Chapter Text
Finding time to spend with Ban Hammer comes so easily. And sure, maybe Subspace is skipping work to accomplish it, but really, who doesn’t skip work every now and again?
It’s a nice day out, and he’s enjoying himself. Something like that. Something he never has time to do at work anymore after being forced to oversee a bunch of newbie interns. And Ban Hammer did tell him to take breaks and to live a little — so skipping work is completely okay, in his book. As long as Ban Hammer thinks so. The interns will get on fine . His supervisor has it covered.
His boss, on the other hand, seems to have a differing opinion. His phone’s been chiming nonstop, which is such a rare occasion that it’s probably in his best interest to check. But he’s busy . He knows it’s them. He knows, but so long as he doesn’t check, he holds zero responsibility. It’s foolproof.
“You gonna check yer phone?” Ban Hammer asks, hand idly fiddling with one of the holes on the outdoor table they’re sitting at. Subspace told him countless times that he’d get his finger stuck if he wasn’t careful, but hasn’t once listened. Subspace almost hopes it’ll happen, because he knows damn well there’ll be no pulling his finger out by himself. Getting the whole fire department called just to free the warden of Banland from a table would be the highlight of his day.
“Nope!!” Subspace says, putting a hand up to shield his eye so he can look up at the cloudless sky. The air smells wet, but there’s no storm clouds in sight. Weird. “I don’t want to ruin this. It’s nice.”
Ban Hammer pushes his blindfold up to look along with him for a moment, and then pulls it back down before anyone but the Subspace could have a chance to see. “Won’t be nice for long, I’m guessin’.”
“Let’s get inside before then, please,” Subspace says quickly, nose twitching. He’s always hated the smell of rain.
Ban Hammer doesn’t need any convincing as he shrugs, “we can go now if ya want. Are ya hungry?”
“I can eat.” He’s about to stand when his phone starts ringing again . So annoying .
“You sure ya don’t wanna check yer phone? Seems important,” Ban Hammer’s voice cuts through the ringtone that’s played at least four times now, and Subspace hides a scowl. Fed up, he turns the ringer off for the time being. No more of that.
“No, it’ll be fine. I’m sure of it. You wanted me to take the day off, they can take it up with you,” he shrugs it off.
“That’s fair. Well, if you’re sure.” The demigod grins, standing and grabbing him by his good arm to pull him up along with him. His grip is firm and comforting despite the fact it wasn’t meant to be. “Now come on, there’s a really nice restaurant that just opened…”
As Ban Hammer rambles on and drags him along, Subspace decides to take a quick peek at his phone.
That’s… a lot of notifications. He can’t get himself to care, though, he’ll go through them all later.
He slips his phone back into his pocket and grins along with Ban Hammer. Nothing can ruin this.
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:27 P.M.
Your supervisor just called. Where are you?
1 missed call — BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:28 P.M.
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:27 P.M.
There’s twenty-seven new recruits waiting for you back here.
1 missed call — BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:28 P.M.
1 voicemail — BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:31 P.M.
1 missed call — BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:32 P.M.
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:36 P.M.
Subspace, did you get kidnapped again?
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:37 P.M.
It won’t look good for our faction if you keep putting yourself in harm's way. You’ve seen Playground’s tabloids.
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:37 P.M.
This is why you need to stay here, where we can keep an eye on you. It’s for your protection. You have far too many enemies.
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:40 P.M.
Maybe we’ll get more Biografts to trail you to and from Phights. Seven is absolutely not enough. Maybe a whole fleet?
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:43 P.M.
If your captor is reading this, name your ransom. We’ll get it to you shortly.
“…no, I’m not going to get a tattoo with you,” Subspace says in-between bites of his salad, nose scrunching up as Ban Hammer looks at him pleadingly. “It’ll rot off eventually, anyway.”
They were at a newly-opened restaurant in the mall that Ban Hammer absolutely insisted they go to, and it was a pretty nice place, Subspace had to admit.
“Why not ? They’ll be awesome!” Ban Hammer wheedles, ripping a piece of his steak off and chewing obnoxiously. Raw, obviously, because he’s Ban Hammer.
Subspace can get behind rare steaks, but raw ? Any normal demon would get a jumble of parasites from even attempting to eat raw meat. But maybe he’s grown accustomed to it, to the point where it’s harmless to him. That, and a mix of his demigod status; he’s still mortal, but that would probably help his immune system somewhat. Subspace would love to study that one day.
He snaps out of his thoughts quickly when he sees Ban Hammer staring at him expectantly, and he offers a quick response. “Because it’ll hurt,” he reasons.
He might be in a state of constant pain, but he definitely doesn’t need any more added to it, thank you very much. And he’s quite sure a needle digging into his skin to reach his derma will do that. Besides, he has a horrid fear of needles after… That Incident.
“Get it on yer rotting arm. Problem solved!” Ban Hammer says with the flair of a comedian, and Subspace is not impressed.
He snorts, a plume of pink smog rising from his mouth at the sudden motion. “It’ll still rot off , what’s the point??”
Ban Hammer sighs dramatically, putting his elbows onto the table and leaning towards Subspace. “Just thought it’d be nice to have matching tattoos wit ya. Have ya seen the ones where demons tattoo their bite marks onta each other?”
“Yes.” Subspace says, tone a bit more bitter-sounding than he would have liked. “But couples tattoos never turn out well.”
“They will for us, though,” Ban Hammer objects. “‘Cause I love ya and you love me.”
“Mhm,” Subspace says instead of the various other things he’d wanted to. It’s never that simple. As much as he wants it to be, it isn’t. He’s a scientist, after all, he lives for the multiple, endless variables and ways an experiment can go wrong.
Wait, wait, he backtracks for a second: maybe comparing a relationship to an experiment isn’t the healthiest thing. Yeah. He doesn’t think so.
“I’ll think about it,” he says at last, and Ban Hammer beams.
Well now Subspace feels like he has to. If Ban Hammer brings it up again in the future, he supposes he’ll go along with it.
He uses the lull in the conversation to finally check his phone. He was expecting a few missed calls and texts from earlier, sure — but sixty is far too many. It’s overwhelming, and he immediately frowns as he reads over the worst ones.
1 missed call — BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 1:59 P.M.
1 missed call — BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 2:00 P.M.
1 missed call — BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 2:01 P.M.
1 missed call — BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 2:02 P.M.
1 voicemail — BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 2:07 P.M.
1 missed call — BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 2:09 P.M.
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 2:23 P.M.
Subspace. Stop playing games with me.
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 2:23 P.M.
I see you. You could’ve picked a place with less cameras, but then again you’ve never been quite as clever as I am.
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 2:24 P.M.
If you don’t answer your phone this instant I’m going to send Hyperlaser after you. Won’t it be insulting to have your own lowly employee fetch you like a dog?
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 2:26 P.M.
I know you’re seeing these. Behave.
Subspace sighs, leaning his elbow against the table as he stares down at his lap blankly. Gods, it’s over.
Ban Hammer seems to notice his stricken expression, because he leans over the table to clumsily make a grab at his hand. He knocks over a pitcher of water in the process, but it’s the thought that counts.
“Ya good?” He asks, but Subspace makes no move to respond; he continues to stare at his phone, wide-eyed, looking like he’s about to faint before he grins yet again, but it’s so obviously fake.
“I’m good!!” He chirps, having to force the sound out of his throat.
Ban Hammer looks like he’s about to object, when all of a sudden his phone starts to ring.
Instantly, Subspace is filled with dread. But surely it isn’t who he thinks it is, because that’d be wrong, a breach of privacy and crazy and insane. Absolutely insane.
Maybe he’s just being paranoid. He wants to be paranoid. It’d be better than it being real .
It isn’t them.
“Who is it?” He asks, trying to sound curious to hide his panic as he drums his fingers against the table.
“One sec,” Ban Hammer says, fumbling to check the number, only to frown immediately after. Oh that’s not good.
“Huh. It’s forwarded from work, hold on…”
He answers the phone with a professional-sounding “Ban Hammer speaking,” and Subspace has to hold in a manic laugh at the sound of it. The thought of him having a professional bone in his body is just so funny. That makes him feel the tiniest bit better.
Whoever it is speaks for a while. Subspace watches as Ban Hammer’s expression goes from neutral to strained.
“Korblox, huh,” he says faintly, and suddenly Subspace doesn’t feel like laughing.
He picks up his drink and takes a long gulp, trying to hide behind the glass as he stares at the reflection of his face in the dark liquid. He almost contemplates slipping underneath the table and running off, but that’d make them even more mad than however mad they currently were.
“Yeah, I knooow he’s skipping work, I told ‘im to!”
By all the gods that was not helping either of their cases. He kicks Ban Hammer’s leg from underneath the table and shoots him a glare, but all he does is hold a hand up. He doesn’t even flinch. If anything, all kicking him did was hurt his own foot.
“Huh. Ya know what, I’ll let you deal with that. Here,” Ban Hammer says, and then he’s reaching across the table pushing the phone into Subspace’s grasp despite his frantic signaling not to.
He can’t run anymore, he supposes, so he shakily holds the phone up to his ear and croaks out a simple, “hello.”
Silence festers from the other end before they speak.
“Sector one. My office.”
The voice is chilling. Raspy and guttural, and yet completely and utterly neutral. There isn’t a hint of anger in their tone, which scares him even more. It’s always scarier when you can’t gauge someone’s reaction but you know they’re pissed.
“When—“
“Now.”
Subspace tries to clear his throat. It ends up sounding more like a whine. Not good. “Now?” He dares to ask, sloshing around his drink with his free hand.
“ Now .”
He sighs. There’s nothing he can do. Defeated, he nods his head in agreement (he knows they’re still watching him, anyway) and hands the phone back to Ban Hammer.
“Gotta go,” Subspace mumbles before he can speak, rifling through his pockets to procure some cash to use for his half of the bill. He picks his mask up from where it was lying next to him in the booth and fastens it back on before scooting out.
“Let me come with ya,” Ban Hammer says, standing up as well before Subspace shuts him down with a dismissive wave. He wants him to come along, but it’s a horrible idea.
“I don’t think Korblox will be happy to see you,” he says with a forced chuckle. “I’ll call you later, though.”
“Fiiiine.” He sits back down with a huff, but he’s smiling. It’s like he hasn’t realized how screwed they both are. Subspace more so than him, but still .
“Love ya,” he adds, and Subspace sighs as his heart aches.
“Love you too,” he murmurs back, and then he turns tail and runs past the several servers, out the restaurant and through the mall’s plaza — Korblox hates waiting, but he can’t control the buses if they’re not on par with their schedule. He hopes to the gods that they are.
BLACKROCK HEAD HONCHO — 2:47 P.M.
I hope you’re on your way. There’s much to discuss.
It’s only when he’s on the bus heading back to Blackrock, cramped into a seat in the very back as he pushes his entirej body against the window, that he realizes the extent of how much trouble he’s in.
He can’t find it in him to blame Ban Hammer, because at the end of the day it’s no one’s fault but his own. He’s the one who fell for the demigod’s convincing. He’s the one who thought it’d be a good idea to skip work. He hadn’t even realized how many times he’d let Ban Hammer persuade him not to go in until Korblox’s interruption.
This is his fault.
His.
He watches the transition from rain to snow (because of course it’d start raining during all of this, the Inphinity is mocking him) and lets his eye fall shut with a sigh.
All he can hope for is that Korblox is feeling merciful today. That’s truly all he can do.
With his luck, though, he’s sure they aren’t.