Work Text:
The Doomslayer, a legend foretold and prophesied by hell itself. An unstoppable force sure to wipe out the armies of demons and undead. Yet he had a certain island he would always visit, in a different world to get away from all that hellish work every evening.
A stray island had his interest over the years. It grew into a sanctuary. Where he could have friends, allies, a normal life. But most importantly was a home to come back to with someone always waiting for him every time he was finished clearing out a hell.
“Doomy!”
Eventually a dog girl ran up to him, she had blonde hair, pigtails, a dog tail and dog ears. She was so much shorter than him. She clinged onto him like metal on a magnet. She kissed him on the cheek. John just looked down as she was still in her arms.
“You know you can call me John.” He said in a gentle voice.
“Well don’t be a stranger, come on in.” She smiled gently back.
“Alright Isabelle, I’m coming.”
Ah, their cottage. At first it seemed like a silly idea to buy a place they would barely be home. Yet over time it gained so much more significance. To the couch that still had some stains from wine they drank. To the table that was slightly tilted they needed to get fixed, to the paintings on the wall needing to be adjusted after being askew for so long. All these problems soon became staples of such an odd household. Isabelle and John walk into the kitchen.
“Would you rather I cook tonight or would you like to?” John asks.
“I told you I don’t mind.”
“Are you sure?”
“Seriously I’m fine.”
“Alright, then I have a compromise.”
“And what would that compromise be?”
“We cook together.”
“We did that last time.” She whined but her tail told a different story.
“Well we can always do it again.”
The two soon prepared the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans from multiple drawers. Grabbing tomato sauce, onions, pepper, salt, bell peppers, ground beef, and pasta. Isabelle quickly put some pasta to boil while John put the beef to cook, in the meanwhile the two started to chop up the necessary ingredients. They salt the pasta, the ground beef was seasoned before being put in a pan thankfully. They had to check the pasta to see if it’s ready.
“Alright so you know how to check pasta right?” Isabelle asked.
“You toss it against a wall?”
“Yup, or…”
Isabelle eventually tosses the pasta against John’s face and it sticks. At first he gives her a stern look, but eventually that facade crumbles into wholehearted laughter. The two eventually start to cook the tomato sauce to eventually incorporate both the beef and pasta into it. Eventually they make a nice spaghetti, John pulls out the plates, setting the table while Isabelle serves the two.
Cooking like this was an odd way of clearing one’s mind. When he thought about it, the two dealt with so much. Yet in different fields. Nobody can fill in for the spots they have made, the name they have built and the respect they have gained along the way. Yet even if the two are dead tired wishing for the sweet release of the sandman's gift once more they always make something together. I guess that’s why it was always fulfilling setting the table, picking up their forks and saying…
“Bon appetit!” Isabelle says.
“Bon appetit.”
The two start to dig into the meal. It was as good as they imagined it. The consistency of the pasta, the blend of the vegetables, spices and sauce. Everything combined into a dance of flavor on the tongue.
“Have I gotten any invitations from the hands?” John asks.
“Not for any current battles, I get invited once in a while, it gets awkward fighting the mayor.”
“The battles are sure interesting, that pink blob always confuses me.”
“You mean Kirby?”
“Yeah, it always confuses me how something that small can destroy galaxies.”
“You just have to roll with the punches. Have the ventures into hell been good?”
“They’ve been what I’ve expected, keeps me busy, keeps people safe.”
“My how noble, thought you might have just been doing it for fun.” She teases.
“Maybe.” He tries to tease back.
It was hard to adjust to… well… everything. Fighting for years and years on end, the demons, the slaughter, losing… everything was… hard. It still feels weird trying to keep up with Isabelle in the emotion department. Especially after everything.
Eventually the two finish their meal, washing and cleaning up the mess that was made. The two turn on the TV, sitting on the couch with Isabelle snuggling against John’s chest as he pets her. The purring she was doing could be confused for a cat. It always left John with a smile.
“So did you want to watch anything?” John asks.
“Just put anything on, I don’t mind.”
He puts on a random channel. Eventually Isabelle speaks up.
“Hey John.”
“Yes?”
“Is everything fine?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”
Isabelle looked him in the eyes.
“It’s the nightmares again, isn’t it?” She asked softly.
“Yeah…, what if… it happens again…”
“Well…”
He already heard this from others. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be safe. I won’t pass .
“I’m…, still not good with this.”
But everytime without fail, she just rests her head on his chest. Holding onto him tightly. She never says another word past that usually. It’s oddly therapeutic every time. Of course that worry never goes away, but instead it’s overridden by the knowledge that someone will always be there. That’s when John’s mind starts to panic less, that’s when he starts to actually lay down.
“I can get a blanket if you want to sleep on the couch tonight.”
Rest…, sure his body may never get tired to truly hurt, but to rest the soul is different.
“Yes, thank you.”
She grabs a blanket and covers them both. Nuzzling even closer to him.
“Is this fine?”
“Yeah, I… think I might need it.”
She kisses his forehead.
“Alright then, try and sleep. See you tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” He returns her kiss.
Thankfully the two slept peacefully throughout the entire night.