we were gonna follow a husband's routine, to see if he was cheating on his wife.

We took Boxy's car, since it's less identifiable, and sped off towards the couple's address. The wife worked a day job, while her husband worked from home, so he'd be the only one there. Or at least he was supposed to be. Thus, we set up across the street and down the block, hiding behind Boxy's darkened windows as we settled in. After all, it's nice to get paid to sit in a car with your best friend.

"Water?" I offered a bottle to Boxy.

He took it without hesitation, "Thanks."

A normal quietness thus took hold as we observed the residence: a two story brick with a small front yard and a driveway. The yard looked to wrap-around to the back of the property, but there was no garage. There was, however, a small blue sedan in the driveway. The house itself had some open shudders, and even some open windows.

"Likes a cross-breeze," I joked as I pretended to write that down.

"Fuckin privileged bastard gets to have more than two windows," Boxy grumbled.

I couldn't help but snort, which made Boxy chuckle.

"What would you do? If you had a house like that?" I asked him.

"I'd rent it out and get an apartment. I don't need that shit," he answered.

"But wouldn't more space be nice?"

"Nah. I'd just have more places to break bottles in."

"... You stepped on glass this morning, didn't you?"

"I DON'T EVEN REMEMBER BEING IN THERE."

I laughed, and he elbowed me in frustration, which only made me laugh more. He snickered with me as we relaxed.

The first couple of hours were rather uneventful. Idle chit chat filled the time between us jotting down notes about the neighborhood. It was a very upper-middle-class culture, with young men out mowing the lawns as their fathers were away at work. I did notice one rogue woman doing her yard as her spouse watched her work with hearts in her eyes, but they were the only pair that stood out in the otherwise typical, blue-collar Envy neighborhood. It was nice, honestly. To be removed from the missing persons case.

… But I guess Boxy didn't think so.

"So…" he pondered about three hours in, "I looked at the Game Station Daycare site."

"Yeah?" I had been leaning back in my chair, my hat over my eyes.

"... the chick in charge-"

"Don't," my tongue cut into his words.

Yet he persisted with a giggle, "The chick, the elastic woman-"

"Do not-"

"She looks exactly like the kinda dame you'd let dom yo-"

"STOP!" I swung my hat around and smacked Boxy with it, sending the latter into the huge cackle.

"She does though!"

"SHUT UP!" I continued beating him with my hat as he cowered into his seat, but his laughter was so loud it probably echoed outside the car, "I DON'T NEED TO BE KINKSHAMED ON THE CLOCK, BOXY BITCH-"

"BUT YOU HAD TO HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT IT, OR YOU WOULDN'T BE THIS PISSED-" he shielded himself from my hat, a shit eating grin plastered on to his face.

My face turned as red as his fur, and I could feel my cheeks heating up, "SHUT THE FUCK UP-"

But out of the corner of my eye, I spotted movement. Our subject was outside! Heading towards his car!

I smacked Boxy one more time before exclaiming, "Subject's moving, asshole! Let's go!"

Boxy was still laughing as he watched the husband roll down the street, and after giving him some distance, we began our pursuit.

"Listen, your hunch was right! We're most likely gonna get our answers from the Daycare, but I'll be extra damned if part of the reason you were hyperfixed on it WASN'T that babe-"

"No! It has nothing to do with that!" I spat, "Right!"

Boxy turned to the right, heading north on Drowsy Avenue.

"Her ass is huge, isn't it-?"

I smacked him, "THAT ISN'T FUCKING RELATED. STRAIGHT."

We traveled straight through the traffic light.

"Those hips are massive-"

"SHE'S A PSYCHO."

"You're into that!"

"LEFT."

We turned on to 12th Street West.

"Grocery store on the left!" I commanded.

Just a few minutes after our subject pulled into the store, we pulled after. We parked just in time to see him go in. I glared at Boxy with the Wrath of Amon.

"... I hate you."

He laughed, "Listen, any bitch is better than that cunt you have for an ex. A serial killer is probably a step up!"

I groaned, but he was right. Literal felons would be an upgrade from my ex-wife. 

The shift in Boxy's tone was very sudden, "You haven't heard from her recently, right?"

I shook my head, "No."

When I glanced over, he was putting his gun away, "Good."

I giggled a bit. Good thing I hadn't seen her, because if I had said "yes," I know Boxy would've thrown this case aside to go shoot her ass. The worst part is I probably wouldn't have stopped him.

Being a detective gives you a different perspective on a lot of things. You see more how the justice system affects people, how it can help them and hurt them, and that's super helpful if you find yourself on the receiving end. If I didn't have the agency, if I didn't have Boxy, and if I didn't have my training? I definitely wouldn't be here right now.

Hell, I'm not sure I'd be alive.

Yammy Tallsocks was a class-A bitch. I had first fallen for her because we were in college together, and she was a friend of a friend back then. Beautiful eyes, sweet smile, great sense of humor- she seemed like the full package. We started dating, and in the heat of whirlwind romance, we rushed into marriage. But that Yammy? The one from college? She was all a very well executed facade. 

Once we had moved in together, Yammy tried to cut me off from my friends, my family, my work, and basically anything else that gave me autonomy. She tried to find me online jobs, she made me feel stupid for having problems, and she would brighten the house and shut the curtains so I'd lose track of time. She wouldn't even allow clocks in the house! There is actually still an entire two weeks of my life that I don't remember, and I only know I lost them because I suddenly woke up in the hospital. She had injected me with horse tranquilizers.

So I injected her life with a divorce! Bitch was insane! We couldn't prove enough of her insanity to put her in prison - you would not believe how her lawyers twisted the whole tranquilizer shit - but what matters is I got out of there. I also have full custody over Little Johnny, but that wasn't a court issue. Yammy flat-out didn't care. She got pregnant by me right before the divorce, and once LJ popped out, she basically tossed him to me and ran. Absolute bitch.

As I was reminiscing, silently thankful for my dick of a best friend, a car pulled up beside us. We didn't recognize it, but we did recognize the woman that stomped out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut: that was the wife; the client for the case we were presently working.

Boxy glanced out my window, "Should we-"

"Hold," I instructed.

My hunch said to stay back.

The woman stormed up to the store, and as she approached, her husband stepped out… with another woman. Before I could even register the scene playing out before me, his wife whipped out a pistol and shot him, hitting him square in the chest. She shot him once, twice, three times! The bullets firing made me and Boxy jump, and we instinctively reached over to protect one another, in case the bullets came near us.

But no. As he fell, the wife just cried, dropping her weapon. The other woman covered her mouth in horror, frozen by what had just played out. Imps, Succubi, Behemoths- they all ran for their lives, screaming to the skies.

Behind me, I heard Boxy call 666. Before they picked up, though, I glanced back at him.

"... do you think we will still get paid?" I asked.

Boxy lightly smacked me as he tried not to laugh, "Don't be a dick, dude."

Chapter Text

Two days later, it was finally time for Boogie to really present. This was his main thing! Even so, he looked nervous, and I watched his mouth flip to a zig-zag across his screen of a face. I thus gave him a small thumbs-up under the table, and although the gesture was small, it still put a smile on his face.

"Okay," he took a deep breath.

The room drew silent. The entire team hinged on Boogie's every word.

"First we have our surprise guest, aka-" Boogie placed his first photo on the whiteboard, "Bunzo Bunny. A 24 year old bunny Demon, Bunzo is from Wrath, one of the youngest of a family of over thirty kids. According to my research, he struck out on his own as a minor - age 16 - and got into trouble alongside another member of the Daycare staff before they were both eventually hired into Game Station. He has a long record of arson, and only arson, as he seems to be a huge fan of setting things on fire. Other than that, he enjoys shooting and running, and he seems to have no extraneous abilities or powers. Some claim he has diagnosed ADHD, but I have not found any documentation to confirm that.

"Next we have Bunzo's partner-in-crime and partner-in-childcare: PJ Pug-a-pillar," Boogie put PJ's photo up next to Bunzo's, "According to his adoption home papers back in Envy, he named himself this, as there's no records before that of him taking on this moniker. And no, the PJ doesn't stand for anything. Now, PJ is a Hellhound-caterpillar hybrid Demon who was dropped off at an adoption center at a very young age. He has a long history of theft that predates his time at the Daycare, a history that is dotted by arson due to his friendship with Bunzo Bunny. He is now 21 years old, and ever since he joined the Daycare Staff, he and Bunzo have both had clean slates. They live together in an apartment just outside of Beachside Suburbs.

"Next is a Kissy Missy. A small town girl living in a small town world, Kissy Missy doesn't have a violent or illegal past. She grew up a single child to two loving parents - Morrasay and Mossy Missy - and was a fantastic student in her schooling. She had great friends, loved prom- literally the most basic woman in Hell. While she didn't go for a higher education, her experience with babysitting throughout high school allowed her to get two more daycare jobs before she joined Game Station. She is now a twenty-five year old woman married to…"

Boogie had been talking so succinctly and smoothly that when he paused, the room shifted.

"... to?" I asked.

"... we'll get to that," he thus put Kissy's portrait under Bunzo's.

"Next we have Mommy Longlegs. Now, like I said: this was going to be the easiest and juiciest research. And I was right. Miss Longlegs is from The Longlegs Family, a family from Wrath which has a long history of having Materna Persuione, the pheromone found inside the Daycare. It is said every woman born with Longlegs DNA has this pheromone. The oldest of five, Mommy received exceptional homeschooling with a focus in childcare, such that she's overqualified for her current position. She left her homestead at the age of 18 to marry a man named Sully Tallarms, a man who has seemingly known her for a very long time. After a seven year marriage, Mommy divorced Sully and moved to Envy, where she has established the Game Station Daycare. Although there's a few posts that hint at domestic troubles, I have no proper documents to confirm anything. Also, she lives right above the Daycare. There's an apartment above it."

He posted Mommy's portrait on the whiteboard.

"Now," Boogie audibly groaned, "We have. This fucker."

He took the last portrait, practically slamming it onto the whiteboard with a red magnet.

"This is Huggy Wuggy. Kissy Missy's husband. He spawned into Hell at the age of 22 when he married Kissy Missy. He likes trains. And building things. And works at the Daycare with Kissy. He's now 29, and he has a certificate in childcare from Enway University. He lives with Kissy on Marine Circle."

We all stared at Boogie, waiting for him to continue, but instead the boy threw his arms up in defeat.

"I couldn't find a thing on this guy," Boogie stomped one of his treaded feet, "I have gone so far into the dark web that I had to fight a man off from killing me and using my screen as a novelty item on the Black Market."

I held up a finger to remind Boogie that this was not in his job description, but he stopped me with a hand.

"No! This isn't about you! I've never had a man so successfully cleaned off the internet! Ever! He's old enough that his life story should at least touch the online world, but he SPAWNS IN at 22 years old!" Boogie threw his arms up again, "Mother fucker is WEIRD."

"... fantastic work, though!" I tried to cheer.

Boogie blushed, his head darting around the room as if he forgot the rest of us were there. 

"Thank you," he gave a small bow before returning to his seat.

"Thank fuck Boogie got all of that, because we don't have anything," Bee groaned, face-planting into the table, "None of the surrounding businesses had surveillance that goes back far enough…"

Hm. That was a pickle. That kind of core evidence could push the case to the next stage, but for now, everything was circumstantial. But the shady dealings of Bunzo and PJ were very interesting, as was Mommy's inexplicable divorce. Perhaps those could bring up some new leads?

"Okay," I strolled up and took Boogie's place at the board, "We are heading towards week two of this mess, so I am afraid we'll have to detract some manpower to other cases. However, this will remain our priority, as I think we're getting closer."

There was a murmur of agreement from around the table.

"The good news is, Candy, Bee, and Boogie have done a lot of the grunt work! So me and Boxy can pick it up, and the three of you can perhaps…" I leaned down on the table, my hands flat on the smooth wood surface, "Take on some cases by yourselves?"

Bee and Candy leapt up with glee, while Boogie was too in-shock to respond.

"CAN WE REALLY?" Candy squealed, kicking her feet.

I nodded at her, "Yeah yeah, listen, the only rule! Is that you gotta give me your itinerary every morning. And then, I'll leave you alone. Deal?"

All three of them responded in unison: "DEAL."

As they started chattering back and forth, I turned my eye to Boxy. He had a huge grin, and gave me a nod of approval. That one nod took the anxiety straight out of my back, and I flopped back into my chair with relief.

Things were really starting to heat up.

Chapter Text

The first thing to get done was to update Miss Canterwall, the original client for this whole mess. That Friday, she came in for a meeting, and she he was very excited to hear that we had made so much progress. She was even more excited when I told her we'd be spending the weekend following new leads.

Our first lead was to investigate PJ Pug-a-pillar's old stomping ground: Hellacre Adoption Center in Envy. The trip down the elevator was average, but the adoption center… less so.

The place was a prison, with stone walls and barred windows. It had no color to it - no life - and even if you were standing outside, you could hear the Hellhounds inside wailing and fighting. When you opened the big, iron doors into the lobby, you were assaulted with a blast of cold air, and the dark gray floor looked damp, even though it was dry. As Boxy and I walked in, I couldn't even imagine putting a kid in a place like this. And that's what this place was for! Thank fuck my parents are always willing to babysit LJ. He'd be screaming just from seeing this place.

A grotesque woman was sitting at the front desk, her face so flabby it looked as if it was dripping off her face. Her dead eyes locked on to us as we approached.

"Can I help you?" her nasally, deadpan voice matched her expression.

I took off my hat as Boxy and I sat down in the pleather seats,  "Uh, yes, I am Private Detective Longjohn - this is my partner, Private Detective Boo - and we are investigating a Hellhound that came from this institution."

Her eyes narrowed, "Hellacres Adoption Center is not at fault for-"

But I stopped her before she could throw legal jargon at me, "No no, this has nothing to do with you guys. We're building a background on a suspect, and he left here a few years ago. Are you familiar with a Hellhound named PJ?"

Her eyes actually sparked, "That weird fuck, yeah. The caterpillar-hellhound?"

Boxy and I nodded.

"Oh, he was a wild one," she reclined in a chair so small that I'm not sure how long it would support her, "Absolutely bizarre fella. He did great with his obedience training, but when he wasn't doing that, the boy was a menace. He bullied all the other Hellhounds with how big he was. It took four guards to pin him down whenever he got outta hand! Four!"

"Bully?" Boxy asked, "Why would he want to bully anyone?"

"Well, ya see, the hounds in here get restless. And when ya get restless, ya start pickin on people. I swear, they got their own hierarchy, and when PJ was here? He sat at the top," the woman shuddered, "I refused to go within ten feet of him."

I blinked in surprise, "You've mentioned it took four guards to pin him down, but has that ever been in response to an attack on personnel?"

She folded her arms, "Oh, absolutely. PJ did not discriminate. That brat knew he was bigger than half the staff, and because we gotta feed him, he grew stronger than most of 'em. He tried to throw his weight around a lot. It's no wonder he never got adopted."

"What about where he came from?" Boxy asked, "Do you guys have anything on record?"

"I'd have to check the back," she grumbled.

There was an awkward pause. Clearly, she wasn't excited to go to the mythical "back."

"..." I pulled out a twenty dollar bill, "I'll pay you to go check now-"

She swiped it from me in an instant, "I'll be back."

With a hefty shove, she pushed herself out of the chair and walked up to the doors behind her. When she opened them, a wave of Hellhounds screaming, crying, and arguing poured into the room, echoing until the doors fell back into place.

"AntiChrist," Boxy spat.

"It's hard to remember how privileged we were sometimes," I mused.

Boxy grumbled, "Reminds me of how bad high school was, somehow…"

"Didja go to high school with a bunch of Hellhounds?" I glanced up.

"Just Ritchie," he replied.

"How IS Ritchie?"

"He's in rehab."

"Again?"

"Again."

"That poor bastard…"

To pass the time, Boxy and I played a rousing game of rock-paper-scissors, of which I won! 4/7! We would've kept going as long as needed, but the woman came back carrying a hefty file. Once more, she was followed by a chorus of anguished Hellhounds.

"Here," she held the file out to us, its manilla color drowned out by the blinding lights on the ceiling, "Here's his file. He didn't want it when he left, and we haven't got to getting rid of it."

"Oh!" I chirped, "Thank you!"

Boxy took it and scanned over the front page.

"Can I help you boys with anything else?" she seemed to relax now, sitting down and leaning her head on her hand.

"Uh, do you know a Bunzo Bunny?" I offered.

"The name…" she narrowed her eyes, "Barely rings a bell. Obviously she wouldn't be here, she isn't a Hound, but somehow… Yeah. I think I did."

I shifted awkwardly, "Well, uh, Bunzo was a he."

"... yellow?" she whispered.

"Yes!" I chirped again.

Her eyes narrowed, "Black eyes?"

"Yes!" I nodded eagerly.

"That little brat- he's in there too!" she pointed at the file as if it had killed her family, "Fuckin smuggling him shit! Breaking him out and shit! That Bunny enabled PJ up and down! Wait- why are you asking about these two anyway?!"

"We can't talk about that," Boxy replied from beside me.

"Well, it doesn't surprise me that they're involved with something!" she snarled, "I told those brats the feds would catch up with them. Even if you two ain't federal."

"We aren't, but uh," I glanced back at the folder, "So you say their history together is in there too?"

"Yeah, the bunny didn't live here, so we shoved him in as an accomplice," she growled, "Oy vey…"

She took off her glasses, squeezing the bridge of her nose.

I gazed at the two big doors behind her, "Are there any hounds in there that knew PJ? Maybe they bunked with him?"

Her brow furrowed, "... I just might have one or two. Gimme the first page of that folder."

Boxy handed it to her, and after scanning it, she handed it back. She then pulled open her drawers, muttering to herself as she searched through her other files. The room was oddly quiet despite her incomprehensible noises.

But she suddenly snapped her fingers, "Rico! Rico, yeah, he's in here. He'll be out in a week."

"Can we talk to Rico?"

"Sure, I don't care," she pushed herself up again, "This has been the most that's happened to me this week, fuck."

I snorted, "I get that feeling."

"You get bored?!" she was genuinely surprised.

"We're private detectives! We usually don't get exciting stuff to work, actually," I shrugged.

"Well then yippee for both of us," her deadpan tone made it hard to tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

She thus disappeared behind the giant doors once again.

"Rico," Boxy repeated, "Hope he'll talk."

"Why wouldn't he?" I asked, "What would he have to lose?"

"Cred," Boxy replied, "If this place is as close to a prison as it looks, he may lose reputation for speaking to us."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Boxy was right. Whoever this Rico was could have a reputation to uphold. And since he's so close to being released, he may refuse to talk until he leaves. Or worse! Not talk at all. This was one of the only first-person perspectives we had on both Bunzo and PJ during critical years of their development. I was getting really nervous.

So I took off my gloves, rubbing my sweat on Boxy's shorts.

"Fuck off!" he swatted me away, so I wiped it in his fur, "FUCK YOU."

The doors swung open one more, and out came two guards. Between them, a massive, muscular Hellhound towered over Boxy and I. Even if we stood up, we'd be smaller.

We exchanged glances.

The guards forced him down into the desk lady's chair, and they pushed him around to us. The lady stayed behind her desk, arms crossed and back straight. Her demeanor had completely changed, as her eyes flared with a power I couldn't pinpoint.

"Now remember, Rico: what happens if you don't cooperate?" she snarled.

The large Hellhound sighed in defeat, "I don't get to leave next Friday."

"Good," she nodded to me and Boxy, "Now answer the nice men's questions."

Rico turned to us with his own dead eyes, "Hey. What can I answer?"

Boxy handed me the file. I took it, immediately recognizing his intention. He then scooted his chair forward before reclining back into the leather backing.

"Rico, I'm Private Detective Boo. But just call me Boxy. We've heard that you were once bunked with a PJ Pug-a-pillar?"

Rico's brow furrowed, "... yeah?"

Boxy didn't reply.

"I mean, we were together for a while. He squished most of the other hounds, ya know?" Rico forced a laugh, "Dude was fuckin. Huge."

"How huge?" Boxy's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, dude, he… dude," Rico shook his head, "He was at least sixteen feet long when we first met. At least."

"How old were you?"

"... 12? I was 12, he was older…"

"15," I offered, "He would've been 15."

"And he just kept growing those round links. You know, those caterpillar links? Those things were disgusting to watch grow, dude, fuck," Rico shuddered.

As Boxy and Rico continued, I quickly checked PJ's file. Indeed, he came to the center with eight links, and he left…

… with thirty.

How big WAS this boy?!

My eyes narrowed when I noticed the word “prototype” written in the margins of one of the pages. It sent a chill up my spine. What the fuck was a prototype?

But Boxy pressed on, "So he's having these weird growth spurts, he's picking fights, he's causing trouble. What was your relationship with him?"

"Uh," Rico's eyes flashed to the lady on the other side of the desk.

… you know, she should have a name tag. Or a plaque with her name on the desk-

"Tell 'em!" she snapped.

"He'd uh," Rico took a deep breath, "He'd get me to help him smuggle stuff in and out. From his pal the rabbit. They smuggled in candy, meth, weed, molly- you name it. The rabbit was fucking busy."

I watched as Rico's eyes kept darting between the lady and Boxy.

Boxy nodded, "What was the rabbit busy with? Did PJ ever tell you?"

"I. I honestly don't remember, I, I really don't-" it was obvious that was directed more at the lady than Boxy.

"No worries, no worries," Boxy soothed, lowering his tone and lightening the stress in his voice, "You're doing great.”

As the interview continued, I started thinking about the state of the Daycare. The people there.

The staff of Game Station Daycare had very little in common. And one apparently didn't even exist in a public fashion until the age of 22. So the question was… how were they all able to work together? Such different backgrounds from different individuals, it felt like a cluster fuck. PJ was a hefty fighter, Bunzo a fast drug dealer, Kissy a literal housewife, and Huggy an enigma.

Why would Mommy want such random, seemingly untrustworthy people working for her?

There was only one way to find out. We needed to know more about Mommy.

Chapter Text

It took a few days to get out to see the Longlegs. We did have a way in: they sold their pheromones as a product, and I could use that as cover for a visit. Come for the pheromones, stay for the investigating; but unfortunately we couldn't do that without an appointment. And the appointment was next Saturday.

So - after some days of office work and father-ing - Boxy, Little John, and I all suited up for Wrath.

The elevator ride down was fine, but I gotta admit, as a city boy? Wrath scares me. Big time. It's so flat, and dry, and it's so quiet! You can be in a town in Wrath and hear someone shriek in the next town over. Thousands of miles of just farms, a small stain of dried blood on the road… Lord Satan, it's just spooky. I've seen statistics that more Demons go missing in Wrath than any other Ring, and I believe them! That's just obvious, if you ask me.

And the worst part of Wrath? It's hot. Stinking hot. So I was forced to leave my tie and vest behind, instead taking on a pair of khaki shorts, my dress shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. LJ was much cuter, though, even if he was wearing almost the same exact thing. Boxy didn't have to change shit, though. Because he always dresses like a college stoner, even though he's in his 30s.

Anyway, I drove us out through the dirt and crops to the Longlegs residence. The building was massive, tall, perfect for Elastic Demons, with ledges to pull up and over, as well as long poles to drop down from or hang on. I could already see someone perched atop one of the polls, although she wrapped her legs around the pole in the strangest way. It was as if her legs were melded together, although I couldn't see much from her silhouette.

Nonetheless, we pulled around and parked beside the house. Judging by the "guest parking" sign, that's where we were supposed to be anyway.

"Appointment at 3-" I checked my watch, "Arrived at 2:45. We are perfectly early."

I gazed at Boxy, "Now, remember: you're my buddy, tagging along with me to check out this stuff for LJ. This isn't an investigation to them. Only to us."

"Right," he nodded, "No risks."

"No dumb stuff," I agreed.

LJ mumbled gibberish from my lap.

"... well YOU can do dumb stuff, just not us," Boxy corrected, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

Opening my door, I stretched out of the car, gently swinging LJ on to my back in his harness. After I tightened the straps, I locked up the vehicle, and we headed for the front door.

The decor was… old. Imagine going to your grandma's house; that's how the whole house looked. I took a hold of the brass door knocker and clinked it, only to pause in surprise: it was an Elastic Demon! The door knocker looked like me! That's fucking weird.

I barely saw the doily-looking curtains shift to my right, but by the time I glanced over, they were closed. The door in front of us then shook as the locks clicked open behind it, and it swung open, pulling us in with a rush of wind.

"HIIIIII!" my ears rang from how loud her voice was, "Welcome to Longleg Farms, how can I help you?"

I blinked and saw a tall, shapely woman with massive curling spirals for pigtails. Her eyes swirled as if she were manic.

She was gorgeous, and I had to clear my throat before I continued, "Uh, we have an appointment at 3 to discuss Materna Persuione-?"

"Oh!" she swiped a small booklet from somewhere behind the door, reading it with a concentrated brow, "... DADDY? OH MY SATAN, IS THAT YOUR NAME?"

I shrunk, "Y. … yes-?"

"THE IRONY!" she threw her arms back, and the booklet flew somewhere further into the house, "I just- UGH I CANNOT- anyway, come right on in! And who is this handsome fuzzy king?"

Oh Satan. I glared at Boxy to mouth "Don't," but he was already staring back at her with a hungry grin.

"Name's Boxy Boo, darling. But you can call me Boxy," he winked at her, "Now what do I call a pretty queen like you?"

I wanted to throw up, so I walked into the house to find somewhere to sit.

"Yummy!" I heard the woman reply.

"You sure fuckin are, aren't cha?" Boxy purred back.

I heard her giggle, and I just knew she was kicking her legs at him.

"Hey Box. BOXY. Hello?!" I snapped, sitting on a bench in the hall, "We're here to work on my kid, not make more, freak."

I pulled LJ around to kiss his head, cradling him against my shoulder.

Before Boxy could retort, Yummy spoke up, "Oh right! Oh shoot… you're here to talk with mom, aren't you? Matriarch?"

"Your mom? Is named Matriarch?" Boxy looked up at her.

"Yeah, it's uh. We're weird- anyway, she won't be here for another hour. She's caught up with pops in Greed… do you guys mind waiting? I can getcha snacks!"

Great. A meeting we waited a week for now had another hour tacked on to it.

I leaned back, letting out a sigh, "Sure, thank you."

"Of course! Brb!" she pointed behind me as she started down the hall, "You can go sit in that waiting room if you want! Comfy chairs and everything!"

Boxy made eye contact with me. I shook my head. He then grumbled before we both retreated into the waiting room.

I settled into an ancient-looking couch, "I said no dumb stuff."

"Dude, she wanted me!" Boxy bit back, taking a seat in one of the crimson arm chairs, "Can't have any fun."

"Not if it's dumb, no," I pulled LJ's bottle out of his bag and let him have a drink. He eagerly took the bottle, smiling around the top as he took big sips.

The room was rather posh, in that old, grandma kind of way. The rug was faded yet well-maintained, the wallpaper was super old yet only peeling in the uppermost corners, and the walls were lined with so many family photos that they almost made a timeline of the Longlegs Family. Thinking fast, I whipped out my phone, taking pictures of entire walls, gathering the free family data in front of me.

Just then, some form of commotion exploded in the hallway next to us, and I almost dropped my phone.

"EIGHT!" a deeper, feminine voice screamed, "EIGHT FUCKIN KIDS."

"IT'S NOT LIKE I DID IT ON PURPOSE, YOU CUN-!"

"YOU DON'T HAVE ANY PURPOSE, YOU USELESS WHORE-"

"BIG TALK FOR THE BITCH THAT SLEPT WITH HALF HER CLASS-"

"OH FUCK OFF THAT WAS YEARS-"

I gently put my hands over LJ's ears, trying to save him from their curses. However, because we were in the Longlegs' residence, the Materna Persuione kept him rather calm. I saw Boxy taking note of this, his eyes practically glued to LJ.

But as if that wasn't enough, a figure darted past our room, her four arms pulling her back to the front door and right outside. Another figure flung herself out after, and she had way more limbs. Just. Way more.

The two women were now out in the front yard, and Boxy immediately ran to the window.

"Cat fight?" I whispered.

"Satan no, more like. Tiger fight. Lion fight? They're out for blood," he motioned me over, "Look at this shit."

Swaddling LJ and cozying him into my arms, I followed Boxy's suggestion and joined him at the window. Their fight was oddly graceful, yet bloodthirsty, and the two fighters couldn't have been more different.

One of the girls had dull-colored skin, four arms, and a thin form. She was extremely quick, making rounds around her much physically larger sibling, but that didn't mean she had the advantage. Her sister was large, and at least partially from Envy, as she resembled a squid with numerous tentacles. Although she couldn't move fast, her limbs could, and she struck at her smaller sister with tenacity. Neither was really better or worse than the other, rather they both just exchanged massive blows back and forth. I wanted to intervene - this kind of looked overboard? - but at the same time I was an only child. I really wasn't sure if this level of violence was normal or not, especially for Wrath. And it didn't help that Boxy was an only child, too.

"... oh no."

Boxy and I turned to see Yummy. She had a tray full of pastries and candy, which by her name, did seem logical. Plus, she dressed like a piece of candy, with bright pastel colors everywhere.

She tilted her head back, arching her neck to yell: "MOMMY?"

… but their mother isn't home?

Yummy stepped into the hall, shouting upstairs: "MUMMY AND JAMMY ARE FIGHTING."

… wait.

"I'M COMING!" a familiar voice shouted back.

My heart dropped. No. No fucking way.

I heard the walls shake as yet another Elastic Demon looped around the upper floor and down the stairs. And as she passed, launching herself towards her sisters? My worst fears were confirmed.

Oh yeah. It was her.

Mommy Longlegs was here.

Chapter Text

"We need to leave," I whispered to Boxy.

"How?!" he grumbled back, "There's no reason."

"Make up one!" I grabbed his arm.

"No?!" he glared at me, "We can't leave just because you're scared of a woman."

I felt my face burn, "I'm not SCARED. The problem is she knows we're investigators and we're in her house!"

"We have a perfectly logical reason to be here, dude," Boxy rolled his eyes, "Relax."

"She KNOWS," I glanced outside and gasped.

Boxy followed my gaze.

Mommy - with only her two arms - had lassoed both of her sisters in and pinned them down to the dirt. Limbs be damned, she was stronger than them both, and her voice barked like a Hellhound fresh outta prison.

"... make LJ cry," Boxy whispered, "That's a reason to leave."

"We're surrounded by Materna Persuione- also no?" I growled, "I'm not gonna purposefully upset my son."

Boxy frowned, "Then you don't actually wanna leave, huh?"

"You motherfu-"

"Hey!" Yummy trotted back over to us as Mommy's voice shrieked from outside, "Is there any way we can like… help you? I know you wanted to visit Misses Longlegs, but we are just as much experts in… stuff! Well, I'm not-" she snorted, "But my sisters are!"

I glanced outside, and apparently my fear was obvious.

"Oh, don't worry about! Them!" Yummy gave a nervous chuckle, "They're just Wrath girls! They're really nice once they're not… doing that!"

Mommy launched her larger sister across the field, screaming something after her.

"... is now a bad time?" Boxy asked, "Do we need to come back at a later date?"

My eyes flicked back to Yummy, where I could see the lights turn on behind her eyes.

"No no, come this way!" she practically transported behind us, her long arms wrapping around us both as she guided us further into the house, "Let me show you guys our stuff!"

I barely caught her whispering something to Boxy, and when I saw him bite his lip, I knew we were in trouble.

You see, Boxy is a solid man. He is headstrong, witty, and good-natured deep down - as you've already seen. But he has one weakness that overrides his entire personality: women. Boxy was a ladies' man to a detrimental degree. If I had a nickel for every woman he threw himself at, I could retire tomorrow, and Yummy was one of his favorite types: curvy, dumb, and horny. The second he flirted with her at the door, I knew this would be an issue.

And my point was proven as we entered what looked to be a mock-up shop. It took up half the kitchen: a wall of ornate bottles, each with "Materna Persuione" scripted on it in beautiful pink cursive. There were different sizes of bottle, different levels of concentration- it was all very neat and organized. As I was guided to look at said bottles, Yummy took her arm off me and pulled it back to Boxy, where I heard more hushed whispers.

In the interest of my sanity, I decided not to look back, and instead focused on the product in front of me.

The good news was that if I did actually buy some of this stuff, it would give us the perfect alibi. Mommy would have no reason to be suspicious if we gave her money. Plus, we could send it off for official testing, to make sure future clients have a full understanding of the stuff. So, two bottles? Maybe three? Or should I just buy a giant bottle and call it good?

I picked up one of the bottles off a lower shelf and started reading the label. Just like in the human world, Hell's products have to have an ingredients label, so I scanned over it with mild intrigue. I'll admit: I didn't know most of the words on the thing. But I did see some dilution chemicals in there - water, corn starch, etc - so while the ladies secrete a more perfect form of Materna, these bottles weren't as concentrated.

But a voice stabbed my ears with its mere presence: "Oh!"

I could see long, pink legs out of the corner of my eyes. They were turned towards me.

"Daddy?"

Fuck.

I flicked my head around to see the femme fatale: Mommy. She slinked into the room, a smile overtaking her once feral expression.

"Hey!" she almost chirped, "I didn't expect to see you here!"

"Hi! Mommy!" I laughed, "It's nice to see you again!"

She suddenly glares off to my right, "Yummy, take your boy toy somewhere else, please."

And two pairs of feet skittered off. What part of "no dumb stuff" did Boxy not understand?

"Ugh, I am. SO sorry," Mommy rubbed her temples as she squeezed her eyes shut, "Four sisters. One house. Even if there's only three, this place is still chaotic."

I played dumb, "Oh, do you not live here?" 

"No, I live back up in Envy," she nodded, "But anyway- there's the best boy!"

I half expected a dog to come out, but instead Little John cooed from behind me.

"Yup!" I replied, "Brought him with me to see the sights of Wrath. He's never been up this far before."

Mommy cooed, her lashes batting at my little lad. LJ cooed back yet again, and I noticed one of his arms flick out towards her.

"... do you wanna hold him?" I asked.

Her eyes lit up like the magma orbs above the Wrathian volcanoes, "... Can I?"

"Yeah!" I pulled LJ out, adjusting how I held him as I offered him to her, "You two seem to like each other!"

Which was weird. Very weird. As Mommy took my boy, I watched her gaze glisten, and I swore I could see tears at the edges of her eyes. When she cradled him, he let out a gleeful laugh, and she laughed back. But despite being around Yummy for almost an hour… LJ didn't respond to her like this.

Hell, LJ didn't respond this way to his own mom. He almost exclusively fussed and whined around her.

"Are you the oldest? Of the girls here?" I asked.

"Sister?" Mommy's voice sounded like she wasn't here, "Yeah, I am."

I pondered.

"Is there a bottle or formula that's specifically from you?" I asked.

She perked up, blinking as if she had awoken from a nap, "I'm, sorry. Huh?"

"Your chemistry with my son!" I replied, "Makes me wanna get the Materna that's yours! If there is any?"

Her shoulders fell slightly, "Uh, not in here. But I have a bottle upstairs. It's my own personal serum, but…" she gazed back at LJ, "... He deserves it."

What is with this woman and children?! I'd say it was in her blood, but her sisters had such a different attitude. Yummy didn't even acknowledge LJ! And this concerned me as we made our way up the stairs.

The hallway was dim, lit by tiny lanterns that barely covered the walls they were hooked to. Each door we passed had a label: bathroom, Yummy, Clammy, Mummy, Emmy, and Mommy. Their mom really stuck to the naming theme, huh? Anyway, one of the arms Mommy was using to hold LJ stretched out and turned the knob, opening the door.

Her room felt like I'd walked into a college girl's dorm. There were fairy lights, bright splashes of pink, and posters everywhere. But there were also assorted baby shoes, fuzzy rugs, and-

"Please don't mind the baby shoes," Mommy let out a nervous giggle, "I collect them. They're just so cute!"

Because that wasn't suspicious to say.

She led me to her nightstand, where she nodded towards a tall, plain bottle. It was almost full of what I assumed was Materna Persuione, yet it wasn't colored or pretty like the bottles downstairs.

… because that wasn't suspicious-

"I don't mean to discredit you as an individual, but how do I know that's Materna Persuione?" I inquired.

She blinked, "... what else would it be?"

"..." I felt my face turn as red as Boxy's fur once more, "I honestly have no idea."

And that's true, but the implication of the question had been much more risqué than I intended. It didn't help that we were in her room.

"... oh my satan," her face matched mine as she glared back at the bottle, "It looks like lube."

I tried not to burst into laughter, covering my mouth in an effort to stifle it.

"No no no-" she ripped open the top drawer of her nightstand and slammed another bottle down, "This is my lube, that's-"

The bottle was massive. I found myself staring at it, dumbstruck. It was a straight from Lust, one-pound jug of lubricant. I barely felt Mommy slip LJ back into his harness on my back, as I was far too preoccupied with trying to consider why the bottle was so large.

"I. Am. So sorry," she leaned against the small table, almost sliding down against it as a look of horror overtook her face, "I don't know. What. Possessed me. To pull that out-"

My hands clasped over my mouth as I tried not to cackle, but you could easily hear my laugh against my hands. The tension and distress from simply entering this place finally released into my hands, and I almost buckled at the knees from it.

This daunting, possibly horrible woman was… normal. She was a Demon, but not Demonic. In this moment of irrationality, she had inadvertently shown me that maybe she wasn't a complete psycho. She had moments of anxiety, of thoughtlessness- and if anything, it made me more relaxed to be around her. Could she still hold back two feral women from fighting one another? Yes, but she herself was just as ridiculous.

"I'm so sorry, I'm not," I let the last laugh out, "I'm not laughing at you, I just. Oh, Satan, oh…"

I took a deep breath, catching myself. She looked up at me with a curious expression and a small grin.

"I just," my instincts told me to make her laugh, "I've never been persuaded by lube before."

It was her turn to laugh as she pulled herself back up, back to being eye-level with me.

The rest of our conversation was suddenly so easy, from both sides. She explained the Materna being cloudy in color, shaking the bottle to show me it was still a liquid. We discussed the concentration, the usage recommendations, the price, and I gave her thirty bucks plus a ten dollar tip. After all, she and Yummy had been wonderful hosts.

As we went back down the stairs, I was surprised when she spoke: "Can I take you out for coffee? Sometime? Soon?"

… oh fuck. I looked over, and by the deepest greens of her eyes, she meant it.

My brain went into autopilot from the pout on her lips, "... I'd love that."

Her eyes sparkled. My heart dropped. And Yummy and Boxy stumbled into the stairwell from the back of the house.

"Here!" Mommy whipped out her phone and handed it to me, "Go ahead and put your number in, and I'll tex- Yummy!"

I watched Mommy flare up. She shoved her phone into my hands before storming down the stairs. I can only assume she was gonna lecture Yummy on fooling around with random box men, which was reasonable. I too would be worried if I had a sibling that decided to fool around with Boxy, and the blotches of red lipstick on his springs definitely didn't help her case.

As I turned back to enter my number into Mommy's phone, it felt like a death sentence. I thought about using one of my burner phones, but if she decided to text it in front of me, then I'd give the impression I wasn't interested in a date. And I was! For investigation purposes. And. Maybe a personal reason or two- so I was forced to put in my actual number, slowly descending the stairs as I did so.

Mommy met me at the bottom, so I passed her phone back to her.

"Please get that man thing out of here before my sister takes him away again," Mommy grumbled.

"Will do," I tipped my hat and offered my hand, "And thanks for the Materna."

"Of course!" she chirped, taking my hand to shake, "And good luck on your case."

She didn't shake. She gripped my hand. My smile felt more forced with each passing millisecond of abject horror.

"M… my case?" I asked.

"Yeah!" her eyes grew dark as her smile stretched across her face, "Your case."

My other hand floated back towards Darrell, but she let me go before I needed to pull him out. I quickly brushed by her, grabbing Boxy as if my life depended on it.

"Let's go, bud," I yanked him to the door.

"See you for coffee!" Mommy called after.

My heartbeat was pounding in my head as Boxy and I almost ran to the car. I heard Boxy mumbling questions after me, but I refused to answer until we were in the car and speeding away. Boxy seemed to come-to from his own lustful haze as we made it past the farms.

"They know we're investigating them," I spat.

"Wh-what?!" he stuttered.

"She's playing me like a fiddle- she knows, they know. We're compromised."

Chapter Text

Despite the horror we had left the Longlegs residence with, we did have some new evidence. Very good evidence. One key piece of that evidence allowed us to finally focus the investigation: Mommy knew that Game Station Daycare was being investigated. That means Bunzo coming around, my weird dream, the eyes following me around the Daycare- it was all connected. These pieces of once shakey circumstantial evidence were now coming together to form a solid background for a potential theory on what happened to the missing Demons.

Mommy Longlegs was a strong, controlling woman and master manipulator. She had her own employees on her side, doing her bidding and assuring we were being watched. She has a loving devotion for children, and the feelings were very mutual, whether said children were under the effects of Materna Persuione or not. All five of our victims not only had children, but they were clients of Game Station Daycare, and they all disappeared from that damn Daycare. These Demons were most likely dead because Mommy wanted them dead, and her employees were definitely co-conspirators in the crimes they committed.

… but why? That question still lingered in my mind, even though Boxy and I had other questions to answer first.

The first thing we did was send a sample of Mommy's Materna Persuione off to some of Boxy's contacts. That way, they could test the absolute fuck out of it to see how it affected different species, different age groups, etc.

The next thing we did was take LJ to the pediatrician. Being exposed to that house - much less being held by Mommy herself - sent me into an absolute panic. However, despite my fear and the dread that woman had put into me, LJ was a healthy, normal boy. His adoration for Mommy was purely his own making, which was both a relief and disturbing at the same time!

So now? We needed a motive. The relationship between our victims and their families brought up no possible motives for the Daycare to have done anything, so we were once more back to the whiteboard.

The whiteboards were updated with our new evidence, with lines connecting Bunzo and PJ back to their roots at the Hellscape Adoption Agency and the Longlegs Family tree taking a corner all to itself. Kissy's relatively uneventful timeline also sat in its own special corner, but one area remained completely empty.

"... who the fuck is this guy?" I muttered at Huggy Wuggy's portrait.

"That's Huggy Wuggy," Boxy replied like a smart-ass.

I ignored it, "We need… to find out who he is. Who's his mom, his dad? Does he have siblings? Is he wanted in two Rings or more?"

There was a long silence. I stared at the board, tracing the strings and photos with a single concentrated finger. My eyes narrowed between suspects, witnesses, families, and locations; wondering if just one of them had a spark of knowledge on this one final guy. I could feel Boxy's eyes jumping around the board too, his gaze just as intense.

But after a pause, Boxy spoke: “... DNA.”

I glanced back at Boxy, “What?”

“We need Huggy’s DNA,” Boxy stood up, striding over to my side.

He then started poking his finger at the board as he spoke, “We need Huggy’s DNA, we need to know what that one door you saw is, and we need to know more about those kids. That. Is what we need.”

“... well, yeah, but. We can’t figure out that door. Or anything else about those kids. We can easily follow Huggy for his DNA, sure, but the families have given us all they can. Plus, there’s no way we are gonna get Mommy to let us back into the Daycare now that they know we’re investigating them!”

Boxy put an arm around my shoulders. Now, dear reader, you may believe this is a comforting gesture, but no. This was an “I’m about to suggest something I know you aren’t gonna agree with” gesture. I thus grimaced appropriately.

“I don’t like this already,” I grumbled.

“I haven’t even said anything yet, come on!” Boxy pouted, leaning his head against mine, “Give me a chance!”

I sighed, “... fine.”

“So!” Boxy thus began to lead me around the room, “You got the crazy bitch’s number, right?”

“Right…?”

Boxy’s spring sprang out behind us, swiping a candy from the conference table, “And the Daycare is only closed on Sundays. Right?”

He then popped the candy into his mouth as I replied: “Right?”

“Then roll with me,” he took a deep breath, “You? Take her out. Take her out for a lovely coffee. She thinks you’re scared of her? Prove her she’s wrong, take her out on that date, and completely bamboozle her. She’ll never see it coming.”

Although the idea of going out with a woman like her was an inviting prospect, I still shuddered at the image.

“I- why? Why would I do that?” I asked, “Also, what do you mean? I am scared of her. She’s allegedly a serial killer.”

“Some guys are into that!” Boxy shrugged, “And serial killer is better than abusive and neglectful, at least imo.”

“I BEG TO DIFFER?” I almost shouted.

“Then beg,” but Boxy went on, “While! You two are on your coffee date! Me, Boogs, and the girlies will sneak into the empty Daycare and collect the evidence we need-”

I pulled back, essentially spilling Boxy on to the floor. I felt the shock ring through my body like a bell’s toll.

“ARE YOU INSANE?” I shouted, “Boxy, we can’t BREAK and ENTER.”

“Everyone does it!” Boxy argued, “We’re some of the only Demons that would be doing it for a GOOD reason.”

I fell into a chair, burying my head into my hands.

“IMAGINE IT,” Boxy sprung back up to the side, swinging me around to face him as he gripped the arms of my chair, “This woman who thinks you’re just a pushover stares at you over coffee as you receive a text from us: “got the stuff.” We solve this case. The families get their closure. And. Whatever happens to the Daycare bastards happens- we could end this all by just bending the rules a little! Just a tiny bit! Just a teensy, tiny bit!”

Boxy pushed his fingers together in an attempt to show me how little we’d be bending the rules.

“What if there’s cameras?” I asked.

“Boogie,” Boxy replied.

“What if there’s some form of security?” I offered.

“Bee,” Boxy countered.

“What if you can’t get in?” I challenged.

“Candy and I can break in somehow,” Boxy retorted.

“We have other leads!”

“But not for Huggy!”

Goddamnit.

I let out a sigh that basically emptied my lungs.

“... what if she doesn’t go for the date?” I finally asked.

Boxy held my phone up to me, “Won’t know! If we don’t try.”

What happened next could only be described as a scene from a teenage romcom.

The entire office gathered around me in the break room. Boogie and I were the only two sitting, as the rest of our coworkers either paced the room or stared intently at the phone screen. On said screen, I had my Messaging app open, and Mommy Longlegs’ number was pulled up. The message box was empty. The only sound in the room besides the pacing of footsteps was the dull hum of the lights above us.

We needed to decide our opener.

“Say hey,” Boxy said.

“Too casual, sounds like he’s bored,” Bee argued, “Add some ys to it. Like heyyyy.”

“Who cares what he sounds like in the first message?” Candy argued, “Daddy, just be yourself.”

“This isn’t a real date!” Boxy corrected, “This is an undercover op! We gotta be super careful.”

“Just say hi, for fuck’s sake,” Boogie groaned, not taking his eyes off his own phone.

“What about a hello, then?” Candy asked, completely ignoring Boogie, “A nice, simple hello.”

I took all of their thoughts into account as I gingerly picked up my phone. They all had varying degrees of good points, but their points were good nonetheless. As my fingers started tacking at the keyboard, I could feel all their eyes on me. Even Boogie’s.

Daddy [11:45am]: Hey! It’s Daddy! This is my number, haha

I set the phone back down, allowing my peers to review my script.

“This is why you’re in-charge,” Boxy rubbed my shoulders as if we were in a wrestling match, “Thiiiis is why you’re in-charge.”

The three dots appeared opposite of my message. She was already typing!

Mommy [11:46am]: Heyyyy! :) It’s so nice to hear from you! <3

“That whore,” Bee spat.

“You wanted Daddy to type like that,” Boogie pointed-out.

I picked up the phone, my face heating up as if I was in Wrath, “What do I say? She’s so flirtatious…”

Fuck, why was she so flirtatious? I mean, sure. She was gorgeous, and I was horrible at hiding how gorgeous I found her. But after essentially demonstrating her knowledge of our movements, why was she being so flirty?!

“Don’t put out,” Boxy noted, “That’s too fast. Act interested, but not too interested.”

“Okay, okay,” I thus began typing my response.

Daddy [11:48am]: Hey! :) I’m glad I finally caught a second to shoot ya a message!

“Goooooood boy,” Boxy kept rubbing my shoulders.

Somehow it was actually helping, so I made no effort to stop him.

Mommy [11:49am]: So, are we still up for coffee? <3

Boogie actually looked at me, “Okay, is she actually into you or is she just playing 4D chess?”

I shrugged at him so hard that my shoulders cracked. Truly, at this point, his guess was as good as mine.

“How enthusiastic should I be?” I asked.

“Super enthusiastic!” Bee smacked her hands against the table, “Prove to this bitch that you’re PUMPED. You’re THRILLED.”

So I did just that.

Daddy [11:51am]: Hell yeah! Perhaps this Sunday? You don’t have work then, right?

“Good good good good,” Boxy’s claws were oddly therapeutic as a massage.

Mommy [11:52am]: Yes!! Perfect! Maybe make it a lunch? Coffee and lunch sounds lovely <3

“PERFECT!” Boxy cheered, “That gives us more time!”

“Oh fuck,” the fact hit me like a train, “This is actually gonna happen.”

“THIS IS ACTUALLY GONNA HAPPEN!” Boxy roared with pride, “LET’S GO!”

“Where to?!” I asked, interrupting his cheers, “Where do I take her for coffee and lunch?!

“Star Fishbucks,” Boogie answered.

Frankly, I was surprised he had such a good answer. The whole room was. We just stared at him in surprise, and he sunk back, looking back to his phone without explanation.

Daddy [11:54am]: Sounds even better! Let’s say 11 at Star Fishbucks?

Mommy [11:55am]: Perfect!! <3 <3 <3 See you there!

Daddy [11:55am]: See ya!

And thus, I put the phone down. The deed was done. High-fives were exchanged around me as I stared at the phone in disbelief. My soul was numb. My brain was running at a million miles an hour.

… I had a date. With a suspect.

Chapter Text

Now, Sunday was a few days away. Moreover, we had other leads to follow. So we at least could make progress before I was sentenced to what would most likely be the worst date of my life.

After reviewing the whiteboard, I had realized that we still had witnesses outside of our suspect pool; Jocik, Jarles, and his wife had known one of our victims. Of course, I didn’t have the resources to find Jocik’s wife’s name, let alone who these people really were!

… But Boogie did. I gave the boy an hour, and he had full profiles on my desk, including names, addresses, phone numbers, and criminal history! We were set.

So thus, Boxy and I set out.

The Teckro family actually lived fairly close to the Daycare. They were settled in a small, shitty apartment in the shittiest side of Beachside Suburbs. With just a three-block walk, they’d be at Game Station! Yet because of the wife - Yui’s - loss of her friend Lorrell, it seemed they weren’t too keen on making that trip. With the environment we drove up to, combined with Lorrell’s death, it wasn’t really surprising that this family would be so suspicious.

I made sure my gun was on me as Boxy and I got out of the car. And don’t worry: LJ was back at the office, playing with Bee.

The cement stairs were in desperate need of repair as me and Boxy made our way up them, and there were no handrails to even try and grab. The front screen door had just recently been replaced, with the glass of the old door still scattered across the stoop and leading inside. As we made our way in, the dingy walls peeled, and pieces of scattered chipped paint were across the floor.

“Better than my place,” Boxy jeered.

“That’s your fault, though,” I teased.

He smacked me. I laughed.

We then found apartment 3 on the bottom floor, far back corner. Despite the desolate energy of the hall, the door itself seemed rather unremarkable. So I gave it a quick knock.

“WHAT IS IT?” a hoarse voice yelled from inside.

Boxy and I exchanged a glance.

“Uh, we’re here to talk to Yui Teckro? About her friend, Lorrell?” I called.

Footsteps came towards the door. After what sounded like at least five locks were unhinged, a face with only a mouth poked through the crack of the door.

“Who wants to know?” I recognized her voice: it was Yui, the woman from the restaurant.

“Well, I am Detective Longjohn, and this is my partner, Detective Boo. We’re private detectives, and we’ve been hired to investigate Lorrell’s disappearance.”

Her head shifted, “No shit?”

“No shit,” Boxy replied.

She opened the door. Although her lip makeup was perfect, she wore nothing but a giant tee. Her tendrils were wrapped up in curlers, and her teeth were extremely yellow.

She turned back into the apartment, “Come in, sorry for the mess.”

But frankly? I needed more than an apology for what I was walking into.

The floor was covered in grime, with food boxes and styrofoam cups lain about. The walls were scraped, stained, and broken, and I could practically smell the mold without even having a nose. The furniture was somehow even worse, as pieces of fabric were torn away from the main pieces with no patchwork inside. I could even see dirt build-up in the exposed stuffing. Gazing over, I saw Yui’s son Jocik cuddled on a chair, a WacDonald’s bag on his left and a large soda on his right. He was a shark hybrid, with massive teeth, a huge fin, and long tendrils for hair. His shark tail was curled over the arm of the chair, threatening to knock over a Chinese takeout box on the floor. His shirt and pajama pants were covered in very recent splotches of food, yet he only saw the game he was playing on his B-Box. Who knows how long he had been sitting there!

Fortunately! Yui took us out on to their mini-porch. There were only two rod-iron chairs and a table, so I took one of the chairs and forced Boxy to stand behind me, like some kind of pseudo-bodyguard.

“So,” Yui picked up a pack of smokes from the table, “You guys mind if I smoke?”

“Only if I get one,” Boxy chuckled.

She smirked, handed him one, and thus I was surrounded by cigarette smoke. I had to do my best not to cough.

“So, your name came up during our investigation,” I explained, “As a connection to Lorrell. Were you friends with her?”

“Yeah, me and Lorrell were tight,” Yui puffed on her smoke, “We found each other at Coral Reef Park down by Sunset Avenue. She was looking for mom friends, and me and my girls were always ready to take another bitch in!”

She let out a chuckle, “Satan, I hope you two find out what happened to her.”

It was Boxy’s turn to puff, “How long did you know her?”

“Bout six years,” Yui nodded, “Six wild years.”

“Wild?” I asked.

Yui nodded again, “Yeah, we smoked together. We’d smoke, party, turn up. All the girls did.” 

Red flags were popping up. My brain flashed back to what Boogie reported about the victims’ social media profiles; the turbulent relationships, the excessive drama. It was starting to paint a picture.

I waved the smoke away from my face, “How much partying did you girls do?”

Yui scowled, “What’s it to ya?”

“Well, to be honest,” I chuckled slightly, “We’ve talked to her folks, and you’re telling us about a much different side of Lorrell. They said she was a saint that could do no wrong!”

Yui’s scowl disappeared behind a laugh, “Nah! Nah, NAH! She was a wild child! She did what she could as a mama - we all did! - but we weren’t friends for that. We were friends to get away from the kids, to let loose. Go wild. We’d party four times a week at least!”

The picture was becoming clearer by the question.

So now it was Boxy’s turn, “Do you know anything about her disappearance?”

“Nah,” Yui’s shoulders fell, “Not at all. It’s not like anything was weird! It’s not like she was out partying that day! She had a job, she had shit to do! It’s like she just. Disappeared one morning!”

Boxy continued, “Leading up to Lorrell’s disappearance, do you remember her meeting any new men? Any new dates?”

Yui shook off Boxy’s question, “One, she swung both ways, hun. Two, she didn’t wanna be tied down with dating.”

So I fired off a question, “Was she focusing on her kids?”

Yui snorted, “Nah, she was focusing on finding as many demons to lay as she could! Bitch was gonna get the high score!”

And now the picture was intensely clear. By the looks of Yui and her “girls?” The idea of Lorrell being a good parent was fading with every second. As Boxy took over the interview, my mind began spinning, and I started flipping through my notes.

… Could this have been the reason Lorrell disappeared? Because she was a bad parent? Out of every motive under the sun, this one was actually fitting. In fact, it was the first motive that fit at all. Mommy, a childless woman, would absolutely beat the shit out of an awful parent if she knew that individual was awful. I could even see her going to kill them, if the abuse was bad enough. However, most of the parents that brought their kids to the Daycare were lackluster at best, and with the Materna Persuione calming the kids down, how would Mommy know if something was wrong? Her own pheromone keeps the kids from acting out in a way that would set off alarms for abuse.

… But that was only if the abuse was internal. 

…What about external?

I needed to see Yui’s child.

“Excuse me,” I interrupted the conversation, “Can I use your restroom?”

“Yup,” Yui vaguely motioned back into the apartment, “Back hall, last door on the left.”

I gave her an appreciative nod and ducked into the residence. Following her directions, I went to the end of the hall and through the last door, but I didn’t stay there. At least, my head didn’t.

A couch was across the room from where her son Jocik sat. I used it to my advantage, crouching low in the bathroom door and allowing my neck to snake back into the living room. I stayed just above the floor to keep from touching the filth, and as I approached the couch, I listened closely to where Jocik was compared to me. Hearing his controller from the left, I peaked around the corner, glancing up at my subject. Yup, there Jocik was. He had no idea I was even watching him. Did I look extremely, if not immensely suspicious? Yes, but I had one question, and one question only: did Jocik have bruises?

Yes. He sure did.

Jocik’s left eye was black, and I saw a few bruises dotting across his scales and his tail. I considered asking him about the injuries, but just the fact he had them was enough to confirm some form of intense neglect was taking place here. And the worst part was? His eyes. They were dead, dark, and unfeeling. Physical abuse was unfortunately very probable.

I pulled my head back, flushed the commode, and washed my hands - to give the appearance I had used the restroom. Now, I try to stay calm during investigations. I really do. I am typically a man that can handle the most tense of interrogations, but this? This was gnawing at me, and extremely quickly. As I wrung my hands, I found my fingers bearing harder and harder into my skin, and my teeth were grinding harder and harder with each passing second. I had to carefully handle my hat as I fixed it on my head, to make sure I didn’t damage it.

… Fuck it.

I walked into the hall and let out a “psst!”

Jocik jumped as if he was just woken up. His eyes darted to me, like an Imp at a Sinner.

I motioned him to come here, and unfortunately, he came back without question. He had no reason to be worried about me, of course, but his wordless obedience spoke volumes from behind his bruises.

I kept my voice low, “Hi. Jocik, right?”

He nodded.

“Jocik, I need you to understand something. I am a detective. I have contacts within the police. I see your bruises, and I see your pain.”

Jocik’s eyes remained blank.

So I continued, “Please, please tell me if you’re in danger here. Just a simple “yes” or “no.” Jocik, are you in danger in this house?”

His face barely moved, but I could tell his brain was running. I couldn’t see the thoughts in his eyes, but by Satan I knew they were there. It felt like I was watching him for years, with my eyes flipping back and forth from Jocik to the porch, and my heart kept threatening to burst out of my chest. I wanted to beg and plead with this boy, but that would overload him. He was clearly dissociative.

So instead of saying anything, I simply mouthed: “please.”

And somehow, in that miraculous moment, a spark lit up behind his eye.

He whispered back to me, “Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll get you help,” I rubbed his shoulder as I passed, “I can’t personally do shit, but I have friends that can. I’ll get you out of here, so just don’t. Say. A word. ”

He nodded.

And thus, I went back out onto the porch with Boxy. Using my phone as an excuse, I cut-off the interview early and got us out of there, only explaining to Boxy why once we got back into the car. I knew it was unprofessional to divert from the primary objective, but Boxy didn’t scold me for it. I knew he wouldn’t.

Can’t be heartless and a good detective duo at the same time, after all.

Later that afternoon, we stopped by the Beachside Suburbs’ Police Department. There, I gave my buddy Daisy a statement, and she said she’d look into it. She was one of the only officers I trusted to actually look into it, so I knew she’d give me updates within the next few weeks. So that was nice.

On the way home, we grabbed some milkshakes. And Boxy may have put some whisky in them, to celebrate. Because I may have gotten distracted, but I had still figured out one of the biggest things we were missing in this case!

We finally had a possible motive!

Chapter Text

No. It is not normal to go on a date for an investigation. I actually strongly recommend against it. In fact, do not replicate this strategy. We are not trained professionals, and quite frankly, I was fairly sure I was somehow going to fuck this up.

The plan wasn’t simple: first, I would go to Star Fickbucks and wait for my date. Meanwhile, Boxy and the team would approach the Daycare via the back alley. However, they would stay in-place until I gave them the signal that Mommy had entered the coffee shop via a text that would say “Go.” As they prepared to enter, I would of course create colorful and engaging conversation with an alleged serial killer. Hopefully I can be entertaining enough to retain her attention and prolong our coffee date, so that the team can collect any and all evidence we could need. Of course, Boxy will send me as many photos as he can from his burner phone to my burner, the latter of which was stowed in my car. Now, if the team finishes first? I’ll get a “complete” text from Boxy. If Mommy leaves first? I’ll text them “gtfo.”

Very cryptic code, I know. Despite my incredible detective skills, I am actually not a police officer, and thus do not have years of undercover experience or resources.

Anyway, I chose to at least dress up a bit for the occasion. After all, I did have to feign that I wasn’t scared out of my mind. Thus, a floral print and a pair of slacks with a matching pair of gloves would do the trick. Of course, Little Johnny was gonna stay with mom and dad. I really didn’t need to be distracted by my son, even if I knew it’d help keep Mommy distracted too. To make up for his absence, I made sure I had tons of his pictures loaded on my phone. Surely those would suffice.

Now Star Fickbucks is an incredibly popular coffee shop. Customers funnel in and out continuously, their addiction to caffeine keeping them coming back for more, so it was the perfect location for an operation like this. If anything happened? I was in public, and the crowd made it much safer. Plus, it was a nice place! Dark walls, bright wood, overpriced coffee; it was the perfect date spot for when it’s not really a date but it kind of is.

Thus, I took a seat in the far corner of the place - far away from the register as to avoid too much noise - and sipped on my tall, half-caff, double-shot, chocolate chip espresso. I’d leave my sandwich for later.

My phone vibrated, so I took a look at my messages.

Boxass [10:48am]: Waiting

Daddy [10:49am]: Hold.

I saw the read receipt immediately flash. As I glanced up to check my surroundings, my eyes immediately locked on to a pink silhouette strolling across the street outside. And when I focused? I saw her. Mommy was here.

And she made me feel underdressed.

With a white tank top, pink pants with double buttons, and a blazer over her shoulders, she looked as if she was about to attend a board meeting. Her hair was even up in a neat bun, with just her curled bangs hanging out. It almost felt like a power play, for her to be so sharp, and it probably was. Thus, as she came inside, I typed out a quick “go” to Boxy before waving at her. She waved back before getting in line for coffee.

Satan, she was gorgeous.

I would be lying if I didn’t say that I caught myself staring a little too long. On one hand, being open about how beautiful I found her would definitely give the team more of an opening back at the Daycare. But on the other hand, would my pride survive? Probably not.

… Did I have pride at this point?

… Probably not.

As she came to sit down, I couldn’t stop myself. I swung an arm around and pulled out her chair for her.

“Aw!” she chirped, “Thank you, what a gentleman!”

“You’re very welcome,” I smiled back.

She took her seat, and I pulled her back in. I noticed her fingers rhythmically tapping on her cup, trailing up and down the plastic sides.

“Are you nervous?” I asked.

She gave a weary chuckle, “Actually? Yes. I am.”

She was playing with me again. At least I thought so. This was already ringing similar to her demeanor from when we were in her mom’s house together.

“Why?” I laughed, “We’ve met twice before!”

“I-” she shrugged with another chuckle, “I must admit. I have a less than favorable history with relationships.”

RELATIONSHIP? Oh fuck, what was this?

“I must admit, I am a little confused here,” I told her, “What. What is happening here? Between us?”

She blinked, “I. I don’t know! I thought this was… a date?”

My heart suddenly closed. No no, bitch. You’re playing me. And I know it. I cannot let myself get distracted by her charms again. She has been playing my heart and mind like a goddamn orchestra since we met in that damn Daycare, and I cannot let her continue. If I do, I may lose sight of my goal: the case. But, if I push her too hard here, then she may leave. Can’t have her going back to the Daycare so soon. We just got here! But no matter how I went about this, I could not let her just play me anymore. I need to stand up for myself.

“Listen,” I leaned forward a bit, “You’re gorgeous. Don’t get me wrong. But you and I both know this isn’t just a friendly outing.”

She blinked again, batting her eyelids like a confused doe, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You know about the case,” I whispered just loudly enough for her to hear, “So stop acting like a bimbo. Both you and I know you are no such woman.”

Her once hunched-over shoulders straightened slightly, “Just because you have an investigation into my Daycare doesn’t mean I don’t find you charming, Mister Longjohn.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“And how am I supposed to know that’s true?” I countered.

Her eyes narrowed, and the cup tapping stopped, “Are you calling me a liar?”

“No, I’m calling you an enigma. I don’t know how to read you,” I replied, “You have an attitude and presentation that makes it very hard for me to understand what you’re putting out.”

It was the most honest thing I had ever said to her.

She sighed, “To be quite honest, you’ve done the same to me. It’s been. Very hard to understand you, especially once I knew you were investigating us.”

Well. You know?

“That’s fair,” I replied, “My apologies. Had I known I’d be so quickly taken by you, I would’ve made less confusing choices.”

While my attraction to her hadn’t affected the case too much up to this point, it was an undeniable piece of my puzzle. Indeed, being attracted to her actually increased how scared I was of her. Although I still wasn’t sure if her feelings now were real, if they were? I wouldn’t want to lead her on without being honest. She may be an alleged serial killer, but I am not an asshole.

“So am I. I am very sorry,” yet a small smile pulled on her lips, and I felt my heart drop, “But. You do like me, though?”

Fuck. My face felt like it was on fire. I unbuttoned a single shirt button so I wouldn’t sweat, yet that plan was immediately foiled by her eyes darting to my clavicle and then back up to my eyes.

“... I saw that,” I told her.

“No you didn’t,” she replied.

I snorted, “You can’t just. Say my eyes didn’t work!”

“Oh, shush!” she pulled up her blazer to hide her mouth, but she could barely hide the blush below her averted gaze.

Wait, was she actually into me? It’s a question that had permeated the whole case, but now I was starting to believe it was real. Wait.

“Okay, let’s make a deal,” I declared, “We’ve been in a dance for weeks, with deception and shit. Let’s end that. Even if it’s just for one lunch.”

She quickly swiped her coffee to take a drink, but her eyes did come back up to meet mine.

So I gave her my proposition: “Every question one another asks has to be answered truthfully. But! If we don’t want to answer the question, we can just deny the question altogether.”

Her eyes narrowed, those long lashes framing her suspicion, “How will I know you’re being truthful?”

“Because I am just a guy," I answered, "Ma'am I come from. Lovely parents. And a lovely home life. I have a lovely job. A healthy social life- literally I am so boring-"

She snorted.

"- that I have like. Nothing to hide."

“Hmm… Very well, then,” she took another sip of her coffee, “I accept.”

She then offered her cup forward. I took mine and brought it up alongside hers, in the form of a toast.

“To honesty,” I declared.

“To honesty,” she agreed.

And we tapped our cups together before taking our respective drinks. I actually downed about half of my cup at once, using the beverage as a relaxant for the tension I had just resolved, yet my shoulders were still as stiff as the table legs that restricted my movement.

“So,” I started, “You know I have a thing for you. Do you have a thing for me?”

She grimaced, but sighed right after, “Getting straight to the point, huh?”

“Yup,” I started unwrapping my ham sandwich, “Remember: you can reject the question.”

“No, no, I'm not a little bitch,” she groaned, “Yes. Yes, I have a “thing” for you. You’re quite charming and cute.”

I bit into my sandwich as if it would save my life. The word “cute” had hit my heart so hard that my toes curled in my shoes, and after I chewed and swallowed my bite, I gave her a nod.

“Cute?” but my voice cracked.

She laughed, “My point!”

“Stop!” my voice cracked again, so I had to clear my throat, “I am under attack!”

She laughed even more, which only made me feel more like a disaster. I’d be angry if her laugh wasn’t one of the best sounds I had ever heard.

“Okay, and you?” she asked, “What “thing” do you have for me?”

I took a deep breath. How honest did I want to go?

“I think. You’d be an incredible mother. And woman,” I chose every words carefully, “Yet I fear. You would kill me in my sleep, even without a life insurance policy.”

She now cackled, clapping her hands as her head fell back. Part of the shop became quiet for a moment, but as her laugh died down, the normal noise levels resumed.

Satan, I wasn’t just infatuated anymore. Was I? Where did this come from? She was. So much. This was a murderer across from me, yet she was doing things to my heart that I haven't felt since college. Oh Satan.

“I think? That is the nicest and more honest compliment I have ever received!” the smile on her face made me want to fall to my death.

“Well then!” I sat back up, attempting to regain control of the situation, “You? What is your “thing” for me?”

She pouted, as if I hadn’t just made myself a fool for her.

“I. Um,” that blush came back to her already painted cheeks, “I. I know you’re a fantastic father, and frankly that’s the best compliment I can give a man. Your sweet boy is so sweet because of you, and you are both very handsome.”

Satan please have mercy.

“Thank you,” I took another massive bite out of my sandwich.

She thus took the chance to prepare her bagel. I noticed she slathered it with an irrational amount of cream cheese, which made her even more appealing than before. A woman that understands the value of cream cheese is a great woman.

But it was my turn, once again.

"Have you… killed anyone?" I asked.

She frowned, "Of course I have! I'm from Wrath! Ma helped me hide the bodies!"

She then bit into her bagel, yet she covered her mouth to speak, "Who hired you?"

It was my turn to frown, "You know I can't answer that."

She swallowed her bite, "Was it Canterwall? I'll bet it was her."

What the fuck. Although she had guessed correctly, I refused to give her that answer.

"Still not allowed," I told her, "Who’s Canterwall, anyway?”

She scoffed, “Some incestuous bitch that’s still chasing her dead brother. You know, his kid went to her? Franklin? She lost custody of him within three months. Whole family is unfit - poor Frank went into foster care.”

My theory was sounding more and more correct with each biting word.

“I see,” I knew my next question.

“A lot of parents are that bad,” Mommy growled, “I get kids with personality issues, bruises and scars, lack of development… It’s fucking awful. Those parents are awful. Imagine having to teach a teenager how to write.”

My stomach sank. Not just from her words, but from the look on her face. The eyes I saw stare at my son - once hopeful and admiring - were now clouded by an inert despair that most parents feel in one way or another. No matter if you are a good or bad parent - old or young - you judge other parents, and that judgment can change you if you don’t focus on your child.

… and Mommy didn’t have children.

I anxiously took a long drink of my coffee.

“What happened to your baby’s mom?” Mommy asked, perking an eyebrow as her eyes refocused, “Can’t believe a mom would leave behind such a cutie. And your darling son too.”

I had to stop myself from spitting out my drink as I took a hard gulp, “STOP. Complimenting me.”

“No.”

“Fuckin hell,” I sighed, “She was a bad partner. So I divorced her. And she didn’t care about LJ, so I got full custody.”

With the amount of times Mommy blinked, you’d think she had something in her eye.

“She left her child behind?”

“Yup,” I nodded, meeting her gaze once more, “She left him with me. Hasn’t called in months. We’ve only been divorced a year.”

Mommy’s arms fell onto the table. She then took in a deep breath before scoffing once more.

“I. I could never imagine abandoning my own flesh and blood,” she muttered.

Which made me curious.

“Why don’t you have kids?” I asked, “You’re fantastic with them. You’re physically made to be around them.”

The shock in her eyes turned pitch-black. I swear to Satan, her pupils took over her eyes, almost eliminating the white corneas entirely. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking; I was only met with the abject horror of those fuckin terrifying eyes.

I tried to remind her: “You don’t have to answer if you don’t wa-”

But she cut me off, “I miscarried. Three times. They fell out of me.”

I wearily pushed my sandwich off to the side. I suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.

“I am so, so sorry,” I whispered.

Her eyes turned away, “... That was gross. I’m sorry.”

“No-” without thinking, my hand flew across the table, taking hers in a gentle hold, “No, please don’t. Apologize. That’s. Horrific, and it’s… It’s okay.”

She almost recoiled from the touch, and I cringed at feeling her tense. But then her hand wrapped back around mine. She used me as an anchor as she took a deep breath, relaxing her hand around mine. The noise around us felt like it was miles away as I stared at her, but her eyes were far away as she gazed at the floor. It was then I understood the gravity of bringing LJ around her.

To her? He was what she was supposed to have.

I leaned towards her, “Where would you prefer we take this conversation?”

She blinked, “Let’s just. Keep. Exchanging questions. … Please.”

“... well, then it’s your turn,” I gave her a smile, “Give me the most invasive, crude question you can think of. Just fuckin do it.”

She snickered, “Uh. Okay, how big is your penis?”

I felt the smile drop off my face, “No.”

Mommy giggled. “Oh, so that’s where you draw the line-?”

“Yes.”

She kept laughing, but as her hand squeezed around mine, the laugh only sounded ethereal. She was ethereal. Dimples, small lips, long, luscious eyelashes. The sparkle in her eye… Wow. What an enigma. And what a strange woman.

Three miscarriages, and then watching an entire ring abuse their children? She had heaps of motive to kill these neglectful parents. And to be honest? I didn’t blame her. Even her worst actions were driven by a kindness she didn’t get to show.

All she wanted was to be a mother.

“My turn,” I snorted with her, “Would you ever adopt?”

Her eyes sparkled just a bit more, “I. I would. If I had someone to help keep me in check, haha. I feel like I’d kill anything that upset my child, and you know, there’s other ways to solve that...”

Her eyes met mine. My heart skipped a beat.

Unholy Satan. She means me.

Oh fuck that’s not what I meant. At all.

Off to my right, my phone flashed a single message:

Boxass [11:27am]: Complete.

Excellent.

I stuttered slightly, trying to push through these two massive bouts of victory and embarrassment washing over me, “Ma’am, I’m starting to think you might more than fancy me.”

Mommy held her cup up to her lips, “Perhaps.”

And she took a sip, but even her pink skin couldn’t hide the deep maroon blush that pushed out from under her makeup.

“Ah, you do remember, I am, uh. Investigating you? Right?” I tried so hard not to stutter, but it definitely wasn’t working.

She giggled slightly, this time her tone more nervous, “Yeah, but if it takes this to get to a single, loving dad of a beautiful baby boy? Then why not?”

And there it was. Her real smile. Satan, was it beautiful. It pushed up into her eyes, and her pearly white, sharp teeth glistened from under her vibrant lipstick. Her gaze was absolutely locked on me, sparkling brighter than the yellow skies of Gluttony after an all-night rager. I almost couldn’t feel her hand tightening around mine gently, her hold sweet yet protective, as her face just pulled me in. It took all of my strength to not literally lean into her.

After all, this could still be a ploy. But the alternative at this rate was actually much, much worse to consider…

Could my own suspect actually be falling for me?

That was the question that was held in my head as we finished our meal. We didn’t stay around for much longer; after all, it was only a lunch date. Yet she held my hand still, even as we threw away our trash and left, to the point I had to accompany her to her car.

Not that I really minded; after all, a gentleman always escorts his date to their car.

“Thanks for taking the time for me,” I told her.

“No!” she quickly pecked a kiss on my cheek, “Thank you for joining me!”

I snickered slightly, yet the feeling of cold that came with her letting go of my hand caught me off-guard. For a moment I just watched her unlock her small, pink, round car, and she opened the door to a tan, leather interior. It was surprisingly well-kept, actually.

“So… What are we?” I asked.

She paused, “... I dunno.”

She turned back around to face me, her eyes still sparkling.

“I guess you deserve an upgrade from a plaything.”

“Wh-wha-”

I didn’t even get to finish the word before she grabbed my collar and pulled me in for a kiss. Her lips caught mine so gently, and the way we slid together was so inviting that I fell into her. She fell against the side of the car, and the dopamine hit that followed was so large that even with my eyes closed I was still seeing stars. My adrenaline spiked as I snapped as my arms wrapped around her, and hers coiled back around me. The heat between our mouths could cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner, deliciously wet and heavy, and our hearts were beating so hard I could feel both of our heart rates pushing back and forth against our chests. Satan, I had wanted this so bad. All of the emotions I had suppressed were now being pressed into her lips, and she reciprocated with equal fervor. 

When we finally pulled away, I started panting as if I had just run a marathon. Her breaths matched mine, and our eyes locked immediately.

“... unholy shit, what are we?” true shock had once more swept across her face.

“Car,” was all I could reply.

My legs wobbled beneath me, but she quickly swung me into the back of her car. I fell into the seats, still trying to catch my breath as my back hit the cold leather, but that was very hard to do as she climbed on top of me.

“Is this what you mean?” she asked.

Those long, pink strands of hair framed her like a halo.

It had not been my original intent, but- “Yeah, yeah, shut-”

She shut her car door behind us.

“Tinted windows,” she grinned down at me, those massive teeth glinting again.

“Oh fuck,” I whispered.

Chapter Text

“You fucked? The suspect?”

“No!” I turned around, glaring Boxy in the eye, “We just. Made. Out.”

“... There’s scratches on your chest,” Boxy buttoned my shirt up a bit more for me.

“It was, uh,” I found myself losing my words, “Hot. Heavy. She’s. She’s a freak.”

“Good freak?”

“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

Boxy chuckled before opening the front door for me.

The office usually wasn’t open on Sundays, but in this circumstance it was obviously necessary. The cool AC washed over Boxy and I as we entered, and he led me into our meeting room. The office printer was rolling off in the corner, responding to Boogie and his laptop as they took my chair at the head of the table. Beside him, Bee and Candy were searching through said printed documents, their eyes wide with curiosity. A couple of small bags were strewn across the table, each with a name or question mark written across the front. As I approached, Boogie took a USB out from his laptop, scribbling something on it with a similar black marker.

“We hit. The fuckin jackpot,” Boxy grinned at me, “We copied so much fucking data. We have so much DNA. We are in it to win it!”

He pulled up the bags, showing them to me, “We got Mommy, Bunzo, PJ, Kissy, and!”

He put heavy emphasis on the last bag, practically shoving it into my face, “HUGGY MOTHERFUCKIN WUGGY. Listen, if that isn’t his real name, that’s embarrassing.”

I stared at him.

“... I know, big talk coming from me,” Boxy rolled his eyes, “But come on. Come on! We got them, we got some unidentified DNA from some of the offices- we even found blood evidence.”

My heart skipped a beat, “BLOOD?”

“YEAH, maybe a kid’s but what if it ain’t?!” Boxy’s massive grin threatened to push around the corners of his box head, “What if we have a victim’s blood?!”

A large part of me was elated. Of course I would be! Among this data and evidence, we could finally have answers, and we could finally close this damn case! But after that date, I must admit, a small part of me was devastated. Having the two emotions clash at once was getting normal at this point, yet no easier to handle.

“I’ll be hand delivering this shit,” Boxy held up all of the bags as if they were cards, “Today. Ain’t no way I’m wasting a second on these bad boys.”

A thought struck my mind, “Oh, what about the door?”

Boxy stared at me for a very long second before I saw the lightbulb go off in his eyes, “Oh! Yeah, actually? That was an empty room. Very small, empty room. There was a square shape in the floor - as if something had been lifted - but that’s in the film. We’ll get that out this week.”

I was about to ask: “A square-” but was interrupted.

“We got it!” Candy chirped, “Jon Joseph! Billy’s son! We have his file!”

Boxy and I exchanged glances before we moved behind Candy and Bee.

“Jon Joseph, age 6, is from an apartment complex on 17th Street in the Beachside Suburbs, His father and mother both took care of him, but according to the file, his father was his primary caregiver before his disappearance,” Bee continued scanning the page as she spoke, “There are notes about Jon coming in with bruises, Jon complaining about tummy aches,” Bee kept flipping through, skimming the pages’ content as she skipped by demographic data, “And the-”

She paused. We all did.

There, in her hands, was a picture of Jon. He was smiling, ear-to-ear, and he was only with his mother. According to the date on the bottom of the photo, this was a mere week after Billy’s disappearance. Even better? There was a scribbled caption at the bottom.

“Another satisfied customer,” Bee breathed.

Boogie grasped the table, shaking it with excitement, “LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO!”

“Oh once we get these bad boys in, oooh once we do,” Boxy hopped around the room, “This shit is OVER. These guys are COOKED.”

Cat Bee started rambling off as Candy kept reading more documents, and now Boogie was printing with more vigor than ever. Boxy loomed over Boogie’s shoulder, his eyes glued to the screen, but all I could do was fall into a chair.

It didn’t feel over. It really didn’t. My eyes scanned the pages and bags. I analyzed every square inch of their presence to make sure they were real. As the sounds of my cohorts became a distant memory, I took the bag labeled “Mommy” into my hand, tracing the long pink strand of hair within. My mind started racing so fast it just became white noise, and I instead found myself zoning out as I held crucial evidence.

“... are you even listening?”

I blinked before looking up to the voice. It was Boxy. His cross expression dropped the second we made eye-contact, and in one sweep he pulled me back into the entryway.

“Daddy,” he shut the door to the meeting room before glaring back at me, “Are you really developing feelings for this chick?”

I had to think. Hard. My brain felt like it was going to short-circuit, but I tried anyway, all the while keeping my eyes to the wall away from Boxy.

“... I don’t know,” was the only answer I could muster.

Boxy came up to me, his hardass demeanor dropping as hard as his expression just moments ago.

“Daddy.”

I forced myself to meet his gaze.

“You gotta be honest with me. Are you?”

My breathing hitched. I felt the next breaths tumble out from my lungs, haggard and shaky. It was those two words, “are you,” that punched me with this horrible fact: I had, indeed fallen for this woman. This serial killer. This animal of a Demon. I couldn’t stop the tears from pushing out of my eyes, and my mouth curled in a horrified disgust. Boxy quickly locked an arm around me, holding me up.

“Bro, bro, I gotcha, come on-”

Boxy led me into the breakroom, closing the door behind us before setting me down.

Suddenly, her kisses burned me. The scratch marks dug deep. Boxy sat in front of me immediately, but I couldn’t hear him. All I could hear was my own cries, and my brain’s white noise getting louder and louder. In hindsight, I got why I reacted like this. Hell, even the hour of this I had to push through made sense: I had just left my awful marriage a year ago, and with this shit following it up? It’s a miracle I didn’t breakdown sooner. But for that entire hour, Boxy just kept a hand on my shoulder, and I saw his mouth moving, even if I couldn’t hear it.

Because that’s what best friends do, you know? That’s what they do.

When I could finally hear again, Boxy and I counted down from one-hundred. This was a tactic we had used since college to chill the fuck out, and even so many years later, it still worked. My heart rested, my mind rested, and I let out a sigh as we hit number one.

“... phew,” I fell back in my chair.

“Dude,” Boxy continued to rub my shoulder, “I'm here. I'm here no matter how deranged your taste in women gets, okay? I'm here.”

I nodded.

“Just gotta tell me what's going on,” Boxy explained, “We're partners. And no crazy bimbo is gonna change that.”

I snorted, closing my eyes as the rest of me settled.

Boxy continued, “I am gonna be. By your side. No matter how fucked your choice in women is. And hey!”

I opened one eye to look at him.

“At least your new bimbo only kills bad people!”

I closed my eye once more and felt a grimace push on to my face, “Boxy.”

“Come on!” Boxy jeered, “So far, she’s only gotten rid of neglectful, shitty adults. Does that really make her that bad?”

My voice was flat as I replied, “She kills people, Boxy.”

“Yeah, but like. She’s also fun! Which is a big win over your ex. She was a staunch bitch.”

“I guess,” I sighed.

“Plus Mommy’s got this.”

An eerie silence followed. I reopened my eye to see Boxy on his phone, furiously tapping away.

“... what are you doing?” I asked cautiously.

“She has!” he handed his phone to me, “A Sinstagram.”

I swiped the phone from him far too quickly and was immediately met with a mix of thirst traps and work pictures. Every work post had the kids blurred out, but she actually took quite a few photos with her coworkers. I saw Kissy, Bunzo, PJ-

“... Huggy?” I whispered.

Alarm bells went off in my head.

“Huggy?” Boxy grumbled, “Dude I just wanted you to see her beach photos. She kills a bikini.”

“N-no-” I smacked him before I showed him the screen, “Look.”

In the only photo on Mommy’s account that included Huggy¦ Huggy was obscured. All you could see was his chest and his massive hand. When she had photos with Kissy, both of their faces in frame as a selfie should be; this was too strange to not at least note.

“Oh shit,” Boxy took the phone, examining the post, “That’s fuckin crazy.”

“That DNA may be telling us a lot more than we expected,” I mused.

Boxy’s eyes flashed back up to me, the grin returning to his face.

“There you are, Detective.”

I grinned back.

“But seriously, let me-” Boxy tapped away again before handing the phone back to me, “You need to see-”

“I do not need to see her bikini-” I looked down at the phone.

A long silence kept me from talking. Instead, I simply took the phone, copied her account URL, and texted it to myself.

“Stop being horny,” I told him, handing the phone back for the final time.

Boxy scoffed, “Okay, Detective Hickey-”

“Oh, don’t. Don’t start. Don’t.”

Chapter Text

The first three days after the date were extremely tense. Every time I received a text, I prayed to Satan and God that it wasn’t Mommy realizing what we had done. Every phone call felt like a step towards her finding out. I had to take intermittent naps throughout the day to satiate the exhaustion my anxiety was causing, but fortunately, I had the perfect nap partner: LJ.

Indeed, LJ had no idea his dad’s life was falling apart. He was too young, too sweet, and too pure for Hell. How such a wonderful creature could exist down here is far, far beyond me; let alone how I was involved in creating him. With each nap I took, I had my boy with me, right on my chest in his holder as we slept. He also served as my alarm, as his naps never took more than two hours. It was perfect. He was perfect.

Satan, I love my son.

But as day three ended and day four began, the anxieties were finally subsiding. That morning I was actually well-rested, trimming my stache and oiling my hair. LJ even had a new onesie to wear! We were both looking dapper, had a lovely breakfast, and headed off to work as always.

However, as we approached the office, I saw Boxy standing outside. I’ll be honest, I’m usually not scared by my partner standing in new places, but the way his coiled arms tangled across his chest was rubbing me the wrong way. Fortunately, LJ had one of his sensory toys in the back seat, so I was able to go out and meet Boxy without having to remove my kid from the car.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

Boxy’s eyes shot to me so fast I thought they’d fly out of his head, “We gotta. Go. We have a meeting.”

“... a meeting?”

Boxy took a long, shaky breath, “The lab wants to meet with us.”

“The lab-?” it took me a moment to understand, “Oh, you mean the technicians working on the daycare case evidence?”

Boxy nodded.

“Why is that?¦ Scaring you?” I couldn’t find a better word; he looked terrified.

“They don’t exactly work on the record like we usually do,” Boxy’s voice was a low rumble at best, “They’re hooked into crime syndicates. They don’t exactly ask for meetings; it threatens their anonymity.”

“What makes them worse than the Longlegs? Or the Daycare?” my heart was starting to race a little, “I’ve never seen you like this.”

Boxy spat out the next sentence so fast I almost didn’t catch it: “I know some of their connections, and they’re worse than Crim in Greed.”

My heart skipped a beat, “That’s a mafia.”

“I know.”

“And they want to meet us in person?”

“Yup.”

“Oh Satan- okay. When?”

“Today. 10:30am. Coral Reef Park on Sunset Avenue.”

“Fuck.”

We just kinda stared at one another after that. I already despised where this was heading, but did we really have an option? Who knows what they’d do if we didn’t show?! So, the rest of the morning was thus tense. Since I always arrive at the office at 8 to open at 8:30, it would be two hours until Boxy and I had to go. We of course explained the situation to Candy, Bee, and Boogie, who essentially began planning how to run the business and take care of LJ in our absence. As if we would die today.

Very helpful, guys.

In the meantime, Boxy and I mulled over some smaller cases, panicked together, held LJ for perhaps the last time, and did everything we could to pass the time. We even drew doodles on my whiteboard, and a few dickbutts may have been involved, but I cannot confirm nor deny this. By the time 10am hit, I had downed a whole pot of coffee by myself. I literally brought it into my office once everyone else had their cups. Boxy may have stolen a drink or too, though; but I’m not sure.

When we got ready to leave, Candy literally ran over and hugged us, as if we were going off to war.

“COME BACK,” she cried, “DON’T DIE. PLEASE. I CAN’T RUN THIS PLACE WITHOUT YOU.”

“Candy!” Bee pulled her off, “Ugh, good luck, guys.”

Boogie even offered a wave from the breakroom, watching us from behind his laptop screen.

This truly did feel like a life-risking mission.

After glancing back and forth between my car and Boxy’s, we decided to take his old-ass jalopy. It was less noticeable, and frankly was easier to drive in the case of trouble. It may smell like the bathroom of an old pub, but I didn’t have a nose! So I couldn’t personally tell.

When we arrived at the park, it seemed so ordinary. Children were playing on the massive jungle gym, and parents were lounging about the benches that surrounded it. A massive lake sat off to the side, where Imps, Hellhounds, and other Hellborn were feeding the wildlife, despite the numerous signs telling them not to do so. Behind these scenes was the woodline, where I knew countless picnic spots and trails weaved into the undergrowth. It was one of the most tranquil settings in Hell, bathed in the gentle blue sun of Envy, yet I couldn’t even attempt to enjoy it.

“How are we supposed to know who to look for?” I asked.

“Said he was gonna be sitting at one of the park tables,” Boxy replied, “He’s a Hellhound.”

I nodded, scanning the grounds. Hellhounds were typically easy to spot, yet as I glanced around, there was only one possible individual that was close to Boxy’s description. Yet the dude looked nothing like a typical Hellhound. He was very clean, preppy, with a nice sweater and khaki shorts. His fur was a vibrant mix of oranges and yellows - evenly trimmed and well groomed - and his long ears had not a single split in them. 

“Is that him?” I pointed out the preppy pup.

“Good of a guess as any,” Boxy rolled his shoulders, “Let’s go see.”

It was a bit awkward, to be two men dressed in ties at a park on a sunny morning, but we tried to look as casual as we could as we made our way towards the table. The Hellhound actually saw us coming, and gave an oddly cute wave as we grew closer.

“Daddy? Boxy?” his voice was deep, yet oddly optimistic.

“Yup,” I replied, “You looking for us?”

“Sure am!” the Hellhound sprung up from his seat as we finished closing the distance, “Call me Dogday! Nice to meet cha!”

He held out one of his hands, showing off designer leather gloves. They had large buckles around the wrist, yet they were fingerless, showing his large, orange fingers. I thus took his hand and gave it a cautious shake, and Boxy followed after.

“Now, I know this is a tough ask, but I am gonna need you guys to follow me. Okay? We’re gonna walk, we’re gonna talk, and there’s some really sensitive info that I wanna just. Get out, you know? But not have wandering ears lend a listen.”

I looked back at that treeline, and Dogday nodded.

“Why couldn’t this have been an email?” I asked.

“Sensitivity is that high,” Dogday offered a nervous chuckle, “But don’t worry! I don’t bite! I’m chill, we’re chill! It’ll be fine!”

The charisma this man put off was perfectly measured. Sure, I was worried about following him, but on the other hand he seemed just as nervous as me. Led me to believe we were in the same nervous boat, but that on its own could be a ruse to get me into a false sense of security.

Or maybe I’ve just been working on this case for too long.

“Shall we?” Dogday asked.

I sighed, “Let’s.”

And the three of us made our way into the woods. The gentle sounds of the forest encompassed us as we entered, and a long, dirt path extended out into the foliage ahead.

Dogday’s rambling continued, “Now, like I said, I know this is very shady. But you guys are poking into some deep, dark places with this whole daycare case, and uh, in my professional opinion? You might wanna stop.”

There was a pause that went on just a little too long.

“Why?” Boxy asked.

“You’re messing with much higher powers than some chick killing people, that’s for sure,” Dogday let out an uneasy chuckle, “You’re poking near things much, much worse.”

“Like… What?” Boxy asked again.

“We’re not deep enough in,” Dogday replied, “Just another minute, I promise. But let’s just say there’s royalty in this, yeah? I’ll give you that for now.”

Royalty? My brain froze. No, we were just dealing with some Imps and some weird Hellborn. Where the fuck could royalty come in? The Goetia? The Sins?! How on Earth would they-

Then it hit me.

“Huggy,” I almost whispered.

Dogday pointed back at me, “Bingo. And that’s not even the worst part. But just wait, okay? Another minute.”

I glanced over and saw Boxy’s face had completely blanked. I honestly felt the same. I mean, Huggy being royalty made decent sense. His online presence would’ve been connected to another name before taking on his new identity, and in order to keep safe, he’d have to have very little online presence. Witness protection, except it’s royal protection?

“Okay,” Dogday turned to us, now walking backwards, “So. Like. Where do I even start-? Okay, let’s start with Huggy, since I teased him. We took the DNA you had labeled as “Huggy,” and when we put it into our DNA sequencer, it exploded. Now I’ll have you know our tech is state-of-the-art, and the only reason it would break down is if it was asked to sequence what we call “divine strands.” Divine strands are DNA that can only be found in the original fallen, aka the Goetic Kings and the Sins, as well as Lucifer Morningstar. The Angels or God or somebody put a sort of lock on their DNA, making it incapable of being sequenced. Even Goetic Princes’ and Princesses’ DNA can ruin our machines if the sample is strong enough. So, with the knowledge that Huggy is related to someone big and bad, we did some homework and found a missing Prince. You can look it up - even write down the name, it’s Amblec. Been missing for over ten years. That’s Huggy. Your childcare worker is Amblec, the son of the King of Lust, Asmodeus.”

I just stopped walking. To be fair, Boxy did too. Dogday had to stop because of us.

“Yeah, I know,” Dogday gave us a massive nod, “It’s a lot to take in. But like I said, that’s only the beginning. This shit will only get crazier.”

“Does Mommy know?” I whispered.

“I dunno!” Dogday shrugged, “That crazy bitch knows a lot more than she’s letting on, though. That I can guarantee.”

“What do you mean?” my body was going numb.

I barely heard a crunch off to my left. My head flicked over, but all I saw was a squirrel.

“Let me-” Dogday reached into his sweater, pulling out one of our photos, “Come here.”

I closed the distance to observe said photo. Boxy didn’t move, probably anchored by shock.

It was one of the photos Boxy and the crew had taken. The camera was pointed at a downward angle, capturing a suspicious outline of dust on the floor. The shape implied a box or something vaguely cube-shaped had sat there at one point, long enough to collect the outline of dust, yet as I observed the photo, I had to admit… There was nothing else out of the ordinary. That was, until Dogday started talking again.

“So, when we put this photo under some keen eyes, we found-” Dogday once more reached into his sweater, pulling out another photo, “This!”

He showed us a blown-up corner of the photo, where a small, glinting piece of gold barely peaked out of the mess of dirt. At first I thought it was a processing error, but Dogday went on to explain: “Based on color, texture, and lighting, we ruled out mustard or any form of a physical object. This isn’t an earring, or anything similar. We literally found condiments exclusive to a small village in Sloth, and still there couldn’t find a match for the color. Plus: it’s glowing. Ever so slightly. Thus, we have a right to believe that it could be Angel blood.”

I really wish there was a chair nearby. My legs were wobbling. Boxy ran up to us, swiped the blown-up photo, and inspected it.

“... dude, it is glowing,” he muttered, “It’s so. Slight.”

Dogday just had to add: “Fun fact: Amblec’s blood would not be gold. He’s a second generation.”

I took a massive breath, “Then who’s blood is it?”

Dogday shrugged, “Who knows.”

That’s when my legs threatened to give out, “I need a seat.”

With a quick glance around the area, I saw a picnic table about 40 feet away, and it had two long benches on either side. I flicked out my hand, stretching my arm out to grab said table, and once I had my grip, I pulled myself over. The almost smack into the table felt like nothing, especially as I got to ease into the seat.

“I wish I could do that!” Dogday called after.

I heard another crunch. I jumped up, this time seeing a shadow. It was two times my size, but that’s all I got to discern before it disappeared.

Boxy hopped over to me via his massive springs, and as Dogday tried to catch up, I took the opportunity to whisper: “Something may be following us.”

“No fuckin shot,” Boxy checked the area, looking up, down, and sideways, “What did you see?”

“Shadow. Massive. Somehow silent.”

“Fuckin hell.”

Dogday then caught up, panting slightly, “I’m just a Hellhound- you two are much cooler.”

“So we have Angel blood and a Prince of Lust,” I gazed at him, “What else ya got?”

Dogday looked up to Boxy, “You may wanna sit down.”

“Oh, fuck,” Boxy thus took the seat next to me.

Dogday sat across from us. Up to this point, he had been very animated, but a somber expression had suddenly taken over him. He folded his hands as the light disappeared from his eyes. It didn’t look right on him.

He took a deep, shaky breath before he spoke: “Are you familiar with someone called The Prototype?”

“No,” Boxy immediately answered.

But a jolt struck through me, “Yes.”

Boxy glanced at me, “Huh?”

“It was written in PJ’s file, from the adoption center,” I replied, “Scribbled in a margin. I didn’t know it meant something.”

“Oh, it does,” the somber expression on Dogday’s face became shadowed by his brow, “The Prototype is the name of an entity leading a cult in Pride.”

“A cult?” I asked.

Dogday nodded, “They see the Prototype as some type of god that will one day rival Lucifer, and maybe even Heaven. You said the name was on PJ’s file?”

I slowly nodded.

“Yeah. PJ was in the cult.”

My arms flopped onto the table. I had no idea what else to do with them, or myself.

“The Cult is known for kidnapping, murder, dismemberment, body manipulation, dark magic, and psychological warfare. Its members are made up of Hellborn, Sinners, and even some Goetia. It’s not pretty.”

“Wait- what does this have to do with the daycare?” Boxy asked.

“Well,” Dogday took a deep breath, folding his hands on the table, “If you kill someone. And you need to dispose of a body. What better way…?”

He gave us a weary look.

“Oh my fuck, she’s feeding the bodies of her victims to a cult,” Boxy mumbled to my left.

At this point, I couldn’t even feel anything, and my brain made up for it by firing off on all cylinders. The first thing I noted was Dogday’s wedding band. It was slightly worn, showing a bit of age, but it still had a shine to it under the forest’s glow. My next thought was a question.

“Is Mommy part of the Cult?” I asked.

“That we’re not sure about.” Dogday fiddled with his fingers, “While she definitely has a proper connection to them, her living away from The Prototype tells me she’s simply a… Correspondent? Ally? Body-producer.”

He nodded to himself.

But as Boxy started to talk, alarm bells started going off in my head. I swiveled, scanning the trees around us. I didn’t know where the alarm came from - I don’t know what was causing me to tense up - but I was getting far too paranoid to not at least look around.

“Dude, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” I told Boxy, “It’s. Something. Is wrong.”

I barely caught both Boxy and Dogday looking around with me, yet it was only Boxy who replied: “Wait. Yeah, you’re right. Something. Is off.”

“I don’t see it!” Dogday chirped, “Just look like regular old woods to me.”

His fingers rapped against the table, drumming with surprising purpose. I glanced at his hands. He stopped.

I looked up at him, “What’s going on?”

“I-I don’t know!” he stuttered.

My legs were wobbling worse, but it wasn’t until that moment that I realized maybe it wasn’t my anxiety that was making me so tired.

I slammed my hands down on the table, glaring into the Hellhound’s eyes, “What’s going on, Dogday?!”

He shrunk at my volume, “I’m sorry, Starlight.”

Starlight? My arms shook as I fell onto the table.

Dogday’s voice contorted as he spoke, “I’m still a really shit liar!”

The feeling drained from my body. I tried to use every ounce of my power to keep my eyes open, fighting the hardest battle of my entire life. Was this the fucking END? I’m dying to a dog?! And some “Starlight-”

“It’s alright,” a horrifically familiar voice echoed through my soul, “It isn’t your fault, love.”

A massive, purple feline fell into my view. A wide smile was plastered over his star-dotted face, and large, black teeth reflected my own image back at me. His hand dwarfed both Boxy and I’s heads combined, and his tail was so long it could wrap around us all at least 4 times. I felt like I was looking at a feline Goetia or something, especially with the floating moon and star on the tip of his tail. The horror of looking upon him and hearing that damn voice kept me awake long enough for our eyes to lock.

A deep chuckle came from his grin, “I told you that this wasn’t your scene.”

Chapter Text

And with that, the world around me disappeared. Dogday, the trees, the cat, Boxy- they all swirled into a mess of colors and smears. I couldn’t see my hands, my legs, my mustache! It was all gone, replaced with visual nonsense as I tried to grasp anything visually or physically, yet all I did was struggle, even as the colors all turned red. Puffs of smoke started to roll around me, enveloping the space.

Somehow, in the madness, I was able to find my voice.

“YOU STABBED ME,” I called, “IN MY NIGHTMARE. THE DOOR. YOU STABBED ME.”

The cat’s voice called back, “I’m impressed you have the brain space to remember little old me, detective.”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” the red smoke spun around me.

“I tried to warn you,” the cat’s voice took on layers, “But you wouldn’t listen. So this is your last chance, Detective Longjohn. Heed. My. Words.”

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I had no voice, no body, no feeling; just audio and sight. 

The swirling smoke around me let out a soft hum before it lunged at me, enveloping my vision until new colors cast out in front of me: burgundy, black, purple, and even more red. As the smoke cleared, the same purple cat sat before me on the ground, tearing apart the limb of a recently-deceased Demon. He chewed and tore with his long black teeth, surrounded by a curtain of shadow as he spilled red blood onto the dusty ground. Elegant robes draped off of him, now splattered in blood, giving him an almost priestly-look. I couldn’t hear anything properly, though. Just the distant sounds of gnawing, of slurping, as if the scene that was only ten feet away was at least thirty feet to my ears.

That was, until a garbled voice spoke. It was far too garbled to make out any words, but as the blackness I previously thought was a void behind the cat moved, I realized not only that there was something else there, but that it was massive and speaking. It leaned down, only revealing red, beady eyes as it stared down at the cat. As the cat glanced up, meeting its gaze, I noticed something glowing beneath the cat’s robes. Then? The red smoke came back, obstructing my view.

The cat’s voice rang through my ears again: “Men. Women. Every gender between. Children - the Prototype does not discriminate. Any Demon can serve him, willingly or not.”

The smoke ushered itself out of the way again, revealing a mangled pile of bodies, writhing and stretching above a massive, glowing sigil. I couldn’t see any discerning features in said sigil, as blood and other bodily fluids were splattered across the ground, cutting the otherwise radiant lines. Sweaty skins clashed, mouths called up to the sky in ecstasy, and although I was revolted, a fear crept into me that kept me from turning my head. Even though I couldn’t actually smell the scene, I knew it smelled horrid, and even without hearing anything, my stomach churned. My fingers curled in disgust. My chest tightened. I wanted to leave, so, so bad.

Fortunately, the smoke once more swept the scene away. I could feel myself breathe a sigh of relief, even as the cat’s voice spoke once more.

“We are his pawns. His toys. Our every movement is for him.”

My heart started racing as the smoke rolled back once more, but instead of another horrifying scene, I found myself standing in a cozy, dark bedroom. Well. Actually, it wasn’t me. As I stared down, large, purple paws dangled from my view, and an elephant/Baphomet hybrid was fast asleep on the bed below me. There was no sound this time. No blood. No orgies. Just a silent, calm bedroom. One of my hands reached out as I bent down to the elephant’s level. A long, heavy finger poked him awake. I watched him stir before he turned to me, and his pale, yellow eyes grew wide.

A single phrase broke the silence: “Help. Help me. Please.”

It was the cat’s voice, but lighter. Trembling. The hand in front of me began to shake, but the elephant took it so fast.

“Cass, what’s happening?” the elephant’s eyes squinted in the dark, “Cass, I will help with whatever you need. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“They’ll come for me,” “Cass” whimpered, “I. I’m in danger. They want me dead. They want my body. They want-”

“Okay, okay, that’s a lot-” the elephant took my back, gently guiding me over to sit on the bed, “Let’s start from the beginning, okay? I am here, I am listening, but I need a bit of organization here.”

And for the final time, red clouds overtook my view. My heart ached as I tried to understand the despair I had just heard, the fear in my ears. This entire time I had felt somewhat afraid, yet when Cass spoke, it made me feel like I knew nothing.

But a new voice spoke to me: “But you don’t have to take this path, Daddy.”

I spun around.

Standing in the middle of the smoke, her hair swaying behind her, was Mommy.

“Drop it. Let it go,” she approached me, but I couldn’t move, “You don’t have to give yourself to this. Drop it. Let it go. And leave us behind.”

“I-” my words got caught in my mouth, “But I-”

“This isn’t your scene,” “Cass” was clearly speaking through her.

I shook myself from my shock, “She made it my scene!”

“We’re in Hell, you idiot,” her light laugh caught me off guard as she gently held my cheek, “You’re one of the few Demons to have such a simple life! Is she really worth ruining that for?”

I felt my back straighten. I glared both her and the cat puppeteering her down. Throughout this case, I had many questions that were hard to answer; but this one was clear as day, whether I liked it or not.

“Yes.”

Her smile soured. In a flash, she swung that same hand at me, smacking me…

And I woke up.

I was laying in Boxy’s car. I immediately looked over, and saw Boxy staring out the front window, his expression blank. I whirled around, searching the scene beyond the car, only to see our parking lot. My office building. My car.

I started hyperventilating, frantically searching around us, “When-”

But Boxy immediately answered: “Ten minutes ago.”

“Did you drive us-”

“Yes.”

“Are you ok-”

“No. Are you?”

“No.”

I glanced back at him, and our eyes locked. The silence between us was so heavy that it’d take a Sin to cut through it. Not one word was said, yet I felt us both communicating, reaching the same mixture of panic and calm. I really needed a nap. Or even a cliff to jump off.

Yet a small part of me was starting to grow: no. I didn’t believe this. I mean, I did, but I didn’t. There was so much- too much. One woman could not be shouldering all of this just to get rid of a few shit parents. This was so, so much.

I fell back in my seat, “I. I can’t tell the client this shit. This is too dangerous. This is. This is bad.”

“Real bad,” Boxy agreed.

There was a pause.

“I have to at least know the full truth,” I muttered, “I may not be able to give my client the full story, but me? I need it. I’ve invested too much. I have seen too much. I deserve it.”

Boxy then spoke up, “You’re gonna ask her, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “We need to end this. Now. Before it goes any further. And she is the key.”

Boxy slumped, yet he replied: “You got it, boss.”

A somber silence fell over the car. I saw Boxy tracing the wheel with his finger. I started catching my breath, letting my limbs relax, and as I did, my thoughts started to catch up to me. I needed to recall what we had learned:

1. “Huggy Wuggy” was actually Prince Amblec, the lost son of King Asmodeus.
2. Asmodeus either put him in this position, or he’s hiding from Asmodeus. I’m not sure.
3. There’s a cult in Pride using and abusing bodies - both living and dead - for black magic rituals.
4. Some of those abused bodies were most likely my victims.
5. Mommy has a fucking connection to this cult.
6. Mommy was the one to put my victims in that situation - to be used in these rituals

But then, a random thought crashed into my head.

“... I think the dog and the cat were married,” I muttered.

The pause told me Boxy had a snide remark. I just knew it.

“See?” he snorted, “You and Mommy do have a chanc-”

“Fuck you,” I growled.

He cackled, and although I wanted to be angry, I couldn’t help but chuckle along with him.

Chapter Text

Life is never easy. If there’s anything I’ve learned from living? That was it. If you think you’re safe? If you think everything is settled? It’s not. It never is.

As we got out of the car, a sixth sense of mine creeped up my spine. I glanced over at Boxy, yet he seemed oblivious, his eyes still clouded from what we had just experienced back at the park.

Considering what he had done for me back at the park, I took initiative.

“Hold LJ. Stay here,” I instructed.

“Why-”

“Because!” I almost snapped, “Something is wrong. I feel it.”

“Inside? Outside?”

“Inside.”

“Alright. I’ll stay, you go.”

I nodded before getting out of the car. I approached the front door, letting my left hand swing back closer to my gun.

Peering through the glass door, I saw Candy. She was sitting at the front desk, blotting her eyes with tissues. Her face was scrunched in pain, tears pushing out from under her long lashes. To her left, I saw movement, and as I focused in, I saw it was Boogie. Digitized sweat drops fell down his face as he hid behind the desk, and Candy’s hand sat on his shoulder. My eyes narrowed.

Then, without warning, a printer flew out from the meeting room doors. A trail of paper was left in its wake, falling across the floor as Candy shielded Boogie from any other potential wreckage. I could hear two female voices shrieking, both trying to get louder than the other as a series of crashes followed suit.

“What the fuck-” I pushed through the main door, “HEY, HEY HEY!”

“DADDY?” I heard Bee yell.

“DADDY,” the second female voice screeched.

And before I knew it? She was in front of me. Vibrant blue lips and raging red eyes: Yammy Longsocks. Her bobbed blonde hair was wild, her pupils smaller than her ability to be a decent person.

“Leave,” I refused to raise my voice.

“ME? LEAVE?!” she screeched back, “You useless, abusive son of a CUNT, you are TAKING OUR CHILD OUT-”

I tried to counter: “My child, you gave up parenta-”

The sting of her palm against my face was fast. I felt her nails and her rings dig into my skin, and the searing pain brought back a wave of fear.

“YOU ARE TAKING A BABY? TO INVESTIGATE CRIME?” she finished her sentence.

“Leave,” I repeated, tears bubbling into my eyes, “If I wanted the trash’s opinion, I would’ve asked a can-”

Another smack. It hit the same cheek, and I stumbled back.

Boogie’s voice - usually small, succinct - suddenly bellowed out, “I HAVE 666 ON THE PHONE. Either leave or get arrested for the assault all three of us just witnessed. LEAVE.”

She glared daggers back into Boogie, and when I saw the red of her eyes behind that blonde, curly bob, I jumped between them.

“Go,” I agreed, “He’s my child. I’ll fuck him up how I want.”

“Let’s see how child protective services feel about that,” she sneered, “I may not be his mother by law, but I know a shitty dad when I see one. Fucking pathetic.”

She started towards the door, but her mouth never stopped, “When they hear what you’ve done? How you’ve put him in so much danger? You’re gonna lose that little brat, and then everyone will know how shit of a man you really are.”

She shoved the glass door open, “FUCKING BASTARD.”

And she slammed it so hard the glass shattered. I swung around as fast as I could, but a few pieces of glass still hit my leg. The stinging matched the pain in my face.

… Yeah, today is officially the worst day ever.

I knew my employees were right in front of me, yet I couldn’t stop the tears. The physical pain, the mental fatigue- I just cried. I had no choice. I fell on to Candy’s desk, laid my head down, and just. Cried. The bubbling, hot tears fell over the scratches on my cheek, only exasperating the pain. I just cried more. I couldn’t pull myself up - hell, I couldn’t even wipe my face. I just cried. Sobbed, moreover.

I heard Boxy run in, carrying LJ’s babbles with him, but said babbles disappeared from my ears as I heard Bee carry him away.

Boxy’s voice was gentle, “Come on, big guy, come on-” 

I felt Boxy’s hands lift me, and in a need for support, I just flopped back on him. Soon, a new pair of arms wrapped around me: Candy. She snuggled against me, her own bob frizzing from static.

“It’s okay, we’re here!” she blubbered through her own tears.

“I didn’t actually call 666,” Boogie replied, “But I can? If you want?”

“Now is not the time,” Boxy answered for me.

Thus, I felt one more hand: Boogie’s. He took my hand awkwardly, his face slightly skewed in concentration, but I felt him trying. And that’s all that mattered. Once he let go, Boxy sent him to order us a new front door. Candy refused to let go of me, and we thus went to my office together.

Now my office? Was trashed. Even through my tears, I could see the aftermath of a rampage. Papers, files, computers, furniture- it was all strewn about. Client files were completely empty, their contents mixed in with lab reports, case debriefs, and even my fucking supply lists. My computer tower had been bashed, a massive break showing its electronic innards, and my monitor’s screen was completely shattered. The bookshelves were now barren, some even broken, as my law books and novels had fallen to my desk, to the floor- to everywhere.

I just fell to my knees. Candy fell with me, still hugging me.

“We can fix it,” she blubbered again, “Don’t worry, we can fix it!”

I nodded wordlessly. It was all I could muster as the tears kept flowing.

“We can get it all back together- looking brand new! We! Can do it!”

I nodded again. I couldn’t help it. I crumbled on her. I laid against her, wrapped my arms around her, and just kept crying. The case stress, the woods stress, the cat stress, the ex stress- it all poured out of my eyes. And right now, Candy was the only tangible thing keeping me from throwing a toddler’s tantrum. She reciprocated without question, snuggling against me and purring. The deep, gentle rumble brought ease to my sobs, allowing me at least enough control to stop wailing. I could at least be a sad bastard with my inside voice.

Goddamn.

Throughout that afternoon, we did our best to clean the office up. We ordered new tech, we picked up broken shit, we ran the vacuum, and we pulled our documents into piles. It would take at least a week to get everything functional again, but at least a lot of the pages were still intact. And on top of that, a lot of our online data was backed up on the cloud! So things weren’t at their worst, at least.

But that night, I couldn’t sleep. I was terrified. I was scared Yammy would come back. I was scared she’d break in and destroy my things. I was scared she’d take LJ! Then, I was scared that Cass freak would break into my dreams and attack me again. What if he did something worse? How did he get into my dreams the first time? What the fuck was that even about?! And on top of that, I was afraid I’d have other nightmares that I really didn’t want to have. What if my brain decided to reenact the photos I saw, or worse, put me in the cult? What if my brain made me one of the Longlegs victims?! There was just too much that could happen, so I had to stay awake. I spiked some Irish coffees for both Boxy and myself, keeping us awake all through the night. Fortunately, LJ also slept for most of the night, so when he did, Boxy and I would work on the piles of paper I had brought from my disheveled office. We took our time, reestablishing our client files and putting together our cases once more.

“So. You wanna file a report tomorrow?” Boxy asked me as he glanced over a case brief.

“A report?” my sleepy haze was hard to fight.

Boxy frowned at me, “Yammy? Against the bitch, Yammy?”

“Oh, ye-yeah,” I stammered.

Boxy sighed, “Fuck, I hate seeing you like this.”

My brain automatically replied: “I’m sorry.”

But Boxy huffed, “You know it’s not your fault. No need to apologize, especially not to me. Satan, she fucked you up.”

I nodded, trying not to cry again.

“I haven’t seen you cry like you did today since you filed for divorce,” Boxy mumbled, “Good instincts, though. LJ did not need to see any of that. And she thinks you’re a shit dad, when you’re out here with your dad senses protecting your son from unseen threats. Can’t believe that bitch.”

I snickered slightly.

“Superhero shit, and she thinks you’re a bad dad. Can’t believe it,” Boxy’s smile peaked at me from the corner of my vision, so I tried a smile myself.

“You do know she doesn’t have shit, right?” Boxy asked.

“... I don’t know,” I admitted, “What if? What if she does? What if what I’ve been doing with LJ is dangerous? What if-”

But Boxy wouldn’t hear it, “Is it your best decision? No. But is it CPS-worthy? Also no. Dude, there’s parents that get away with way more than this. Hell, that Yui bitch still has her kid.”

I felt my shoulders sink.

“It sucks, but damn, it’s true. You’ll be fine. Even if the bitch tries to take it to court, she can’t do that much. She doesn’t have parental rights. And legally, you have barely done shit. It’ll be okay.”

A spring launched towards me, Boxy’s hand resting on my shoulder.

“You’re a good boss. A good dad. A good friend,” Boxy declared, “This shitty case is almost over anyway. You deserve a break.”

“No,” I corrected, “We all do.”

Boxy grinned, “We should have a company-wide retreat. To Gluttony.”

I snorted, “I am not made of money, Boxy.”

“Okay okay, uh. Pride?”

An idea struck my mind: “Lulu World!”

“Satan, no!” Boxy slapped his papers on the floor, “I am not a child!”

“But I have! A child!” I laughed.

“But!” Boxy paused, “Fuck you!”

I laughed again, “Okay, listen. Listen. We’ll figure out something with the team at this point. For now, let’s just. Sit on everything else. And worry first and foremost about the office.”

There was a light pause before Boxy spoke again: “Do you think we should move?”

My stomach lurched.

I sighed, “Probably? Once we get our shit together, probably. I don’t want Candy, Boogie, or Bee to have to see that shit again. They didn’t sign up for that.”

“Nope,” Boxy nodded, “We’re here to investigate everyone else. Not vice versa.”

I silently nodded.

“Let’s move to Gluttony. Or Sloth!” Boxy chirped, “Maybe a change of scenery will help?”

I blinked at him, “And make everyone move?”

Boxy pouted, “Oh yeah.”

“Just. Focus on the office,” I repeated, “We’ll cross those bridges when we get to them.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday and Thursday were spent cleaning up the office. In fact, on Wednesday morning, Boxy and I arrived to see Boogie, Bee, and Candy reorganizing their respective spaces! When they saw us, they immediately started spouting off new ideas to help fix up the office and make it look nicer. This excitement was somewhat melancholic - considering we'd probably be moving offices - so I essentially had them hold on to that excitement for later. For now? Just focus on the cleaning part. We had two teams: the work team and the clean team. We all switched teams every morning and evening, to keep everyone moving and prevent boredom, and it was fun to watch everyone try and pass off their work to one another at lunch. In fact, as I watched Boxy take Boogie out to do some good old-fashioned recon, it made me as soft as a dad watching his son go to college.

… Satan, one day LJ will go to college. I’ll be old by then. Old-er. Fuck.

However, Friday would not be so simple.

As I once more drove up to the office, I saw two police cars sitting outside. Everyone else’s cars were in the parking lot, as usual, and two police cars usually didn’t mean much. But then, why were they here? I loaded LJ into his harness, grabbed my work and his baby bag, and went inside.

My employees were all sitting in the meeting room with a pair of officers, while the break room door was closed. At first I believed this had to do with Yammy’s assault on the office, but then I remembered…

I forgot to submit that report.

So I went into the meeting room.

“Hello?”

Everyone’s eyes lit up when they saw me, especially Officer Daisy!

“Daddy!’ the Officer came over to me, “Can I talk with you?”

I nodded, “Uh, yeah, sure, let me-”

I dropped my bags, handed Bee my son, and followed her into the entryway. She thus closed the meeting room door.

I stared her in the eye, “What’s happening?”

“You-you may need to sit down,” she looked nervous, gripping her leaf-lined hands together.

Now Officer Daisy? She was a very unique Demon. Her hair was made of flower petals, and her skin was as green as a flower stem. Her humanoid body seemed to be lined with the flora of a daisy, and even under her police uniform, you could tell.

However, she was still an officer, so I followed her advice and sat in Candy’s chair.

“So, your ex, Yammy Tallsocks, has gone missing.”

I felt my eyes grow so wide they pushed the rest of my face aside.

“... Excuse me?”

“Your ex-wife hasn’t been heard from in a bit,” Daisy explained, “Her work called for a wellness check this morning, and she wasn’t home. Do you have any idea where she could be?”

Daisy pulled out a small notebook and a pencil.

Oh my Satan. What? Was Yammy doing this on purpose?

“Ah- no!” I shook my head, “We really don’t keep in contact anymore. We didn’t grow apart as much as break apart. I don’t think she even works at the same firm she did when we were married.”

Daisy scribbled something down, “Do you know anything about why she left her last firm?”

“Nope,” I popped the “p,” “We went no-contact once the divorce was finalized.”

“You were probably relieved when that happened, huh?”

“Yeah!” I didn’t hold back in my answers, “Absolutely, our marriage wasn’t good. At all. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the court documents.”

Daisy nodded, “Yup. That shit was. Pretty brutal- when was the last time you saw Yammy?”

“Uh,” I blinked, “I’ll be. Frank, our last interaction wasn’t great. She destroyed my office, assaulted me, and threatened to assault my employees. This was on uh. Monday.”

“That seems excessive,” Daisy raised a grassy brow at me, “What happened exactly?”

It was then that I gave a proper “report” of Monday’s events. I told her about me and Boxy having a meeting, coming back, and finding the place under attack. I detailed the smacks, the threats, and the screams. I even gave an example of what Yammy considered putting LJ in danger.

“Huh, that isn’t really. Bad? Not smart, but not bad,” Daisy mused.

To hear an actual officer say that was a huge comfort, and I slouched back in the chair.

“Okay, so after that mess,” Daisy pointed her pencil at me, “Where were you on that evening? Monday?”

“Oh, I was at home with my partner Boxy and my son LJ,” I replied, “It was a very rough night. Drank a lot of coffee to get through it. May have spiked it a bit, though.”

“Irish cream?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Great choice,” Daisy tried not to grin, “Well, Miss Tallsock’s family is concerned. And we’re trying to figure out where she could’ve gone. Does she have a history of running away?”

I shook my head, “Hell no. It’s extremely hard to get rid of her. She’s fiercely loyal to her family as well.”

“What about when she needs a moment? Favorite bars, favorite hangouts?”

“Honestly? I dunno,” I told her, “Any time she did things she liked, she left me out of them.”

Daisy frowned at me, “You are the worst character witness.”

“I’m sorry!” I chuckled slightly, “I keep the bitch at thirty feet distance as much as I can!”

“Uck, okay,” Daisy reached into her shirt pocket, pulling out a business card, “If you remember anything, or have any thoughts about what may have happened, please call me. Okay?”

She handed me the card, and I took it.

“Gotcha,” I nodded.

As she led me back into the meeting room, my brain started racing.

Would Yammy do this on purpose? Make me look like a suspect in order to have my son taken away? That was a bit of a stretch, but I also wouldn’t put it past her. Even if she did do this to hurt me specifically, it’s not like I’m the only potential suspect. She made tons of enemies after I came out about her abuse, and I know if given the chance, many would’ve kicked her ass. Hell, my mom would’ve skinned her alive. Of course, she didn’t do this, but what I’m saying is anyone could be a suspect for such a nice lady as Yammy Tallsocks: me, Boxy, momma Longjohn, papa Longjohn, Bee, Candy-

My heart stopped. Fortunately, neither of the cops saw me catch my breath.

… Could Mommy have done this? How would she know? But the modus operandi was very similar: sudden disappearance after a child is threatened. Am I crazy?! Maybe I need therapy. I probably need therapy, there’s no way. How would Mommy know that Yammy showed up? How would Mommy know that Yammy threatened me and LJ? No. There’s no way.

…

Was there?

As we sat there, my mind was set. I had the evidence. I had my suspicions. And frankly? I was frustrated. It was time.

I whipped out my phone.

Daddy [11:26am]: We need to talk. Do you have time this Sunday?

Mommy [11:27am]: ????? Sounds serious omg, yea sure

Daddy [11:27am]: 2:30pm my office?

Mommy: [11:29am]: Your office?? Wym, are you gonna interrogate me or something

Daddy [11:29am]: They’re just questions.

Mommy [11:34am]: If you say so… See you then <3

Daddy [11:35am]: See ya :)

I kept myself calm while the police were there. Obviously, none of us had any real information for them. I did hope they got small bits of helpful evidence from us, but a lead seemed unlikely. Even as they left, I tried to remain calm as I sent Bee, Candy, and Boogie out for a nice lunch on my dime. Boxy and I had the proper privacy to talk. We needed absolutely secrecy.

I refused to give any form of introduction to the conversation as we both stood in the meeting room: “I will be interrogating Mommy this Sunday. I’m ending this.”

Surprisingly, Boxy didn’t question it: “Do you need me there?”

“Nope,” I told him, “It has to be one-on-one.”

“Gotcha.”

I glanced up at him, “... not gonna question me on this?”

He gave an uneasy laugh, “Hey, there’s a reason you’re in-charge. I’d rather die than be in your shoes right now. And, you know, I trust you. I know you know what you’re doing.”

A quandary rolled into my head as I stared into his tense gaze, “Did you see the smoke?”

Boxy’s eyes narrowed, “Huh?”

“The cat’s smoke, back at the forest,” I told him, “Did you see it?”

His face scrunched, “You’re making zero sense to me right now.”

“Okay,” I nodded, “Okay.”

There was a pause.

“... I assume this is a later conversation?” Boxy asked.

“Yeah, put a pin in it,” I sat in my chair, “Too much in my brain right now.”

Boxy clicked his tongue, “You got it, boss.”

Chapter Text

LJ was with his grandparents. I had told them this weekend was rough, and that I needed space to work.

Boxy was sitting in his apartment, watching football. At least that’s what he usually does on Sundays.

And me? I was dressed in my best suit as I sat in my office. The blinds were closed. The office was dark besides my room, and I had my hands folded on the desk as I tapped my foot. I wasn’t anxious. I wasn’t nervous or concerned. In fact, there was a fire in my belly burning so hot that I felt like a steam engine, rolling without care. I had my evidence. I had my confidence. I had my case.

Now I just needed to know hers.

Of course, it decided to rain today. Even if I had kept the blinds open, it’d be dark in my office, with only the sound of pattering raindrops against the window to fill the air. The gentle murmur of the air conditioner couldn’t compete, but I knew I would hear our new glass doors open.

And I did.

The door opened with a clatter, and I heard heels step in. The shaking of a plastic umbrella rang against the walls.

“Hello?” Mommy’s voice called, “Are you here?”

“Door on your right!” I replied, “You’ll see my office door!”

I heard her step into the meeting room, but her pace picked up speed towards my door. When she turned in, I wasn’t surprised at what I saw. Her tight, bodycon sweater dress was definitely a seductive tactic, especially with such a short skirt, and with no leggings or pants, she finally had her full legs exposed.

It was a defense. One that wouldn’t work this time.

“This is quite the scene,” she muttered, hanging up her coat on one of the hangers beside my door.

“Welcome to my office, officially!” I chirped, standing up and holding out my hand, “This is my work.”

She glanced about the room, “It’s cute! Homey! Of course there’s Little John photos everywhere!”

She laughed before strutting over and taking my hand into her own. She went for a shake, but instead I pulled her hand up to my lips, giving it a gentle peck. My eyes met hers, and her pupils dilated.

Two can play this game, bitch.

We thus both sat down, on either side of the desk. With my team’s eyes watching from our photo on the far wall, I set up the discussion.

“So, here is what we’re gonna do.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Excuse me?”

“Here is what we’re gonna do!” I repeated, “Just like the coffee shop, we are gonna ask each other questions, and in turn, we either answer truthfully or pass. No holds barred. Off the record.”

Her lip twitched, “Off the record?”

I smirked, “Off the record. But, before we start, let me just say this: I know a lot.”

Her face turned cold, “And so do I.”

Alright, bitch, let’s go.

“Excellent. Let’s begin,” I pulled a quarter out of my pocket, “Heads? I ask first. Tails? You do.”

“Deal.”

I flipped the quarter, and when it landed on my desk mat, a bright, shiny head reflected up at the ceiling.

“Alright,” I cracked my knuckles, “Do you know anyone by the name of Yammy?”

Mommy blinked, “Yummy?”

“Yammy.”

“No.”

I clicked my tongue. Her eye twitched. Bingo.

“What did I say about lying?” I asked, “This is off the record. Anything you say here cannot be used against you in any legal proceedings.”

The muscles in her mouth tried to pull into a scowl, but she was able to resist.

“... Pass.”

Alrighty.

“Your turn,” I told her.

“Did you break into my Daycare?” she sneered.

“Yes,” I folded my hands.

“Why-”

“No,” I held up a finger before folding my hands again, “You got your question. My turn. Do you know what happened to Yammy Tallsocks?”

Her face was blank now, “... Yes. Now, why were you breaking into my Daycare?”

“Because of what you’ve done inside those walls,” I replied.

Her eye twitched again. Excellent.

“Why Yammy?” I asked.

Her face muscles pulled again, but down. Her brow tried to follow.

“Because of what she’s done,” she replied.

I gave her a small smile, “I hate to say this, but… I appreciate it.”

The light returned to her eyes.

“Your turn,” I told her.

She took a deep breath, “Do you think I’m a monster?”

No, bitch. I both don’t believe so, and I won’t fall for that.

“No,” I shrugged, “I believe you’re a woman that had no support, and you were left alone to her own demented devices.”

Her eye twitched. No, I will not fall for your pity party again.

I crossed my feet under my desk, “Is everything you said in the coffee shop true?” 

Her face broke into a full-on scowl, “Of-fucking-course.”

“Good!” I held my hands up as if I was being held at gunpoint, “Good.”

She slammed her fist on the desk, “What specifically were you looking for in my Daycare?! Don’t you dare give me another vague answer.”

I slammed my hands down in response, “I will stop giving vague answers once you stop trying to fuck with me!”

She jumped. I glared.

“I was looking for evidence related to missing persons cold cases.”

Her shoulders rose.

It was time for my eyes to narrow, “Do you know about the Prototype?”

Her eyes grew extremely wide. Suddenly she had lost the ability to mask.

Bingo.

“Pass,” she leaned forward, “How do you know about the Prototype?”

“I met Dogday,” I answered, “Do you know Dogday?”

“No,” she leaned back once more, “What do you know about the Prototype?”

“Nothing more than Cult 101,” I replied, “Ancient entity is angry, uses those less fortunate to fuel its vengeful plans. Usual cult shit.”

She nodded slowly.

“Do you know about Huggy’s father?”

Mommy physically jumped again, “What the FUCK have you been into?!”

“Ah ah!” I waved my finger, “MY turn.”

“... pass.”

I frowned. “I can only assume “pass” means “yes” at this point.”

“FINE,” she smacked the desk, “YES. I do.”

“Thank you!” I sat back down.

She tilted her head, “Have you ever killed anyone?”

Nope, I won’t be shocked out of my focus either.

“Nope. Just shot in the legs, or in the arms. Nothing ever fatal.”

Once more, a genuine look of shock overtook her face. However, after a moment, I watched her widened eyes return to normal, and a small smile played across her lips.

… Okay?

“Have you?” I asked.

“What?”

“Killed anyone.”

She folded her legs, “Yes.”

The pause that followed was only filled by the pattering rain outside. I couldn’t push. I couldn’t panic. After over a month of work, we were almost there.

Her smile grew, “How many do you think I’ve killed?”

I shot off my reply: “Five.”

“Interesting,” she flashed those big, sharp teeth at me like some kind of shark.

So I gingerly posed my next question: “How many have you killed?”

Her eyes glowed, “More.”

Shock tried to ram into my mind, but I shut it down. No. She had to be lying. But as I scanned her face, she showed none of the signs. She said she wouldn’t lie anymore. We’re off the record.

… unholy shit.

“Name your five?” her statement was barely a question. 

I continued to shut down my emotions as I replied: “Zeke Canterwall, Cheryl Wynner, Billy Bob Joseph, Lorrel Son, and Jill Kinders.”

She scoffed, “Oh my fuck- it was Canterwall. Canterwall hired you.”

I pushed past her claim, “Did you kill them?”

“Obviously!” she scoffed again, “Of course I did! They deserved to fucking die!”

She leapt out of her chair in a surprising sweep, her feet clacking against the floor.

She threw her hands up, “Are you fucking kidding?! Do you think they deserved to be alive?!”

Oh fuck wait what-

“They beat their children, they inserted things into them, they refused to feed them, clothe them, offer their HOMES-”

She started across the desk, her snake-like arms pulling her body across the hardwood. I pushed myself back into my chair, wheeling away from her, yet she continued to close the distance as her legs arched over. I threw a hand up, pushing her back, but it was no use when we’re both long and elastic. One of her feet landed on my chair, a hand pressed behind me into the bookshelf, and she now towered over me as my hand now held her tiny waist.

“Well? Should they be alive?” her eyes had been completely overtaken by her pupils: solid black.

My other hand flicked back, drawing out Darrel. I clicked the safety off as I pointed it at her leg.

“No,” I argued, glaring back up at her “But who made you judge, jury, and executioner?”

“I did,” she declared, “After all! No one else was going to fucking do it, were they?”

I considered her words. I thought of Yui. Jocik.

“Oh, what’s wrong, detective? Don’t have a fucking answer?!” she spat between her grinning teeth.

And only one word came to my mouth: “Pass.”

She faltered. I’ll be honest; I couldn’t look her in the eye anymore.

My gaze was now trained on her leg and my gun, “Would you kill me to protect LJ?”

Her voice softened, “Yes.”

My hand wavered. I clicked the safety back on my gun before letting my hand fall to the floor.

“Okay,” was all I could say.

It felt like we hung there forever. Me, staring at her leg. Her, looming over me. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to speak. I finally had my fucking answer, yet it somehow… Hurt? It hurt. It all hurts.

Suddenly, her arm moved. My head snapped up to it, but she held up her hand in peace. I gazed forward again, allowing her to do whatever the fuck she wanted. So imagine my surprise when she leaned down and wrapped her arms around me. She pulled herself into my lap, enveloping me in what was perhaps the most cathartic hug of my life.

“I’m so sorry you got dragged into this,” she whispered against my head, nuzzling her face into my hair, “I am so, so sorry.”

I coiled back around her, not wanting to let go, “I’m sorry you’re in it in the first place.”

She snorted, “A girl has to have hobbies.”

I snorted back, but any words I had got stuck in my throat. My frow furrowed as I took a deep breath, pulling my confidence back up with those words.

“How’d you kill them?” I asked.

“Strangulation,” she replied far too quickly, “Daddy, is there a chance for us? You and me? Me and you?”

My brain knew the answer. My heart shrieked, but my brain knew.

“... I don't know,” I breathed.

“Hm,” was her only reply.

My heart crashed. I tightened my hold on her. Her small, simple reply only reminded me how guarded she was, how calculated her every move had to be. She was a pandora’s box of emotions, and while I wanted to open that box so fucking bad; I knew I couldn’t. I shouldn’t.

But then, I felt something. A wet drop fell on the top of my hair. I glanced up, and in a split second I was able to catch her eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming over her blush. She quickly whipped her head away, but those tears? Fuck, they hit me. I couldn’t stop my own tears from falling.

“In another life, definitely,” I tried to tell her.

But she buried her face into her hand as her body began to shake. From behind her fingers, her lips curled, trying not to let out a sound.

“You can cry,” I told her, “Go ahead. It’s okay. We’re off the record. It’s just you and me.”

I reached up, taking her hand into my own and pulling it away from her face. At first, she only let out broken whimpers, but those quickly evolved into wails. The streaks of tears were now waterfalls, pulling her mascara down her cheeks and on to herself, on to me, on to the chair. The weight of her pain frankly slammed into me like a train, stunlocking me out of my own tears. Frankly? I was seeing her for the first time.

The real her.

She pulled her hug back as she sobbed, holding herself in a tight squeeze. She didn’t dare bury herself into me, instead pulling her legs in close as she formed a ball in my lap. Her wails were fucking heart-shattering, deep and robust in how loud and unapologetic they were. 

Yet I still wrapped my arms around her. Yet I still held her close. She refused to hold me back still, but she leaned into me, still wailing. Was she crying over me? Over the victims? Over her past? To me, it was all three. My rejection had just been the final crack in the dam of her despair.

And it made me feel horrible. I… I love her. At that moment, I knew it was love. Seeing her cry like this, seeing the weight of her world crash on her… I knew I loved her. I couldn’t say it now, though. Not after I shattered her. My own tears poked back into my eyes, and I hugged her tightly once more. I nuzzled into her hair, not wanting to let go. Satan, I love her. I love her! I love this murderous psychopath. I love her…

Once we both stopped crying - the tears still falling, but now in silence - she unfurled herself. I immediately pulled back, giving her the space to stand.

“... Do you have any further questions?” her voice was empty.

She wouldn’t look at me.

“... No,” I replied, “Did you?”

“Are you going to tell the Canterwall bitch?” she asked.

I sighed, “I don’t know.”

She let out a half-hearted chuckle, “Of course you don’t know. Do you know anything?”

My reply was a whisper, “Don’t be like that.”

The silence was painful. The growl in her voice had been horrid. All I could think about was Miss Canterwall, Boxy, my victims, their stories, their children…

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Me too,” I echoed.

She stepped over my desk, back on to the side where she had been sitting. Those long legs looked so feeble now - cold, shaking. I could only rub my face, dragging my hands down my tear-stained skin.

Lucifer, this sucked.

Her voice grew louder, but she didn’t regain any confidence, a blubber falling through her fake conviction: “Goodbye, Daddy.”

LUCIFER, THIS SUCKED. 

“Goodbye, Mommy,” my voice groaned, throwing my pain out for her to see.

I couldn’t even look at her.

Her heels clicked back across the office, each step wobblier than the last. By the time she got to the front door, she was struggling with her umbrella, the plastic slapping against the drywall as she tried to open it. The recently replaced front glass door was strong enough to withstand her, even if she didn’t mean to slam it open. And as the door closed?

I broke.

I screamed. I shouted. I sobbed. It was a mix of emotions that I genuinely couldn’t explain. The full weight of the entire case - the last few, long months of my life! - finally dragged me down to the floor, and I just let it, as I crumpled beneath my desk. This was important, though. I had to let this out. Sure, I’d never break down this bad in front of anyone, but it was very important I let these emotions out. I can’t take care of LJ like this. I can’t work like this!

And I can’t make decisions like this.

Chapter Text

Two days later, I called Miss Canterwall in to review the case and present our findings. I wish I could tell you that I was relieved, proud, or even confident about what I was going to tell her; but I could barely get a civil smile across my face.

I picked apart the truth to make something palatable: I told her that her brother had been kidnapped by a cult, and connected the other victims she had mentioned to the same fate. I didn’t give her enough evidence to take anyone to court, but there was enough to give her a basis of closure. It was a delicate balancing act, but it was an act I completed with surprising ease. I wanted to feel guilty at retracting what I did from my wrap-up, but this working-class Imp didn’t need the drama and trauma that was the full truth. The gravity of what I had uncovered was not her burden to bear. However, if she did push farther, whatever came after would be her fault. I refused to put her in the line of fire myself.

Once I sent her on the way, I closed the agency for the day. Instead of working in the office, me and the crew took a roadtrip to Greed, with this case’s evidence in tow. And when we found a nice, big vat of acid, all alone and unattended? We threw all of said evidence in. Sure, there were a few files still left back in the office, but the photos? The connections?! The cult stuff?! No. We didn’t need dangerous information like that in our filing cabinets; our office had enough heat in it from all the personal cases alone. Afterwards, we went to the scummiest bar we could find and had the worst liquor possible. Boogie was the designated driver. He didn’t want to drink anyway.

This was actually the same day I decided to step back from working as an investigator. The decisions, evidence, and investigations that Candy, Bee, and Boogie had pulled off were more than enough for me to be certain: I had a good, strong team. I didn’t need to hover over the frontlines anymore. I could focus on the business side of things, and more importantly, on my son. Of course, Boxy took a step back with me. I don’t know if I was a good excuse for him to do so or if he was already planning to, but while he still managed the forensic elements of our work, he refused to go back into the field without a damn good reason. To make up for the Boxy and I stepping back, we hired a kid named Touille. While he seemed a bit shifty - and a few of his friends come around the agency once in a while - he had invaluable street knowledge that made up for Boxy stepping back. Between Candy, Bee, Boogie, and Touille, the Dad and Box Detective Agency gained a lot of new clients and cases.

However, I did put some restrictions on what cases we would take: infidelity, corporate, and civil work were still perfectly fine for us to do, but anything close to criminality was now barred. Missing person? Nope. Finding a killer? No thank you. Religious malpractice? Hell no. Even then, every case that was brought to us needed to cross my desk for approval, and in the beginning I had to vet quite a few cases that looked mundane. Of course, I explained to my employees why said cases had to be turned away, and over time, I eventually denied maybe one case a month? They caught on quickly. They always do.

I still had a lot of questions, though. And no matter how many cases came across my desk, and how many briefs my team presented to me, those damn questions about that damn daycare were locked into the back of my mind. What was the Prototype? Why would a powerful entity need a cult in Hell? Shouldn’t it just be an Overlord, Kingpin, or regent of some kind? How did Mommy come into contact with it? How’d the cat get involved? Why would a dog marry a cat? These were questions I knew I’d never get answers to; hell, I didn’t want the answers. But that didn’t stop the questions from poking into my mind while I helped LJ fall asleep, or when I was driving to and from work.

Sometimes - when I passed the daycare - I’d glance through their red-tinted glass doors and catch a glimpse of their morning routine. Mostly, I saw Kissy Missy. The weight of her husband’s true identity was probably heavy on her back, yet she held her head high and smiled with grace. Her husband would sometimes be by her side, and his shocking blue fur was now so similar to the color of Asmodeus’s fur that I couldn’t unsee it. PJ and Bunzo would run through, their checkered pasts far behind their big grins; and on the most rare of occasions, when the stars were aligned and the universe was in just the right spot, I saw her. Mommy. She wore that same saccharine smile, looping around the lobby as she corralled the kids. Her eyes refused to betray the storm inside her, as she maintained the ultimate mother figure to all of Envy.

Despite moving on in almost every way possible, this case still haunted me. Some nights, I’d have nightmares of red smoke clouds and screams. Others of the “many” dead bodies that probably passed through that daycare. Sometimes I’d be hunted by Asmodeus, other times I’d be fighting for my life to save my son. But what’s weird is that in all of these nightmares, not one of them has Mommy as a threat. In fact, when she’s in my dreams, they’re never nightmares.

The first year after Mommy left my office, I told myself I’d get over her.

The third year, I tried focusing on her in therapy. My therapist probably hates the word “Mommy” by now.

The fourth year, my therapist recommended having a mediated conversation with her. We did just that - over the phone - but hearing her voice and speaking with her made my feelings fonder.

And the fifth year? I gave in. Not to letting go, no. To the hold she had on me. That hold wasn’t the Materna Persuione; it was love. A deep, profound love and respect for a woman who did what I could never do: take out threats to the most innocent of children. I often fantasized about coming home from work to find her cleaning up the blood of yet another neglectful parent, and willingly throwing myself into the cleanup process by getting more bleach. It was already out of hand, but these fantasies? They were too far.

“I’m gonna go see her,” I told Boxy one morning.

I expected him to say no, or to ask me who I was referring to, but instead he threw his arms up in relief.

“FUCKING FINALLY. LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR- FOR FUCK’S SAKE,” were his exact words, actually.

All day we were strategizing my approach: get a small gift, go in after hours, and just lay my heart out. If she denied me after all this time, then so be it. If she let me in, then I was never letting go. Chocolates? Flowers? No. I got her a bunny plush holding a bloodied knife. The rabbit was even pink.

I just know that Boxy was hovering over his phone as I drove myself down that damn road. The traffic had lightened - it was well past closing time - and the shuffle of parents and kids had long passed. I parked and took a deep breath.

I glanced back at LJ, “Ready to go, Jay?”

“Yeah!” his eyes lit up as he lightly flailed his noodle arms.

He was growing up way too fast.

I scooped him up out of his booster seat, slipped out of the car, and plopped him on the sidewalk.

“Can-can I carry the pink?” LJ stammered with bright eyes.

I chuckled, “Sure.”

As I lifted the plush out, LJ cooed in excitement, and I passed the revered present to him. He held it with the same amount of awe and care as I did.

“Mommy!” he cooed.

“Yeah!” I snickered, “Let’s go see her.”

Every. Pink. Item. He had ever held? He called Mommy.

… How did it take five years for me to do this?

We walked up to those two red-tinted doors, and I knocked politely. My heart was pounding so fast it was between my eyes, but I kept my head high, even as my sweaty palms threatened to bleed through my pants pockets. Beside me, LJ teetered from one foot to the other, slightly bouncing.

But a garbled voice struck me: “Hello?”

I jumped. After a quick glance around, I realized there was an intercom installed next to the door. Through my shock, I hadn’t really heard the voice- just the sound.

“Hello?” I walked over to the small grey box, “I uh. I dunno if this thing has a camera, but hi, this is. Daddy Longjohn?”

There was silence. And more silence. And more. The only sounds were Jay’s squeaky shoes and the occasional car passing by.

“Hello?” I called.

But the silence persisted.

I sighed. My heart told me to run, but my head told me to stay. Which, come to think of it, was the exact opposite of the first time I met Mommy.

The silence continued. My heart sank lower and lower, but my brain shrieked like a soldier on the frontline to hold ground.

Don’t leave.

Don’t give up.

“Where’s Mommy?” Jay asked.

“Just be patient, bud,” I told him and myself, “Just be patient.”

I gazed to the lobby, only to see shadows dancing around the back hall. I couldn’t stop myself; I hopped over to the door, pressing my face against the glass as my eyes scanned that corner of the building. And then?

Her face. It poked around the corner, and I swear a floodlight spilled into the room. A few crow’s feet were pulling at her eyes, and laugh lines were starting to curve around her lips, but Lucifer, she was just as beautiful as ever. Even moreso, maybe.

And when our eyes met? No words. Not a single word, phrase, sentence, or novel could describe the communication that took place between us. Warmth, understanding, hope, glee- none of it could even scratch the surface of what we said without words. Her hand flew across the room, I took a step back, and she unlocked the door. I pushed through, she pushed forward, and the latching of our arms felt like home. She felt like home. She was home.

“Mommy!”

LJ’s feet squeaked in behind me, and I didn’t even have to reach for him: the boy was between us in seconds, coiled in our arms. Home. This was home. Her, him, us- this was my home.

Her voice was just as garbled as the last time I spoke to her in person: “Never. Ever. Say “I don’t know” again.”

I chuckled through my own tears, “Yes ma’am. Of course, ma’am.”

“I love you,” she buried her head into my shoulder.

“I love you too,” I whispered back.

Come what baggage may. Come what Hell rested behind her smile.

This mess of a woman? She was mine.

And I knew Boxy would give me a million “I told you so”s once I texted him about it.