Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[Spatula(?)]

To start with, let it be known that Spatula did NOT mean to be here, in Phighting. He found the game fun, sure, and the lore was kind of interesting as well. That doesn’t mean he wanted to actually be in it. He wasn’t even all that up to date with the lore! 

However, he’s stuck here now, and he can’t exactly just waltz up and ask a random demon if they know how to go back to being human.. If they even know what a human is in the first place; which, if fanfiction was right, they wouldn’t. He’s stuck here now, in a new body with a new identity. No matter what his past was before he is a demon now and he has to make the best of it. 

Though thinking of the before does remind him: He has absolutely no clue how he ended up here, no untimely death or sudden waking up in a new body. Honest to God (..or would it be Swords now?) he has no clue how he went from being human to being a demon.  From the stories and fics he’s read before, there should be some sort of last memory of his life before.. But there’s nothing, just a very vague memory of him having played Roblox before he suddenly blinks and he’s just standing uselessly in an alleyway in Crossroads. 

To make matters even worse, while he can remember what the people in his life looked like (his moms brown hair, his fathers calloused hands, his brothers raucous laughter-)  he can’t for the second life of him remember what he looked like or his name. He won’t be having an identity crisis at least! ..Still sucks he can barely recall what he was like before. 

Heaving out a sigh, Spatula grips his new name's sake tightly, the cheap metal biting into his palm. It takes him a second to remember what exactly he was doing after all that sudden reminiscing, but it comes to him eventually. Unsurprisingly, he is currently flat broke so he needs to find a job for himself, ideally one that wouldn’t require him to interact with people often.. But really, he isn’t in a position to be demanding anything so if it pays well he’ll go for it. 

It takes him an embarrassingly long amount of time to actually find a place that's hiring, and, honestly, he has no clue if he will actually get the job. Not only does he not have a resume, but he has just about reached his mental capacity for interacting with strangers. His optimism, what little of it was left, ran out about an hour ago and he can only give a half hearted prayer to the Swords that his possible-employer doesn’t care about his attitude. ‘Cause he isn’t giving them more than 40% at this point. 

Stepping into the fast food joint, Spatula already knows what position they are going to ask him to fill. While he isn’t the best cook out there he can still live up to his Gear of choice. The cashier gives him a bored look, before noticing his ‘Gear’ and points him toward the back. 

The manager gives him an annoyed look from where they are typing on their computer as Spatula opens the door. Not really knowing what to do as they haven’t said anything, Spatula just creeps into the room and takes the seat in front of their desk. The seconds tick past as the manager finishes up whatever they are doing before finally letting out a huge sigh. 

They give Spatula a tired smile, pushing away their keyboard a bit. 

  “Thank you for being patient, I was just finishing up a couple of orders for the place. I’m assuming you are here for the cooking position?” They question, tilting their head at his spatula. 

He gives them an equally tired smile before nodding.

 “Yeah, I saw the sign out front and the posters posted around Crossroads. It’s still open right?” 

They huff out a laugh, raising an eyebrow at him. 

  “You think a fast food joint can’t use another cook? That position has been open for ages, thought we would never get another cook in here.” They shake their head, grabbing a clipboard and pen. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, we still have to interview you for the job. Now let’s get started…”

One embarrassing interview later and Spatula is walking out a hired demon..Somehow. He ain’t complaining but also he feels like it should have been a lot harder for him to be hired, considering he basically answered no to a majority of their questions. But whatever, he isn’t bringing it up to his new employer, he needs the Bux. 

Finally, though, he can go back to his apartment. Honestly he also wasn’t expecting it to be as easy as it was to get an apartment, especially with him being flat broke. However, Crossroads has a surprisingly good immigration service, setting up Demons looking for a new life or refuge with an apartment and paying rent for a week for them. They do have to pay it off down the line, but honestly it’s more than what Spatula was expecting when he waltzed into the government building after the panic died down. 

Opening his apartment door, Spatula allows himself to finally let go of his ‘Gear’, throwing it down softly onto his only chair as he meanders into the kitchen. Humming a tune, he cracks open a box of cereal, resigned to eating it until he gets his first paycheck. Munching on dry cereal isn’t his ideal dinner, but it’s something and that’s always better than nothing. 

After eating his mediocre dinner he heads into his bathroom, to at least get himself ready for bed before he inevitably lays down and doomscrolls for hours. While he can't really remember what he looked like before it always surprises him how he looks now. The pale white skin with claws instead of fingernails, the tall horns curling inwards (and subsequent baldness), and to top it all off the sharp teeth that love to poke out of his mouth..At least the eyebags are the same, permanently stuck below his eyes even if they are black instead of whatever color they were before. 

Completing his nightly ritual he can finally lay down now and rot his brain away. Dimensions may have changed but memes still remain. However, before he can truly lose himself to the mindless memes of the internet, he spots the rare serious post on his feed. He raises an eyebrow, scrolling down and tapping onto the post, before immediately grimacing. It’s another plea for financial help from someone in Lost Temple, the small video attached showing their living situation. 

“Hey guys, sorry to be bringing this up all of a sudden, but I could really use a bit of help here in Lost Temple.” The demon behind the phone says, the camera shaky as it pans around their living situation. The room they are in is barren, floor boards stripped and paint peeling. “Things have been tough over on my end recently, and while the Father provides I.. I haven’t really eaten in a couple of days so.. If you have any Bux to spare to help me get a meal, I’ll put a link in my bio where you can donate… Um, that's all. Bye” 

He goes to click onto their profile, but it seems it was already taken down. Spatula sighs heavily, turning off his phone and putting it on its charger. Staring up at the ceiling he scowls, the video replaying itself in his head. Knowing what he knows about the world of Phighting, by virtue of his past life, it’s hard to look at any faction without seeing the dark underbelly, that video just pushing it more forcefully into his mind. 

It’s not as if he doesn’t care or doesn’t want to help people, it’s more so the fact he can’t. His own financial situation aside, what can he really do? It’s not as if he can suddenly beat an entire  government and/or cult by himself, especially not with a spatula as his weapon of choice. Seeing that video just reminded him that his new life isn’t all that great, that there are demons out there suffering in real time now while he’s relatively living a cushy life at Crossroads. 

Spatula grits his teeth before forcefully relaxing his jaw, the injustice of it all once more brought to light. Internally cursing the Swords for their inaction, he shoves his face into his pillow and falls asleep for the night. 

Chapter Text

Spatula lets out a long suffering sigh as the patties in front of him sizzle on the grill. To the right of him the temporary cook today, Chocolate Milk, lets out a snort as they grill ribs. 

“What’s got you sounding so depressed today, Spat’?” Milk says, poking the ribs in front of him dubiously. They aren’t really a cook, but with how short staffed the joint is they have been relegated to helping Spatula cook most days. 

“Well first of all, that horrendous nickname you came up for me.” Spatula says, grimacing at it because… Really? Spat ? “And secondly… I dunno, just feeling a bit down today.” He idly flips a patty, preparing a bun next to the grill.

Chocolate Milk hums, finally letting up on poking the poor overcooked ribs to get them off the grill and on a tray next to him. 

     “Are you looking up sad stuff on the internet again?” They say, completely ignoring Spatula’s complaint about the nickname. 

Spatula turns to look at him a bit, frowning. 

   “It’s not my fault I like to be informed on what’s happening in other factions..” 

    “You don’t even belong to any Faction.” They say, grabbing the tray of overcooked ribs and putting it in front of a window and ringing a bell. “Don’t get why you have to stick your nose in their business when it doesn’t even concern you.” 

Spatula rolls his eyes, focusing on the grill in front of him again, and taking off the cooked patties. 

    “Just ‘cause I’m not a part of their faction doesn’t mean I get to be ignorant to their problems.”

Milk shrugs, taking out their Gear and sipping obnoxiously on it, making Spatula cringe as he finishes making burgers, before beginning to clean their grill. 

  “Whatever you say man..” 

Suddenly, the door to the kitchen bursts open, with the cashier, Punk, looking as unimpressed as ever. She gives Chocolate Milk a sharp look before focusing on Spatula. 

    “Dunno what you did but the boss has said you get the day off.” She says before turning on her heel to slouch at the cashier again. 

Spatula blinks, having just started cleaning his grill, wondering what he did to get the day off, while Chocolate Milk lets out an exaggerated sigh. 

     “Aw man! How come they’re letting the actual cook get the day off and not me?!” Milk huffs, going to cross their arms before remembering their Gear just as chocolate milk splashes all over their uniform. 

As Milk is squawking, rubbing at the cold chocolate milk now on their uniform, Spatula finishes cleaning up and quickly leaves the place. Listen, while it’s weird he’s getting the day off all of a sudden, he has been working full shifts consecutively for about a week now since he’s been hired. Just as soon as he thinks that, Spatula is now fully realizing he has nothing to really do . 

Again, since he has gotten the job he’s just been working and working and working . Before that was the whole panic of being in a new world and actually getting established. The only alone/down time he has really had has been late at night when everything at Crossroads is closed.  Slowing the light jog he was in, Spatula finally takes the time to look around Crossroads, now free to do so without any expectations or goals. From what he remembers about the game Phighting, there’s a cat cafe Slingshot works at, a skateboard shop, and various office buildings. Not much in the land of relaxation now that he’s thinking about it. 

As nervous as it somewhat makes him to think about, visiting a cat cafe sounds wonderful right about now. Ignoring the whole, actually meeting face-to-face with someone who was a game character ( which he totally wasn’t actively avoiding doing hahaha) , a cafe to just relax in, have good food, and pet some cute cats sounds like a wonderful idea.  Mind made up, Spatula grips his namesake, straightens up,  and starts walking with purpose to Slingshot’s Cafe… Trying very hard to ignore the beating of his heart and the impending sense of ‘ oh God this is going to be so awkward .’ 

The door to the Cafe swings open, Spatula barely hearing the welcome as he determinedly walks forward, doing his best to ignore his racing thoughts. His horns, which he honestly forgets he has most of the time, scrape the top doorway. He winces, hunching over again and inwardly patting himself on the back for such a good first impression. 

‘ Note to self: remember you have horns… Ones that stick up even.’ Spatula thinks to himself, rubbing his horns with one hand and a grimace on his face. 

“Oh crap, are you okay dude?” Spatula blinks, his shoulders inching upwards just some more as he remembers he’s out in public.. Actually taking in his surroundings he stares at Shuriken. 

‘ OH MY GOD WHY IS THERE A SECOND PHIGHTER HERE ABORT MISSION ABORTABORTABORT!!!’ “I’m so totally cool dude, so cool in fact I’m going to become an ice cube at this rate.” He blurts out, mouth just spitting stuff out there as his brain shakes itself in frustration. 

“Uh, alright then, if you say so.” Shuriken glances around as Spatula stares for a moment, the moment turning awkward very quickly. “Well, I’m just going to..” He says before moving away to the back of the cafe. 

Spatula blinks, mentally facepalming, before finally going up towards the counter, shoulders hunched in as far as they can. He stares up at the menu, not really comprehending the words, before looking back down at Slingshot ( Who, for his mental health at this point, he has been ignoring ).

“What can I get for you..?” Slingshot says a bit awkwardly, having witnessed Spatula bumping his horns into the door and the interaction with Shuriken ( so embarrassing..) . 

“Um.. Can I just get a tea? Whatever is cheapest..” Spatula mumbles out, nibbling on his lip nervously as he avoids Slingshot’s gaze. Because of this he misses the smile Slingshot shoots at him, trying to ease his nerves that are on display.

    “Sure! One black tea coming right up, that’ll be 200 Bux.” The cat demon says cheerily, the awkward look fading. Spatula quickly takes out the Bux, handing it over while still avoiding eye contact. “Your tea will be out shortly, feel free to sit anywhere!” 

Spatula gives Slingshot a nod, before quickly shuffling over to a table in the corner. He quickly turns away from the counter, to wallow without an audience. Placing his hands on his face, he mentally screams. 

‘ Oh my GOD, great job Spatula, amazing job being a Normal Person. Staring blankly at someone because their existence sends you into a spiral of questions about reality. Totally normal thing to do here!!’ Spatula inwardly groans, dragging his hands down his face as he lets out a heavy sigh. 

Giving himself a moment to calm down, he blinks slowly. Staring at the table, he comes to the realization a second time that he hasn’t been able to actually… Exist, since he got here at least. Now that he isn’t just working or staring at the mind numbing wonder of the Internet, he’s really able to feel just how tired he is, physically and mentally. 

… But there’s no time to dwell on those thoughts! At least not out in public. Best to think on how he isn’t really living in the wee hours of night (if he lets himself) ! Shaking his head slightly, Spatula takes out his phone to scroll mindlessly and banish any thought from his brain. 

[Slingshot]

When the nervous looking demon first walked into his store, Slingshot of course thought nothing of it. It was a little weird, considering it was the middle of the workday and not during a lunch break, but not weird enough to be anything to worry about. The first thing he noticed about them was the fact they gripped their Gear like at any moment someone would come around and take it from them. The second thing, of course, was the fact that their horns made them pretty tall.. A fact that was shoved into Slingshot’s face almost immediately as the customer scraped them up on the door frame. 

Inwardly wincing in sympathy, Slingshot is just about to get up and see if they’re okay before Shuriken swoops in, always one to get away from work for a moment. Settling back down behind the counter, Slingshot watches idly as the two interact.. If the way the customer is staring blankly at Shuriken can be called “interacting”. As Shuri dashes off as quick as he swooped in, Slingshot stares at the customer as they approach the counter. 

“Welcome to Slingshot’s Cafe! What can I get you?” Putting on his best customer service smile, Slingshot asks them and receives no answer. They continue staring, this time at the menu above Slingshot, at least. “Hello??” He asks again, receiving no answer. For a bit the two of them are stuck there, the customer still staring at the menu and Slingshot staring at them. 

Finally, they turn their attention to Slingshot, not appearing to have noticed their zoning out or Slingshot’s attempts to get their attention. After a moment, Slingshot is finally able to get their order out of them, and realizes very quickly two facts: 

For starters, they are extremely nervous. If it weren’t obvious from how they clung to their Gear when they first walked in, it's more then clear right now. They bite their lip and continuously avoid Slingshot’s gaze, eyes darting frequently from everywhere BUT Slingshot’s eyes. It makes sense now why they would be so.. Awkward, though it doesn’t explain their zoning out. However, the second fact does clear some things up. While the demon doesn’t slur their speech, they do seem to be heavily sleep deprived, the bags under their eyes darker than a lot of the regulars that Slingshot sees around, even  those that work overnight shifts. It explains now why they were so zoned out, their brain probably too tired from whatever their job is. 

After finally getting their order, Slingshot shoos them away to find a seat, watching as they immediately shuffle towards the furthest corner seat away from the counter, shoulders hunched in painfully. Shrugging, Slingshot turns around and starts making the black tea they ordered, while Shuri slides up to him. 

“Soo… How awkward was it?” He says bluntly, munching on yet another stolen pastry. Slingshot rolls his eyes at him, continuing to make the tea. 

“Could you stop taking the pastries, Shuri, those are supposed to be for the customers.” He grumbles, not answering the question. Shuriken shrugs, quickly stuffing the last of the pastry into his mouth before Slingshot can say anything else about it. 

“I was just wondering, cause that was the most awkward staring contest I have ever had-” 

Slingshot cuts Shuriken off, shoving the tea into his hands with a raised eyebrow. 

“Since you seem so interested, why don’t you go give them their tea?” 

“I.. Well, I mean I wouldn’t say interested , I just..” Shuriken blabbers, caught off guard as Slingshot pushes/drags him out behind the counter. He isn’t able to get a word in, as, coincidentally, another customer enters the cafe and Slingshot is right back at taking orders. Staring for a second, Shuriken lets out a loud sigh, before strolling over to the table the awkward demon is sitting at. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Slingshot watches the two of them.. Before his attention is pulled away back towards the newest customer. 

[Spatula] 

When Shuriken puts his tea down on the counter Spatula lets out a small squeak, almost tossing his phone into the air. Focused as hard on banishing literally any thoughts that exist in his head, he didn’t notice Shuriken approaching his table at all. Pocketing his phone with an embarrassed look on his face, Spatula looks up at Shuriken. 

“Thanks..” He mumbles, giving a half-hearted smile. Shuriken gives him the patented customer service smile back, before quickly moving away before either of them can attempt to make awkward conversation. Inwardly dying from embarrassment once more, Spatula picks up the cup of black tea, blowing on it to cool it down. ‘ I can’t remember ever having black tea before.. That’s not saying much considering my memory is pretty shit…But whatever, I’m calling this a new experience even if Before I actually had some.’ He thinks to himself, taking a careful sip of the tea. 

Almost immediately the bitter flavor hits him, making him instinctively curl his lip up in disgust. Just as quickly he schools his expression, not wanting to give the impression that he hates the tea.. Despite the fact that he very much so does . It's what he ordered, and honestly its his fault for being so out of it when trying to find something to drink. ‘ Maybe the flavor will grow on me..? ’ 

Several more minutes of despairingly sipping his tea, and Spatula finally finishes the cup. Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, he quickly stands up. ‘ If I ever come back here, I am NEVER ordering black tea again.. I can’t believe I’m looking forward to the cereal at home, just to get rid of this taste ..’ He thinks to himself, clutching his Spatula tightly as he waves an absent-minded goodbye to Slingshot and Shuriken. 

Speed walking his rest of the way to his apartment, he looks up at the sky. He still has a couple more hours of daylight, really, if he wants to do anything else.. Eh, who is he kidding? He barely had enough willpower to actually be able to interact with Slingshot and Shuriken, there is no way he’s going to have enough energy to interact with more people. Content with being a recluse, Spatula turns his attention back to where he’s walking and makes the rest of his way to his apartment, opening the door and closing it with more energy than he had all day. 

Pouring himself a bowl of dry cereal ( so it might have grown on him, sue him ), he munches on it idly as he sits down on his one chair, cuddling with his spatula ( look it's not really his Gear but he feels.. Attached to it. He’s been carrying it around since he got here, it would be hard not to ) as he munches on his.. Lunch+Dinner. After eating he sets his spatula down on the chair, getting up and washing his dishes for lack of anything to do. 

‘ I really need to get some hobbies other than working and being on my phone.. ’ He thinks to himself. ‘ But not today! Some other day, today is for laying in bed and making myself feel nothing! ’ He finishes, quickly changing out of his work clothes, brushing his teeth, and flopping onto his bed. Curling into his blankets, he pulls out his phone and begins another session of doomscrolling, this time putting music on to spice it up. 

He grimaces at the news that he, unfortunately, keeps up with, invading his feed full of memes and heartwarming stories. Chocolate Milk wasn’t wrong in their assessment, he DOES keep himself up at night reading too many stories on the news and following pages documenting what's going on in different factions.. But look, he has a heart okay? He can’t just look past it when he sees an injustice going on in this new world he is in, in fact he feels even more obligated to be informed because of his past…And yet the same thought hits him again: What can he really do, aside from being informed, to help? Sure he has some meta knowledge, but aside from that he’s just some guy , an unfortunate one, but a normal guy nonetheless. 

Inwardly shaking his head, he scrolls away from the depressing news, doing his best to ignore what's going on in the world for one more night.

Chapter Text

It’s been a few days since Spatula actually ventured outside of his little sphere, and he can say that he has successfully managed to avoid not only Slingshot’s Cafe but also any thoughts about getting a hobby aside from work. In all honesty, he underestimated his ability to ignore the glaring problem of his new social life. If he put as much effort into himself as he did avoiding his problems he would probably be more successful than Valk and Dom by now ( which, okay, wishful thinking but hey! Can’t a guy avoiding his problems dream?) . Of course his beautiful streak of wearing a hole into his bed has to have been interrupted eventually, especially since this whole thing started due to the fact someone else ( cough his boss cough ) realized his nonexistent after-work life. Luckily, it isn’t as embarrassing as being basically hand fed a free day off from his boss. Instead it was just Chocolate Milk finally getting tired of his whole existence. 

Thus, it led to this: Spatula standing awkwardly as Chocolate Milk attempts to get him interested in the one thing he hates more than social interaction: Physical Activity. 

“‘Spaaaaaat, heeellllooooo?? Anyone home?” 

Spatula startles, knocked from his musings of this all by the demon of his very thoughts. Chocolate Milk gives him a very amused, if not a bit concerned, look. “Dude, are you sure you are good to be up and about? I know you said you got enough sleep last night but…” 

Spatula shakes his head, inwardly rallying up more enthusiasm and resolve to be present for this. “I’m good Milk, you know how it is. Getting lost in my thoughts like always..” He narrows his eyes. “And seriously, is there no way to convince you to get rid of that horrid nickname??” 

Chocolate Milk snickers to themself, flipping the skateboard under their arm idly as they lead Spatula closer to Crossroads skatepark, shooting him a smirk. 

   “I swear dude, if you aren’t stuck brooding over some sad news you read on the internet, you are stuck in your own head. Luckily you got me to get you out of it huh?” They say smugly, soundly ignoring Spatula’s attempt to address the nickname once more. 

Spatula furrows his brows, giving them a puzzled look. “Brooding?? I don’t brood, what are you talking about?” 

Chocolate Milk stops in their tracks, turning to face him with an incredulous but amused look on their face.

 “Are you seriously saying that right now?” They say with an incredulous laugh leaving them. “Dude, for the two weeks or so I’ve known you, all you do is stare all deep like at the patties, like they hold all the answers to the world.” 

Spatula sputters a bit embarrassed, his eyes going wide.

 “W-Wha… No I don’t!! B-Besides, is it such a crime to think deeply now?!” He huffs, face coloring as the times he’s simply stared at the patties he was supposed to be flipping flash into his head. Listen… So maybe he’s stared a bit too long with a serious look at the burgers he was making… But really, is it such a problem that he likes to think deeply about something?!?

Chocolate Milk just laughs at him, shaking their head. “Whatever you say man! We’re here anyway.”

The skatepark was pretty big, now that Spatula wasn’t forced to view it from the computer screen. Actually being in person to see it, it wasn’t anything to sneeze at. That being said, this is one place that he would rather not be in honestly. Don’t get him wrong, skateboarding is pretty dope! The tricks and faith people/demons put into what is essentially a board with four wheels is impressive, but it isn’t anything that Spatula himself would ever want to do. He’s too anxiety ridden.. And not all that physically fit as it stands. However, Chocolate Milk actually went out of their way to bring him here, despite not knowing him for that long, so by social obligation and having a heart he is forced to actually give it a shot. 

….Is what he would say, if he actually had a board.

“So… Did you bring me along to just kind of watch? ‘Cause I’m not against that, I like just chilling out, but..” Spatula trails off, not really knowing where he was going now that he has the Board Problem out there. Chocolate Milk pauses, having started to walk forward closer to the park, contemplating it. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think about this..” Spatula mumbles, fiddling with the handle of their ‘Gear’. 

Chocolate Milk huffs, pulling out their own Gear to sip on it obnoxiously. 

“Pfft, I wouldn’t have dragged you out here without having a plan. Of course you ain’t just here to watch me do cool tricks!” They suddenly shove the board into Spatula’s chest, eliciting  an embarrassing squawk out of him. “Instead, I’m here to watch you do ‘tricks’.” 

Spatula stares at them, and then the board in his hands. 

“Uh… I don’t know how to skateboard.” He says dumbly, holding the board with one hand to stuff his ‘Gear’ into his belt. “And I don’t really want to risk breaking your board..” 

Chocolate Milk just waves him off, moving behind him to start pushing him closer to the skatepark, a shit-eating grin on their face. “Ah, don’t worry about it! I can always get a new one, they aren’t that expensive. Now hurry up and get to learning dude!” 

Spatula seriously doubts that skateboards are really that cheap, but he doesn’t actively go looking at skateboard prices so he can’t really refute what they’re saying. He gives weak protests as he is forced to board the skateboard, wobbling dangerously and giving Chocolate Milk a pleading look. “Milk, I’m not too sure about this.. I don’t know what kind of vibes I give off, but I am 100% certain that none of them scream ‘Physically Active’.” 

“Pshhh, stop being such a worrywart ‘Spat! You’ll be fiiiiineeeee!” They say, before unceremoniously shoving him forward on the board. Spatula gulps as the board goes forward, slowly at first, before quickly ramping up in speed. All he can do is helplessly wave his hands in the air and let out a scream as demons are forced out of his way. “GOOD LUCK!” 

The board rockets forward, Spatula unintentionally making it go faster as he bends his knees and leans forward in his panic. ‘Okay, THINK Spatula.. Try and remember, you used to ride a scooter right?? How did you stop that? ..Oh GOD, now is NOT the time to have such a shit memory! ’ In the middle of his panicked thinking, another skateboarder rolls up next to him, a grin on their face. He briefly looks up at them, glancing back down before glancing back up just as quickly. 

Skateboard gives him a wide grin and a thumbs up from where he’s riding next to him. “Nice speed dude! Want to have a little race around the park?” He pushes his board forward more as he asks, looking expectantly at Spatula.

Now normally Spatula would be having just a bit of a crisis over speaking to a Phighter, not as bad as it was at Slingshot’s Cafe, but still a crisis. However, hurtling on a skateboard that is only getting faster and not knowing how to stop it is far from what he would call a normal situation. As such, after Skateboard asks for a race, all Spatula can intelligently say in response is: 

“DEAR SFOTH, TELL ME HOW TO STOP THIS THING!!” In a totally and completely calm manner! 

Skateboard gives Spatula a shocked look, not really expecting to be suddenly screamed at like this, before it changes into an amused if-not concerned look. “Uh… Okay, so to stop the skateboard you just want to-”  He’s unceremoniously cut off as Spatula, in a burst of Before memory coming in of riding a scooter, suddenly slams his foot onto the ground. Of course, being on a hurtling skateboard with no moves to slowdown before this, it does more harm then good. He’s unceremoniously flipped over, the board shooting forward as Spatula crashes into the ground with another embarrassing cry. 

Laying on the ground in pain, all Spatula can think is that he shouldn’t have gotten out of bed today. It would’ve been leagues less embarrassing then this. As if to affirm his thoughts, he hears not only Chocolate Milk laughing (who had ran behind to somewhat keep an eye on him) but also Skateboard (who had turned around after Spatula’s attempt to stop himself). 

Spatula lets out groan, throwing one arm over his eyes. 

“Yeah  yeah, laugh it up. Not as if I just ate shit..” 

Skateboard lets out a couple more chuckles, Chocolate Milk still dying of laughter in the background, before leaning over Spatula with a concerned look on his face. “You good there? Didn’t look like a very soft fall, if you catch me drift.” 

Spatula waves off his concern, sitting up and holding his head with one hand. 

“All good, aside from the scrapes and bruises.. My pride took a hit harder then I did, really.”

Chocolate Milk finally stops laughing, wiping their eyes as they walk closer and give Spatula hand up. “Sounds about right really. Sorry though, should’ve at least given ya some directions before throwing you to the skateboard wolves.” 

Spatula mumbles an ‘ oh really ’ to himself as Skateboard turns towards Chocolate Milk, raising an eyebrow at them. “Oh so you’re the one who got ‘em on a board? Ya didn’t even tell them how to stop it before pushing them forward?” 

They give him a shrug, walking past the two of them after their skateboard. “Only way I could think of to make him go, really. Was like pulling teeth getting him out here.. Anyways, gotta get my board, seeyoulaterbye!” They run off suddenly, once more throwing Spatula to the wolves. 

The two stand there for a moment, Spatula fiddling nervously with the handle of their ‘Gear’, before Skateboard thrusts a hand out towards him. 

“Name’s Skateboard! ‘Ya got some nice speed for your first time on a skateboard!” 

Spatula stares for a second, before gripping Skateboard’s hand and shaking it. 

“Spatula…I really wish I didn’t…” He mumbles, letting go of Skateboard’s hand to go back to fiddling with his spatula.

Skateboard gives him an amused look. 

“‘Cmon now, it wasn’t that bad! I mean, ya did crash, but the speed must’ve been fun.” 

Spatula shrugs, giving him a half-smile. 

“It was kind of fun, I guess.. But moreso terrifying really, seeing everything go past me without being able to put the breaks on things.” 

“You had some fun, that’s all that matters dude! Next time will be even more fun, once you get a few lessons in.” Skateboard says, giving Spatula a friendly pat on the shoulder. Spatula gives him a more genuine smile, before Skateboard suddenly jolts. “Oh crap, that's right! I was on my way to see someone. It was nice getting to meetcha dude, but I gotta dip now.” 

Spatula watches as he puts his board down again, getting on it. “No worries, and same! Hopefully if we meet again I’ll be better at skateboarding..” 

Skateboard snickers, before giving him a wave and shooting off to wherever it is he is going. Spatula watches him go off, waving back, before sitting down on a nearby bench and letting out a sigh. He rubs at his bruised head, wincing slightly as he touches a more tender bruise. Despite how embarrassing this first meeting was, he’s pretty proud of himself. No existential crisis's during it, and he actually was able to end it pretty amicably! That’s a win in his books, one of very few currently. As he waits for Chocolate Milk to get back, he opens his phone again, scrolling through his feed mindlessly. 

‘ Hmm.. Lost Temple seems to be more of a mess these days, more demons asking for financial help or posting about the spike in crimes around.. Same for Blackrock, though the amount of thefts is staggering. ’ He thinks to himself, before inwardly shaking his head. No more depressing news about the demons in the world! This is supposed to be a fun outing, as much as he was against it at first. Scrolling past the concerning news, Spatula instead focuses on more cute animal pictures and uplifting stories. 

It takes a couple minutes, but eventually Chocolate Milk comes running back, skateboard under arm once again. They pant for a bit, Spatula letting them get their breathe back as he puts away his phone. 

“Wooo… Sorry about that Spatula, I overestimated how fast you were going ‘cause this baby” and here they shake the skateboard “got pretty far away from the skatepark. Took me so long to find it, and then actually run back..” 

They shake their head, dusting off their hands on their pants before straightening out. “Anyways! Lets actually get this teaching thing going, yeah?” 

For the next couple of hours the two of them went over the basics of skateboarding, and by basics, Spatula means basics . It took awhile, but eventually he was actually able to stand on the board and go forward without wobbling OR causing the board to go past his current comfortable speed. Chocolate Milk actually applauded when Spatula stopped making the board go ridiculously fast by accident. Afterwards the two of them went to Slingshot’s Cafe, though Chocolate Milk once again had to drag Spatula into the idea, not knowing about the last time he went there. Unfortunately for Spatula, he had soundly reached his social interaction limit, and as such was unable to stop Slingshot from assuming he wanted another black tea. 

Sipping depressingly on his tea, Spatula can feel his tastebuds ( what little he has left ) dying. Chocolate Milk gives him an amused look, sipping their disgustingly sugary drink and nibbling on their equally as sweet pastry. Spatula narrows his eyes at them, daring them to speak. Chocolate Milk puts up one hand in mock surrender, sipping obnoxiously ( which Spatula is beginning to think is just what they do ) on their drink. 

“Soooo… What did ya think of skateboarding, ‘Spat?” They ask him, putting their drink down to give him an exaggerate intrigued look. 

Spatula takes an obnoxiously long sip on his tea, in retaliation for the nickname, before putting it down with a purposefully loud clink . 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this in regards to something physical but.. It actually wasn’t too bad, once I actually knew what I was doing.” 

Chocolate Milk pumps a fist into the air, a triumphant look on their face. 

“I just knew you would like it after coming around dude! It totally seemed like something you would be interested in.” They say smugly, a smirk on their face as they bite into their pastry. 

Spatula rolls his eyes, taking another sad sip on his black tea.

“Whatever, you’re just happy I didn’t give up after crashing…” He pauses, fiddling with his tea cup and looking away from them. “But, uh.. Thanks for today, Milk. It was nice, hanging out with you..” 

Chocolate Milk waves off his thanks, a bright smile on their face. 

“Its no problem dude. I like to think we are kind of friends after being stuffed inside of that kitchen for a week together.”

Spatula turns to face them, a small smile on his face.

Eventually, of course, the two finish their drinks and food. After chatting for a bit they leave Slingshot’s Cafe, giving the owner a wave as they walk out. The two exchange goodbyes, Chocolate Milk surprising Spatula as they give him a hug. Spatula awkwardly pats them on the back, before pulling away and making his getaway back into his apartment.  Once inside his apartment he finally fully relaxes, throwing his spatula onto his lone chair before beelining to his bathroom. He does his nightly routine, with an addition of looking over his bruises and scrapes from the day and tending to them, before leaving and finally getting to lay down in bed. 

Doomscrolling for a couple more hours, Spatula puts down his phone and plugs it into his charger. He stares up at the roof in the dark, eyes tired but brain still buzzing from the day. 

‘ Ah.. Maybe things won’t be so bad here, even if I’m not able to use my meta knowledge.. I got a good job and a nice friend..’ He thinks to himself, eyes closing. ‘ It would be nice, though, to help demons..’  With that final thought, he drifts away.

Chapter Text

Spatula lets out a deep sigh as he continues flipping patties for another batch of burgers. To his right, Chocolate Milk is frantically trying to put out the small fire they made while grilling the ribs. Usually, any sigh that Spatula lets out would have been immediately noticed by Chocolate Milk ( due to there normally being nothing going on ), however the boss decided that it would be a great idea to go on sale all of a sudden, without telling their three employees. The place was unusually packed, where there would be about 5 customers normally indoors, there were now a whopping 20 demons waiting and eating in the establishment. Punk was just barely able to keep up with everyone’s orders, writing down frantically what they wanted and being just a bit more snippy and unfriendly than normal. The kitchen was a disaster though, Chocolate Milk’s inexperience really shining as they went through rib after rib, burning them or undercooking them. Twice already Spatula has had to hurriedly leave his own stove and stop Chocolate Milk from giving Punk very underdone food to serve. 

The next few hours pass in a haze of commerce, the two of them furiously cooking food to satisfy the hungry demons out in the dining area. After almost burning down the kitchen for a second time, Spatula was forced to kick Chocolate Milk out and make them help Punk, cleaning tables and taking orders up front. Finally, though, the rush was over, no more sudden influx of demons overwhelming the understaffed fast food joint. Spatula lets out a very long-suffering sigh, shoulders slumping in exhaustion as the rush of the day is finally over. He isn’t allowed to bask in the silence for long, however, as Chocolate Milk is shoved back into the kitchen by a very disgruntled Punk. 

“Put them to work before I end up hitting them over the head with the broom, Spatula.” She throws a dirty look at Chocolate Milk, before turning her gaze onto Spatula, and ignoring their little ‘Hey..’ in response. “I don’t know how you can deal with their chattering back here all day dude, I thought I was going to go insane having them attempt to start up a conversation every break we got.” 

“Pfft, ‘cmon I’m not that bad Punk! I let you chill out for a bit before coming over to talk, it wasn’t every time I pestered you!” They say, dusting off their clothes and throwing her a cheeky smile. She just rolls her eyes in response to it, giving Spatula a nod before walking back out the doors she came from. Chocolate Milk gives Spatula an exaggerated eye roll, before breaking down into snickers, calming down after a second. “Ah.. Anyways! How was the grind back here without me, dude? Gotta be pretty boring I think.” 

Spatula gives Chocolate Milk a tired smile, before turning around to clean his stove. “Eh… It was exciting as continuously grilling patties and making burgers to be.. A bit more peaceful without you attempting to burn us all down, I will say.” 

Chocolate Milk just shrugs, taking out their Gear and sipping on it as they move to what is basically their grill and beginning to clean it. 

The two of them work for a while in silence, the day having drained even Chocolate Milk of their seemingly endless energy. After a while or scrubbing in silence, Chocolate Milk sighs, stopping from mopping the floor and leaning on the mop. 

“How have you been, ‘Spat? Been out recently since the skatepark a few days ago?” They suddenly question, dragging the mop closer to Spatula. 

Spatula stops drying the utensils he had cleaned, thinking about it. His cheeks heat up as it takes him a bit to actually think on it. 

“Err… I mean, I was out on my way to work, does that count?”

Chocolate Milk lets out a choked laugh, quickly covering their mouth with one hand. Spatula’s cheeks heat up even more in embarrassment, his shoulders hunching.  “S-Sorry I should have expected that answer..” They say, turning away from Spatula for a moment to collect themself and then turning back around with an amused smile on their face. “But to answer your question, no that doesn’t count. You weren’t out for fun or to relax!” 

Spatula just sighs. “Yeah, I know.. Going out and all that crap just isn’t something I usually do, y’know?” 

“Oh dude, I know . You just aren’t all that great at it yet! Don’t worry ‘Spat, I’ll teach you how to enjoy time outside.” 

“Oh SFOTH, I’d rather you didn’t, who knows what trouble you’d get us into.” Spatula grimaces good naturedly. 

“Pshhh, me? Get you into trouble?” They let out an exaggerated scoff. “Why, I’d never! I’m a rule-abiding demon, I’ll have you know!” They last all of two seconds before breaking down into snickers after declaring that. Spatula gives them a smile, putting away the last of the dishes and washing his hands. “Nah, but seriously, you need to get out there more dude. Can’t have your social life consist of just Punk and me!” 

Spatula shrugs again, turning to face them while rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno dude, I’m just.. Demons are scary, so are conversations. Think I’d rather face all the Swords at once then actually have to talk to people consistently.”

Chocolate Milk stares at him blankly. 

“That's just sad dude. Sorry to say that but like.. For real?” 

Spatula flushes, avoiding their judgmental stare and beginning to take off their work apron. “I-I mean! We already established I’m not much of a talker or one to go out so.. I-Is it really that surprising..?” 

“The way you put it? Yeah, it's surprising dude. I knew it was bad but man! I didn’t know it was that bad.” Chocolate Milk bluntly states, taking a sip on their Gear. Spatula just covers his face with a hand, embarrassed beyond belief. After letting him wallow for a moment, they walk over and sling and arm over his shoulder, patting it reassuringly. “We need to make you more confident in going out, ‘Spat. Luckily you got little ‘ol me here to help you!” 

Spatula just gives them a slightly nervous smile, as to be expected, before shrugging off their arm. “I’ll keep you to it then, Milk… But for now, I’m just looking forward to actually getting out of this kitchen and going home.” 

“Oh dude, I feel ya! Having to work all day basically with Punk was pure torture. I know she said I was the problem, but dude you will not believe how aggressive she gets during rush hour!” 

The two of them leave the restaurant, Chocolate Milk ranting about Punk the entire way, waving their hands wildly to get their point across. Spatula lets them vent happily, walking alongside them for a while and just enjoying not having to actually really contribute to the conversation. Sometimes it's nice just listening and having the conversation flow without having to include anything in it. However, of course the two of them do have to part ways eventually, with Chocolate Milk abruptly cutting off their rant and patting Spatula on the back, saying goodbye. Spatula waves them off, a smile on his face as he pulls out his phone. 

The day is basically over, but what Chocolate Milk said really got to him, honestly. Despite being more active than his first week in Crossroads, he hasn’t been making a real effort to go out. So far, his outings have all had someone basically strong arm or push him into it, with him actively dreading it even before going anywhere. He takes in a deep breath, putting away his phone and gripping his ‘Gear’ tightly. ‘ What better time than the present to go out, eh? The day isn’t exactly over yet after all. ’ 

Making a conscious effort to actually be out and about, Spatula starts wandering around Crossroads. While it is late into the afternoon, some places are still open, though they won’t be for long. Forced to make a decision quickly, he goes to the one place he has already been: 

Slingshot’s Cafe. ( Listen, he just said he would be out, not that it would be to a new place. Gotta start these things slow, y’know?)

The cafe is basically deserted by the time Spatula makes his way over, making him glance nervously inside to see if it is still actually open. From within, Slingshot gives him a friendly smile while Vinestaff is sweeping the floors idly. Spatula gives him a small wave back as he opens the door, making sure to hunch down to avoid his horns from scraping the top like when he first came there. 

“Welcome! It’s nice seeing you back again, sir. Black Tea?” Slingshot says, already prepared to ring it up on the cash register. Spatula just nervously nods, inwardly giving up on that battle for now. Slingshot rings it up as Spatula hands over the Bux, giving a mental apology to his taste buds as he shuffled over to a corner table. 

Sitting down, he looks at the nearly deserted cafe. Now that he’s actually inside he can see that there are demons in here.. Just like, two though. Really, with Spatula included, there’s a total of five demons in the cafe, with two of those being staff. It actually eases his nerves a bit, there being so little people in the cafe. Now if he does something embarrassing ( like hitting his horns on the roof or tripping over his own feet in embarrassment ) there will be, at max, 4 people who will witness it.. Maybe even less if one of the two leaves before he’s finished. 

Inwardly sighing in relief, Spatula takes out his phone, waiting for his tea as his shoulders unconsciously lower. 

[Slingshot]

It had been a few days since the nervous demon ( as he had been calling them ) had come to Slingshot’s Cafe with their friend. It was a bit of a surprise to actually see them again, from the impression Slingshot got from them he didn’t really expect to be seeing them so soon. From how nervous they seemed just getting a tea that first day, Slingshot was prepared to just kind of never see them again in the cafe. When they came in with their friend, he was genuinely surprised to see them, even if it was because of their friend. To see them now, without their friend, is still surprising, but now he’s getting the impression they aren’t as nervous as they were before.  They still came in gripping their Gear tightly, like they were about to be jumped as soon as they walked through the door, but there wasn’t any awkward staring or nervous mumbling like before. 

Vinestaff slides up next to Slingshot as he muses over them, holding the broom loosely. “Are they a regular I don’t know about? You knew their order immediately.” She questions, looking back out over to them as they wait for their tea. 

“Ah, no! Just a memorable demon, really. This is their third time coming into the cafe, actually.” He says, starting to make their Black tea.

Vinestaff blinks at that, looking at Slingshot for a moment, before looking over at the demon and giving them a curious stare. “Really? What did they do in the two other times they visited that left an impression on you?” 

“Oh, well.. Not much honestly, just scrape their horns really loudly on the door and stare at Shuriken and me.” Slingshot shrugs, finishing up the tea and picking it up. 

“..Huh. I can kind of see how that’s memorable?” Vinestaff says, turning back to look at Slingshot, who just gives her a bit of a sheepish smile. 

"They’re also not one I was expecting to see back in here honestly. They were super nervous the other times they came here, and after scraping their horns on the doorway I thought they would just avoid the cafe overall.” 

“Now that makes more sense as to why you would remember them.” Vinestaff hums, looking back over at them for a moment. “They were gripping their Gear pretty tightly when they walked in, now that I’m thinking about it…” 

“That’s what I noticed as well! It’s like they are expecting to be attacked at any time.” Slingshot says, walking around the counter. “I’ll be right back, just gotta get this to them.” 

Vinestaff gives him a nod as she watches him go. 

As he approaches them, the nervous demon puts away their phone, looking up nervously as they watch him approach. Slingshot plasters on a smile, holding up their tea to show them. They give him a pretty sad looking smile back as they mess with the handle on their Gear. 

“One Black Tea, nice and hot for ya!” He announces, putting the tea cup down with a little flourish. They give him a pretty quiet ‘ thank you ’ and begin blowing on it. “No problem, hope you enjoy it!” 

Slingshot scurries back behind the counter, giving a smile to Vinestaff as she raises an eyebrow at him. “They didn’t stare at me awkwardly this time. Improvement I say!” 

“You are weirdly invested in this random demon, Slingshot.” She says with an amused smile on her face. Slingshot just gives her a shrug, unable to really explain why he feels the need to kind of observe them. To be honest he doesn’t really know why himself, maybe it’s just the fact it's kind of satisfying to see in real time the demon come out of their shell. Vinestaff just gives him another smile before leaving the counter to go and continue cleaning up. 

Slingshot glances once more at the demon sipping at their tea, before looking around the cafe. 

[Spatula]

‘ I should’ve had more willpower and said something.. It's not as bad as the first time but by the Swords do I wish I had something sweet instead of Black Tea..’ Spatula thinks to himself despairingly, taking a large gulp of his tea. ‘ At least I’m getting used to how it tastes, as unwilling as that's been..’ Letting out a quiet sigh, he takes a moment to glance around the cafe, noticing how it's really only him and now one other demon. ‘ Ah.. It’s getting pretty late isn’t it.. Better finish this quickly, don’t want to keep Slingshot and Vinestaff here for long .’ 

Quickly gulping down the rest of the tea with a grimace, he puts down the tea cup and stands up. Before he can regret it, he quickly shoots out a very loud ‘Thank-you’ to Slingshot and gives a nod to Vinestaff, gripping his ‘Gear’ for comfort. Speed walking out the door, Spatula quickly makes his way to his apartment complex, stopping when he’s basically there to just look up at the sky and give himself a moment to catch his breath. ‘ Despite whatever happened to me, I still can’t see the stars.. Gah, why must light pollution be a thing..’ Sighing, he enters the apartment complex, climbing the stairs to his floor and opening his apartment door. 

Closing the door behind him, he finally relaxes completely, his grip on his ‘Gear’ loosening considerably. Walking over to his kitchen table, he pulls out a packet of ramen and begins boiling water for it. As he waits for the water to boil, he puts his spatula on the table, sitting down on the only chair at it. 

“Well, despite how much didn’t happen, I’d say this was a pretty good day today, huh spatula?” The spatula, of course, doesn’t respond, as it is a spatula. “Ahh… Milk was right, I really need to get out more.. Talking to my own ‘gear’ now..” Spatula lets out a loud groan, putting his head into his hands. He sits in silence until his water boils, then he puts the ramen into it, cooking it for a minute before taking it out and into a bowl, where he then pours the seasoning onto it and pours more boiling water onto it. 

Eating his dinner, he stares at his spatula, for lack of anything else to do, before taking out his phone and scrolling through his feed again, not really comprehending anything. After finishing up he puts his dishes into the sink, inwardly resigned to doing more tomorrow. He is NOT doing more dishes after washing all of the dishes at work today. As long as he doesn’t let it pile up, one day of not doing them should be fine… 

Doing his nightly routine, he stops as he’s brushing his teeth, poking his horns. He vaguely remembers that you are supposed to be keeping care of them, as horn health is pretty important, but honestly? He hasn’t been doing anything with the things, aside from slathering them with his body wash when he takes a shower. They look fine, aside from being scuffed a bit from how much he initially forgot he had them.. Hopefully he isn’t accidentally screwing them over by not doing anything or having anything fancy to take care of them with. Shrugging at himself in the mirror, Spatula finishes brushing his fangs and finally steps out of the bathroom, flopping onto his bed and taking out his phone. 

Scrolling through his feed, he notes again the injustices of this world, the people asking for help and ( what he now gets on his feed) tales of Gear laundering out in the world. Honestly, despite feeling bad he also can’t help but just wonder why people actually worship the Swords. Like, sure they have a lot of power to be fearful of, but they don’t actually do a lot for the average Demon. From what he remembers when he was a human, the tales of gods and goddesses always had them being something helpful to them in a way that made people want to worship them. Whether it be for caring about them or just helping them in hunting or sending messages, the gods and goddesses of old were worshipped for a reason. As far as Spatula sees, the Swords don’t really do anything aside from be all powerful.. Even Windforce with her justice, it doesn’t really scream something people would want to worship her for as its glaringly obvious its not real justice. 

‘Whatever, it's not like this wondering and questioning is going to do anything.. ‘ Spatula thinks to himself, turning off his phone and throwing his blanket over his head. ‘ Hopefully tomorrow won’t be as busy as today was…’

Chapter Text

Spatula sighs into his Black tea, fiddling with the handle of his spatula as he idly watches the other demons in Slingshot’s Cafe. While he ain’t a fan of the flavor, it has unfortunately grown on him.. And he is too embarrassed at this point to tell Slingshot he didn’t actually like the tea this entire time. Seriously, every time he’s gone to the cafe he has gotten this tea, if he went up to Slingshot and told him he doesn’t like the tea ( and in fact hated it at first ) he would never be able to live it down. Even if he actively avoided the place again it would still haunt him until the day he inevitably died. 

… But anyways! So far he has actually stuck to his resolve to be more of a member of society, actively going out and doing stuff other than working all day. From that first day he went alone to the cafe, he has now been out on walks around the Skatepark, as well as practicing with Chocolate Milk some more. Speaking of them, they were pretty happy when he told them he had actually been out in public. Though really he could’ve done without their subsequent jokes about him leaving his cave for once. 

It hasn’t all been sunshine and rainbows, though. He still hasn’t actually talked to anyone aside from Punk and Chocolate Milk, just existed in the same space as them. Conversations have so far eluded his grasp, but today he plans on conquering them! 

Mustering up all of his courage, Spatula hesitantly and nervously waves over Slingshot's helper for today: Shuriken.

[Shuriken]

The day had been going much the same as any other work day, demons coming in ordering, giving them their order, and then cleaning up after them when they finished and inevitably left. Really the only exciting thing that happened was this tired looking demon that had shuffled their way into the cafe, and they’re only interesting because Slingshot perked up upon seeing them. When Shuriken asked if there was anything special about them, he was reminded of that demon that came in and stared at him after they scraped their horns on the door. Turns out they had been coming in still, and had apparently upgraded from awkward staring to mumbled replies. 

“Did you ever find out why they were just staring at us, though?” Shuriken feels compelled to ask, looking over to where they are sitting with a raised eyebrow. Slingshot pauses for a moment, before looking away. 

“Ah.. We haven’t really actually talked, aside from when they order.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Under Shuriken’s unimpressed stare he continues. “But! They haven’t done it since, so perhaps it was just an off day? They looked tired enough that maybe they just weren’t aware how long they were staring?” 

“Sureeee, they were just a bit too tired to say anything after saying something just to me a bit before..” Shuriken says, rolling his eyes. “But whatever, doesn’t really matter now. How long have they been coming in?” 

Slingshot hums, a thoughtful look on his face as he thinks on it.  “A few times since they came in, I think? I haven’t been keeping that close an eye on them honestly.” 

 “Aw man, and I somehow kept missing them?” Shuriken says, exaggeratedly pouting. Slingshot snickers at him and shoves his shoulder playfully.                                                                                   

"Pfft, maybe they were avoiding you on purpose. It was pretty embarrassing how you guys met.” 

“No way! I bet they didn’t even know I worked different days then Vine.” Shuriken scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest. Slingshot just continues snickering at him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shuriken spots the demon they were just talking about waving him over. He quickly looks back at Slingshot to make sure it really is him that’s being beckoned over, before shrugging. 

“Huh, they’re calling me over now, Sling..”

“Really? They’ve never done that before.. Wonder what they want..” Slingshot hums, looking over Shuriken’s shoulder to glance at them. 

Shuriken just shrugs again before walking around the counter and over to the demon's table. They wave a bit, before realizing he’s coming over to them, then they quickly put their hand down and fiddle with the handle of their Gear. When he makes it to their table, they give him a nervous smile, glancing at Shuriken before averting their gaze. 

“Hello! Was there anything else you wanted?” Shuriken says, giving them a smile. They shake their head, nervously flipping their Gear around. “Oh?”

They clear their throat anxiously, finally putting down their Gear to instead wring their hands and meet Shuriken’s eyes.

“Ah.. I just wanted to, um, apologize for kind of just.. Staring at you awkwardly when we first met..” They say rubbing the back of their head embarrassedly. “Um, if you even remember that..” They mumble, more to themself than to Shuriken.

“Oh yeah! It’s no problem dude, no harm done y’know?” He says waving the apology off. They give a more confident smile, relaxing a bit. 

“Okay good.. It was just on my mind when I saw you, and I couldn’t just say nothing ‘cause of how embarrassing it was.” 

“I get that, but don’t sweat it dude.” Shuriken shrugs, waving a hand around. “Besides, I didn’t even really remember that until Slingshot brought it up.” 

“Oh, really?” They say, looking only a tad surprised at that, which, fair. They did stare at him for a good minute or two…But really, it wasn't anything that extraordinary. “That makes me feel a bit better then. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, so I’m glad it wasn’t as big of a deal as I was thinking.”

“Nah, you’re all good.” Shuriken pauses for a moment. “Oh yeah, by the way, my name is Shuriken. I think you might have already known that since you’ve been here quite a bit, but just in case you didn’t know.” 

“Nice to meet you, Shuriken. The name’s Spatula.” They say, before tilting their head with a contemplative look on their face. “To be honest, I don’t think I know anyone’s name who works here.. Aside from Slingshot, but I haven’t been formally introduced..” They hum, looking around the cafe quickly.

“Really?? From how Slingshot talked about you, I figured you had at least exchanged names by now..” Shuriken pauses, a contemplative look on his face now as well. “Though, he didn’t actually say your name when he was talking about you…” 

They shrug, giving Shuriken a sheepish look. “To be fair, I don’t really talk a lot aside from ordering my tea.. I think this is the most I’ve talked with someone that doesn’t work with me.” They pause, shooting Slingshot a curious look before glancing back over at Shuriken. “Also, you mentioned it before, but Slingshot talks about me??” 

“Dang dude, that’s kind of sad honestly. Has anyone told you, you need to get out more?” Shuriken bluntly says, making them flush and stutter in embarrassment. “Anyways, yeah he talks a bit about you. Mainly just knows you now and your order… I think he said something about watching you gain more confidence, I can’t really remember right now.” 

Shuriken hears them mumble an embarrassed ‘ I’m working on it, okay..’ before subtly clearing their throat. “I honestly wasn’t expecting them to take notice.. I’m a pretty nervous guy so..” They pause for a bit again, looking a bit nervous. “Oh, I don’t know how to insert this normally in so.. I use male pronouns, um.. If you were wondering.” They rub the back of their neck, a nervous tick probably. 

“Gotcha dude. I was just using gender neutral in my head, can never be too certain honestly.” Shuriken gives them a thumbs up and a smile. “Same for me, and you already know Sling’s I’m guessing.” 

“Yeah, can’t go assuming huh..” He gives him a small smile, much more confident then the first one he gave him when they started talking. “Well, I’m glad I got that off my chest.. It was nice talking to you, Shuriken.” 

“Same! Hope you enjoy your tea, dude.” Shuriken says, giving him a wave before scurrying over to the counter and behind it. 

Just as he’s about to start pilfering for free pastries again, Slingshot looks over. Slingshot gives him an unimpressed look, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Shuri.. The pastries..” He says, narrowing his eyes at him. Shuriken stares at Slingshot, before shoving a pastry into his mouth. Slingshot just sighs and facepalms. “It’s like trying to convince a rock to move..”

[Spatula]

Spatula lets out a heavy sigh into his tea as he sips onto it, watching Shuriken and Slingshot briefly squabble from where he sits. The conversation went better than he was expecting, though to be honest he should’ve realized it wasn’t as big of a deal as he was telling himself it was. The awkward staredown from the first time he came into the cafe was genuinely haunting him every time he came in, and he found himself starting to be relieved when it was Vinestaff working instead of Shuriken. Now, though, he is finally relieved of that embarrassing burden, able to enter without worrying about an awkward encounter with Shuriken or being told that his presence made him uncomfortable.

Putting down his Black tea, Spatula stares into what's left of it ( which really isn’t a lot by this point, he’s been there for a while now ) a bit solemnly. He’s aware it was never going to be easy actually making his way into society instead of holing away inside of his apartment, but dang it couldn’t it have been easier ?! All this stress over one interaction, and he still only really talks to his coworkers.. He lets out another sigh, this one much quieter as he takes out his spatula and stares at his reflection on the metal. If only this whole isekai or reincarnation or whatever happened to him could have made him a bit more confi- 

“Hello there!” Spatula’s thoughts are abruptly cut-off as a demon in a business suit greets him. He just barely is able to bite his tongue to keep from making some sort of embarrassing noise or scream. The business demon just waits patiently as Spatula flails in surprise and composes himself, watching him with a plastic looking smile. “Sorry to pop in, but I couldn’t help but overhear a bit of your conversation with the staff!”

“A-Ah…Huh?” Spatula mumbles, giving them a wide-eyed stare while gripping his spatula tightly. 

“I heard mention that you need to get out more, and thought I might help you out a bit!” They say, unfolding a piece of paper from their suit pocket. They hold it out to Spatula, and he hesitantly takes it, looking at what he sees now is a flier. “I’m a part of an improvement club, one that aims to help demons like you gain more confidence and strength. We offer a get-away focused on improving one's body and one’s skill, especially those with Gear not tailored towards combat.”

Spatula puts the flier down on his table, not really comprehending it as he looks up at the business demon. “Um…Thank you for the offer, but I’m not sure this would be something I’m interested in..” He mumbles, glancing away at the plastic smile on their face. 

“Ah don’t say that now! You haven’t even seen how much it has helped other demons!” They wave off Spatula’s admittedly weak refusal, the smile still on their face. “Just think on it, and call the number on the bottom of that flier if you change your mind.”

They put out their hand, Spatula staring at it before hesitantly shaking it. They shake his hand up and down rapidly, gripping it tightly, before releasing. They shoot Spatula fake looking grin before speeding out of the cafe ( were they even a customer??? Spatula genuinely has no clue if they even ordered anything before leaving. ). Spatula just stares at the door for a moment, shaking out his hand absent-mindedly. He blinks down at the flier they handed him, raising an eyebrow at how shady it looks overall.

Like they said, it advertises a supposed get-away to improve one’s ability with their Gear, as well as a community for those who’s Gear aren’t suited for combat but wish to make a difference in the world. What really makes it sketchy ( aside from the weirdness of the one who gave Spatula the flier in the first place ) was the location. Lost Temple isn’t exactly what one would call a retreat or get away destination, though that is just what Spatula knows from Before. Not to mention the wording on it; Somewhere nearby Lost Temple? It doesn’t have a specific location, which immediately raises so many flags to him. 

While he has no plans to actually take up this offer, it’s interesting enough that he might as well just keep the flier with him. Who knows, when he looks it up it could just be completely normal and the flier was just poorly worded. IF that is the case, then a retreat outside of Crossroads could do him some good. Folding the flier neatly and stuffing it into his jean pocket, Spatula gives Slingshot and Shuriken a wave and a nod as he exits the cafe, speed walking back to his apartment. He has done more than enough talking with new people for the day.

The walk back to his apartment is uninterrupted, thankfully, and Spatula is able to speed up the stairs and to his door, opening it hastily. Once he closes the door behind him, he lets out a loud sigh, dragging a hand down his face and scrubbing at one eye. All that talking with new people really drained his social battery, if it weren’t for the fact he’s committed to actually trying , he’s sure he wouldn’t be outside of his apartment willingly for a couple of days. Throwing his spatula on what is basically its chair by this point, he makes himself a nice and easy Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich for dinner. 

Sitting alone in his apartment, despite how socially tired he feels, he can’t help but feel accomplished as he munches on his sandwich. It’ll be nice to have actual friends and things to do that aren’t just.. This . Finishing up his dinner, he quickly does his nightly routine, briefly breaking it to grab his spatula and clean it for the week. He then hurries into his bedroom, flopping bonelessly onto his bed and grabbing his phone to scroll for a bit. Eventually, though he isn’t quite sure when it happens, he falls asleep watching a cute cat video that popped up onto his feed. 

Chapter Text

  ‘ The sun must hate me, I swear to God..’ Spatula lets out a tired groan, throwing one arm over his eyes to block out the sun's rays as they blast into his retinas and make themselves at home. It happens every morning he sleeps in and honestly.. ‘ Wait. WAIT…! ’ Spatula jolts upright out of bed in a panic, face planting in his attempts to quickly leave his cocoon of the blankets. 

Ignore the pain in his face, he swiftly gets dressed, throwing on a hoodie as he rushes into the bathroom. Quickly putting on some socks while simultaneously trying to brush his teeth ( which may or may not have almost resulted in him shoving his sock in his mouth ), he just as quickly exits the bathroom. He grabs his spatula that’s sitting on its chair, and then shovels a single handful of dry cereal into his mouth for his breakfast, shoving his shoes haphazardly on as he jerks open his apartment door and slams it closed behind him. 

Spatula quickly runs towards his job, tripping from how quickly he shoved his shoes on, getting up just to decide he can’t deal with them… And tripping again eventually. ‘ I can’t believe I slept in! I mean it was bound to happen eventually but.. Man..’  

Finally he makes his way to his job, bursting through the doors and giving Punk a nod as he scurries into the back room. He quickly clocks in, putting on an apron and brandishing his spatula as he immediately gets out a couple of patties and begins cooking them. From the corner of his eye he sees Chocolate Milk giving him a half-hearted wave as a greeting, doing their best to grill ribs and cook some patties to cover for him. Spatula returns it, equally as distracted as he focuses on not burning the patties.

The hours whittle away as the two of them furiously cook in the back, with Chocolate Milk eventually filling the silence as they no longer have to cook two things at once. Spatula lets their chattering wash over him, letting out little hums and nodding along to what they’re saying when they go quiet, just to show he’s actually listening. 

“...and that’s how I broke my arm for the second time. Didn’t stop me from trying again after it was all healed though. I just knew I was close too.. Hm?” They suddenly stop, making Spatula turn his head to look over at them briefly curiously. They’re looking at the clock, which must mean.. “Aw sick, it's my lunch break! I’ll see ya after I’m finished, ‘Spat!” 

Spatula gives them a half-hearted wave, moving over to take a bit of space at their grill as they quickly bolt out of the kitchen. Since the place is so understaffed, they take turns going to lunch as the day goes on, only one person allowed to be on break at any time. When Spatula was hired, the other two told him who was on lunch first was decided through drawing straws, shortest one wins. Before he joined, Punk had the first lunch, and the old cook had the last. This time Chocolate Milk got lucky and pulled the shortest one first, with Punk drawing the longest one, leaving Spatula straight in the middle.

Spatula lets out a deep sigh, flipping the patties on his stove before turning his attention towards the grill. The worst part of the day is when Chocolate Milk is out of the kitchen, mainly because that means Spatula has to cook and prepare both the ribs and burgers they serve… and well, it gets boring in the kitchen without them there. Besides, out of his two coworkers, he’s closest with Chocolate Milk and knows them better than Punk. Consequences of being the only two cooks… Well, cook and intern. Actually, with them being an intern, Spatula wonders what they are being paid (if at all) at this job. 

The minutes whittle by as Spatula entertains himself with his thoughts, focused on the food hard enough that he barely realizes that Chocolate Milk has been gone longer than their break time allows. Turning the stove off, putting the uncooked patties and ribs away for now, Spatula gives his ‘Gear’ a rinse before hanging it from a loop on his belt and leaves the kitchen. He blinks in shock at the scene before him, one hand resting on the handle of his spatula as he stands by Punk.

An all-out brawl has somehow started in the dining area, with Chocolate Milk right smack dab in the middle of it. They let out a loud hyena laugh as they punch someone in the face, before letting out a groan as they are punched in the stomach in return. Other patrons have joined in, either in the brawl with/against Chocolate Milk, or just taking advantage of the chaos to start brawls of their own. Spatula just watches, baffled on how this all happened, as Punk crosses her arms next to him.

“I was wondering when you were going to come out of the kitchen, ‘Spat.” She says lightly, watching as Chocolate Milk is launched across the dining area, only to get up and rush at the demon who threw them with a grin on their face. Spatula just blinks in response, too stunned to comment on the dreaded nickname. “Get lost in your head back there? They aren’t exactly being quiet with all this fighting, you know?” 

“Uh… Yeah.. Guess I got too focused on what I was doing to not notice all of this .” He gestures towards the multiple fights taking place, still a bit shocked. “What even happened?? Last I knew Milk was eating lunch and people were still ordering food.” 

“Ah.. Some demon insulted Milk’s makeup, which in turn made them insult theirs..” Punk starts, rolling her eyes. “Said demon’s partner didn’t take too kindly to Milk calling them, and I quote: ‘As brightly oranged as the tip of Firebrand’s sword.’ and demanded they apologize. Milk said no and the two argued for a bit, before the first demon decided they had enough and just punched Milk in the face. I think you can guess where it led from there.”

Spatula just stares in silence for a while, as the fights get more violent, with people picking up chairs and using them to hit other demons. “Um… Shouldn’t we like, y’know.. Intervene or something?” 

The two of them then watch Chocolate Milk grab a demon into a head lock and then slam them into a table, breaking it, all the while laughing like crazy. “...Do you honestly want to get into the middle of all of that?” 

“...Well, I mean, won’t the boss get mad at us for all of this?” 

“I guess…. But only if we are here and doing nothing.” Punk smirks, turning to face Spatula with a devious glint in her eyes. “I say we just bail, the boss can’t fire Milk for now, especially not when they were attacked first. Won’t help us to get in trouble with them, yeah?” 

“But what about Milk? I don’t want them getting seriously hurt from all of this, they’re my friend!” Spatula wrings his hands nervously, looking out to where Chocolate Milk is currently beating on some poor demon’s face. Punk just rolls her eyes at him, looking at them as well and cupping her hands around her mouth. 

“Hey! Do you need any help or are you all good here, Milk?!”

Chocolate Milk stops punching the demon in the face to give her a grin and a thumbs-up. “Nah! I’m all good! This is the most fun I’ve had in a WHILE!” They’re tackled off of the demon, the one tackling them letting out a war cry. Punk just turns her attention towards Spatula and raises one eyebrow at him.

“Oh..” Spatula gives her a nervous smile. “I.. Guess we can just bail.. Where are we going though?” 

Punk hums as she leads him back into the kitchen, standing in front of the door that leads to the employee lounge. She takes off her apron, handing it to Spatula as she continues thinking. “Hm.. Where have you been so far in CrossRoads?” 

“Not very many places, to be honest.” Spatula sheepishly says, grabbing the employee hat Punk takes off. “I’ve been to the Skatepark and to Slingshot’s Cafe, that’s really about it.. Unless you want to count work and my own place?” 

“Eugh, definitely not..” She says, wrinkling her nose at him as she opens the lounge door behind her. “Well, today we are adding a third place. Don’t know if you heard about it, but there’s a sick arcade not that far away. If you watch Phights you might recognize it, as it’s been featured in a couple of rounds before.”

“I think I know what you are talking about..” Spatula mumbles, squinting his eyes as he dusts off his mainly empty memories from Before. There was, if he was remembering correctly, a map in the game that was an arcade..  

“Okay good, now go stand by the kitchen doors. I have to change out of my work uniform and back into my regular clothes, it shouldn't take too long.” She makes a shoo-ing motion with her hand, closing the door slowly. Spatula just gives her a nod, turning around and staring out the small window on the kitchen door. 

After a small wait, the employee lounge door opens with the hinges creaking a bit, making him turn his head. Punk closes the door behind her, living up to her Gear’s name with how she dresses. She is very obviously punk, with an extra emphasis on the color purple and spikes with the spiked septum and collar she’s wearing. From how she explained it, when Spatula asked why only she had a uniform, the boss thought her image was too striking for everyday customers. Thus the need for a work uniform, just to make her look more approachable or something. Honestly, Spatula thinks she looks more approachable out of uniform, but he also thinks getting 3 hours of sleep is normal so what does he know, really. 

As he was stuck in his thoughts, Punk had approached him and taken her work hat and apron away from him, going back into the lounge to put them away. Internally shaking his head to clear it, Spatula unties his apron and hands it to her, letting her hang it up next to hers.

“Alright, let’s go out the back so we don’t have to push our way through the mess out front.” She leads him over towards the back entrance, opening the door. “Since you don’t know where it is, I’ll be leading you to the arcade. We’ll have to take the bus to get there, but it shouldn’t take long for us to get there.” 

The two of them leave through the back door, Punk leading the way as Spatula follows closely behind her. His hand stays on the handle of his spatula as he hunches his shoulders nervously, having never really used the bus system in CrossRoad’s yet. So far all the places he’s been to have been within a reasonable walking distance, with the Skatepark being the farthest he’s been so far. Punk pays his nervousness no mind as she leads him to the bus stop, sitting down and crossing her arms as she waits for the bus, while he stands awkwardly next to the bench. 

The two of them wait in silence for a bit, other demons coming to the stop to wait for the bus with them, before Punk breaks it. 

“So.. What have you been up to, exactly? I know you said you have been to the Skatepark and Slingshot’s, but that’s all I know.” She looks up at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Not much, as you might have guessed. Just kind of work and staying at home.. When I go out I normally just kind of sit in silence or on my phone.” Spatula shrugs, glancing nervously around as he shuffles just a bit closer to the bench Punk is on. She gives him a very unimpressed look. 

“Hm, I should’ve expected that honestly. From how you act at work, you never gave the impression that you were a very active or social guy..” She shrugs, still looking largely unimpressed with Spatula’s lackluster life. “It’s a bit surprising knowing you are friends with a demon like Chocolate Milk, and are still pretty reclusive though. Would’ve thought by now that they would have dragged you all around CrossRoad’s to hang out and show you around.”

“Well, I mean.. They did drag me to the Skatepark and are the reason I still go..” He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, looking away a bit embarrassedly. “I think they’re just a bit unsure how to get me out of my bubble..” 

Punk just hums, and lets the conversation die for a minute, before picking it back up. 

“What do you do then, on your phone or at home? Gotta be something to spend so much time on, yeah?” 

“I look into a lot of Faction news, as well as just kind of.. Scroll for memes.” He shrugs once more, a bit helplessly as he’s confronted with the fact he needs an actual hobby. “Um.. Aside from that, I guess I cook a bit?? I haven’t really done much aside from work since getting to CrossRoad’s, to be honest..” 

“Really?” She frowns at him, looking a bit concerned, which… Fair. “What did you do before you came to CrossRoad’s, then? You had to have some hobbies before moving here.” 

“Er…” Spatula narrows his eyes in thought, averting his gaze as he scours his memory. It takes a bit before he’s able to actually dig up something about himself from Before. An image flashes through his head, a water can pouring water out onto some kind of plant, the plant too fuzzy to actually identify anything aside from green. “I.. Gardened a bit? Watered a lot of plants, and had a couple indoors… I think.” He mutters the last part to himself, making sure to be quiet enough to not be overheard.

“Hm…” Punk gives him a curious look from how uncertain he sounds. “You haven’t had the time to get a couple of plants since moving, I’m guessing. Maybe we should get you a couple of plants after we go to the arcade, give you something to do..” 

“O-Oh, we really don’t have to do that…”

“‘Spat, you definitely need some sort of hobby aside from work. Getting you a plant isn’t going to hurt at all.” Punk gives him a stern look, making him shrink a bit into himself embarrassedly. “Sword’s, have you been telling everyone who asks that your hobby is work?” She doesn’t give him any time to answer (not that he can really come up with one, as he’s too busy embarrassedly stuttering), putting a hand on her face exasperatedly. “You definitely have been.. For the sake of yourself, your pride, and any other good demon out there who meets you, we are getting you a plant.”

After a few more seconds of embarrassedly stuttering, Spatula calms down enough to give her a grateful smile. “Thanks Punk.. Didn’t know you, um, cared so much.. No offense! Just didn’t think we were that close..” 

Punk shrugs, fiddling with the chain hanging from her spiked collar absent-mindedly. 

“Eh, it's no problem.. You kind of give off wet cat vibes, makes me want to help you.” 

“Wh…HUH?!” Spatula splutters out, giving her a wide-eyed look. However, before either of them can continue the bus finally pulls up, demons pouring out and on. Punk stands up quickly, grabbing Spatula’s hand and bulldozing her way inside of the bus and into the back. 

It’s a relatively quick ride to the Arcade, with Punk absolutely refusing to acknowledge her ( admittedly accurate ) assessment of Spatula, and instead pointing out fun facts about their surroundings as they pass them. Spatula eventually gives up trying to get her to talk about it, instead ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘ahh-ing’ at everything she points out politely. As soon as the bus stops, however, she is immediately pulling Spatula up and out of his seat, striding towards the doors and out of them without a care for how many demon’s she’s pushed aside, while Spatula throws apologies behind them. The two of them quickly walk towards the Arcade, with Punk leading Spatula through a ton of back alleyways in the name of short cuts. 

Finally, they arrive at the Arcade, the bright lights making Spatula squint briefly from how overwhelming they are. Punk throws out one arm in a sort of ‘ta-da!’ gesture, a small smirk on her face from Spatula’s reaction.

“First impressions, how are they? How’s it look, just like you imagined?” She questions, crossing her arms a bit smugly across her chest. Spatula gives her an amused look, and lets out a playful hum. 

“I dunno… Thought it would be a bit more.. Flashy.” He says amusedly, tilting his head towards the lights as if there weren’t enough. She just chuckles at him, before tugging on his arm towards the doors. 

“‘Cmon, big shot, you’ll get all your flashy indoors. The outside was just the appetizer to this place.” Punk tugs him through the doors, the two of them taking a stop at the counter near the entrance to buy enough tokens to last them a couple of games. 

From there, Punk leads him around, showing off all of her favorite games (‘I’ve probably played about 100 games on the Roll ‘Em machines. Not to brag, but I think I’m pretty good at it!’) and some of her absolute least favorites, mainly to try and convince him to not play them (‘I hate all these one’s about winning jackpots, like Dinner Plate. If I wanted to gamble I wouldn’t go to an Arcade.’). The two of them play a couple of team games, with Punk mainly dominating against him, but every so often he gets a win, which never fails to make Punk dramatically grumble in mock anger.

The two of them play for a good solid few hours, and even though he got majorly wrecked at a vast majority of the games they played, Spatula still had a good time. Before all of this, he didn’t really know Punk all that well aside from being a coworker, but now he can safely say they’re friends. Especially since Punk stook by her word and dragged him over to a nearby plant store to get him one. 

Punk holds up a succulent, giving him a curious look. 

“What do you think about this one?” 

“Eh.. Succulents are kind of basic starting out..” Spatula shrugs, looking at the succulent. “It looks to be in good condition, but I don’t know..” 

“I heard they’re easy to take care of, wouldn’t cut into all of that work you so love to do.” She shakes it a bit to emphasize, wiggling her eyebrows at him. “Look at the little guy, he’s just begging to be taken home with you.” 

Spatula gives her a flat look.

“Mhm.. I can just see it in his lovely leaf eyes. So much desperation in them, so much pain.” Punk snickers at his deadpan tone and serious expression, making him lose his composure and smile as well. “But seriously, I don’t want just a succulent, y'know? I want something with a bit more color to it.” 

Punk just lets out a hum, putting down the bedraggled succulent, and stands by Spatula. The two of them stare at the succulents for a moment, with him not knowing really what he wants to get. It can’t be too hard to take care of, as it’ll surely die with how his schedule is right now. While he has plenty of time to just relax at home, a vast majority of it is spent just lying in bed and scrolling on his phone, prime time to just forget about everything.. Which would include a fancy watering schedule for any complex plants he gets. This isn’t even mentioning the amount of time he actually does spend at work, often taking overtime shifts for lack of anything to do at home. As the two of them are just staring at the plants, a demon approaches from behind.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but just overhear a bit of your conversation..” A voice comes from behind the two of them, making Spatula jolt and whip around. Punk turns around more sedately, giving no outward expression that she was surprised at all. Vinestaff stands there, a shopping cart with a bag of fertilizer inside of it. She gives the two of them a wave, eyebrows briefly raising in slight shock as she recognizes Spatula. “Oh! It’s you, from the cafe!” 

Spatula gives her a small wave back, relaxing a bit from his normal hunched over position. “Hi there…Er, I don’t think we ever introduced ourselves to each other. My name is Spatula..” 

“Oh, have we really not?” Vinestaff’s eyebrows scrunch as she thinks on it, eyes widening as she realizes he’s right. “We haven’t! Well then, my name’s Vinestaff! It’s nice to actually meet you, Spatula.” She then turns her attention towards Punk. “And you are?”

Punk gives Spatula a raised eyebrow, a curious look on her face as she glances between the two of them. “The name’s Punk Wrist Cuff, but everyone calls me Punk.” She extends a hand out towards Vinestaff, and the two shake hands. She then tilts her head a bit slightly towards Spatula, the curious look still on her face. “So, how did you meet our resident hermit ‘Spat here?” 

Spatula blushes a bit embarrassed from being called a hermit, but can’t outright refuse it since it’s technically right. Vinestaff just gives the two of them an amused smile. “I work at Slingshot’s Cafe, Spatula has come in a few times and has made a bit of an impression on Slingshot.”

“Ah, that makes a lot of sense now.” Punk hums, crossing her arms over her chest idly, and smirks a bit. “I can’t imagine Spatula actually meeting anyone outside of the two places he’s been.. And judging from the fact you two had to introduce yourselves to each other, he’s about as social as a rock over there too, huh?” 

Vinestaff chuckles a bit as Spatula’s face heats up even more. He gives Punk a playful glare, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing dramatically. Vinestaff chuckles a bit more before turning a curious gaze onto Punk.  “That sounds about right from what I’ve seen of him so far.. How do you two know each other?” 

“I’m his coworker. He works the kitchen and I work the front.” She says, shrugging a bit. Vinestaff hums in acknowledgement, a small smile on her face. Before the (completely embarrassing) conversation can continue, Spatula clears his throat loudly, face still a little red from the teasing.

“Anyways, what was it you wanted to tell us, Vinestaff?” 

“Oh right!” She says, standing up a bit straighter. “I happened to overhear a bit of your conversation, mainly the part about wanting a nice starter plant that wasn’t exactly like a succulent.” She moves away from her cart, the two of them making space for her to walk between them to look at the succulent table. ‘ Man, how many people are going to overhear my conversations.. ’ Spatula can’t help but think to himself as Vinestaff searches.  

After a bit of looking, she suddenly lets out a small ‘a-ha!’ noise and picks out a small, pink looking succulent, holding it up so they can see it better. “What do you think about this one?” 

Spatula blinks at the small succulent, taking it out of her hands. He examines the plant as thoroughly as he can with what he remembers, looking for any signs of overwatering and new growths on the plant. Once he’s done with his inspection he gives Vinestaff a smile. “This one will do nicely, I think.. What’s it called? It’s easy to take care of right?” 

“It’s a Pink Tradescantia, it doesn’t require intense care at all so it should work perfectly with your schedule.” She waves off his worries, walking back over to her cart. Spatula lets out a quiet sigh, holding the plant gently.

“Thanks for your help, Vinestaff. This’ll really liven up my apartment, I think.” He gives her another smile, glancing down towards the plant happily. Vinestaff gives him a kind smile in return, before beginning to push her cart away. 

“It’s really no problem. I hope you enjoy your new plant friend, and I’ll see you at the cafe!” She gives the two of them a cheerful wave that they return, and pushes her cart off to the tools section of the store. 

Punk slaps Spatula playfully on the back, giving him a wide smile as he jolts from it and cradles the plant protectively against his chest. “Well, I’m glad Vinestaff helped us out. I thought we were going to be standing here for hours looking at plants.” 

Spatula gives her a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Sorry about that, Punk..” 

“Nah, don’t worry about it!” She immediately waves off his apology, and begins dragging him towards the checkout. “I’m happy to be spending time with you, honestly.I would’ve had a great time staring at plants for hours with you. You’re a fun guy when you aren’t overfilled with nerves, ‘Spat.” 

Spatula gives her a grateful smile as he checks out his plant, letting her lead him out the door. The two of them stand there for a minute, realizing they now have no plans. Eventually, Spatula shyly brings up going to the Skatepark to relax, and Punk enthusiastically jumps onto the idea, dragging him away almost as soon as the idea is out of his mouth. As they walk to the Skatepark, Punk pries a bit of history out of Spatula, just some stuff that he can remember, like his favorite color ( purple) and his favorite food ( oranges ). Before they can make it too far, however, they are interrupted by someone yelling after them. 

“Heyyyy! Guys! Is that you?!” The two of them turn around, only to see Chocolate Milk barreling after them. Their face is all bandaged up, as well as their hands which are cupped around their mouth. Despite this, they have a gigantic grin on their face as they run towards them. “I thought I recognized Punk’s purple clothes!” 

Punk rolls her eyes playfully, crossing her arms across her chest as Spatula perks up a bit, one hand cradling the plant while the other waves at Chocolate Milk. “Milk?! I wasn’t expecting to see you here, buddy! How are you, not too hurt right?”

Chocolate Milk speeds up, finally meeting up with where they are standing. They put their hands on their pants, panting for a bit as they catch their breath. After a moment, they straighten up, the grin still on their face. “‘Spat, dude, I am literally so good. That was the most fun I have ever had in for-EVER!” They wave their arms around excitedly, making Spatula back up to avoid getting hit. “Anyways! What have you guys been up to? I figured you guys bailed not long after we talked, which I totally understand. The boss was super mad at the customers after they learned they punched me in the face, especially the ones who started breaking tables and chairs! You did NOT want to be there, let me tell you that!” 

“A-Ah.. We haven’t been doing much honestly..” Spatula starts, a bit overwhelmed by the sudden enthusiasm at first. “Punk took me to an arcade, I bought myself a plant because of Punk’s suggestion, and we are just now going to hang out at the Skatepark.”

“No way! You guys were going to go to the Skatepark without me?!” Chocolate Milk clutches his heart dramatically, falling to his knees. “I thought we were friends, man! How could you do this to me!” 

Before Spatula can respond with something equally as dramatic, Punk steps forward and nudges Chocolate Milk, to which they flop over like they’ve been killed. “Stop being dramatic and get up off the floor. The sensible demons are staring at us.” 

Chocolate Milk lets out a ‘blegh’ noise, while Punk rolls her eyes at them. Spatula chuckles, shaking his head as he adjusts his hold on his plant. After a moment of laying there, they finally hop up, dusting off their pants and adjusting their clothes. “Anyways, I’m sure you guys don’t mind me tagging along, right?” 

Spatula gives them a thumbs-up, while Punk nods her head. They brighten up further, slinging an arm around each of their shoulders and dragging them forward closer to the Skatepark. Spatula looks around as they chatter in his ear, watching as demons pass by on their skateboards. Eventually he spots Skateboard doing tricks a ways away from where the trio are walking. When Skateboard looks up, he raises his hand a bit to give him a slight wave, before he’s pulled away by Chocolate Milk and Punk again.

The trio wander around the Skatepark until the sun starts setting, just chatting as they walk along. Chocolate Milk gave them a more in-depth retell of what actually went down after they left and how the boss reacted. Apparently, not long after they left, the boss had barged in after several noise complaints were put in, and had summarily broken up all the fighting. For a second it was looking like they were going to let go of Chocolate Milk, but then other demons stepped forward and gave their testimonies, telling how they were attacked first and were therefore simply acting in self defense afterwards. The boss had to relent to that, suspending them for a few days…After they fix up the dining area first, of course. The fights had broken a majority of the tables and almost all of the chairs, as of right now the place is in no condition to be serving demons. For the next few days they’ll be free to do whatever while the place is being repaired (read: tables and chairs ordered and delivered). 

As soon as the sun started setting, however, it was time to go. Punk split off early from the group, a fan of taking the bus more than walking, so it was just the two of them, Chocolate Milk and Spatula, walking back. The two of them walked for a bit in silence, Spatula enjoying the quiet after a noisy day.

“I’m really glad that you are getting out more, dude.” Chocolate Milk breaks the silence, looking over at him. “Had me worried seeing you work yourself to death for that first week. Thought I was going to have to call the hospital to come take you and make you relax a couple times there.” 

Spatula lets out a low chuckle, fiddling with the handle of his ‘Gear’. “I am too… It’s been nice seeing more of CrossRoad’s aside from my dingy apartment and work..” 

The two walk a bit more in silence, digesting their thoughts. “I’ve seen a bit of an improvement, since you started going out ‘Spat.” Chocolate Milk begins, walking a bit ahead of him. “You’re a bit more confident, talk a lot more. I’m proud of you.” 

Spatula chuckles a bit, a smile on his face. “You sound like a dad there. Better not start telling dad jokes!” 

“Nah, seriously man!” They turn around, walking backwards to face Spatula. “I’m like, legit proud of you dude! You’ve made some serious progress.” 

“Pfft, whatever, just don’t hit any light poles walking like that. You’re beat enough as is.” Spatula rolls his eyes playfully at them, shaking his head lightly. 

“Whateverrrr, you’ll see it one day. You’ll look back and be like ‘Oh man, was I really like?! I’m so different now!” Chocolate Milk turns back around, just in time to avoid walking into a light pole like Spatula warned. Spatula chuckles at them as they stop. “I’ll see ya tomorrow?”

“If you got some place to go, Milk.” Spatula shrugs, a small smile still on his face. “I’m chill to do almost anything.” 

“I’ll hold you too that!” They grin at him, slapping him on the shoulder playfully. “I’ll meet you at Slingshot’s Cafe tomorrow then! Don’t be late!” They give him a wave as they turn around and start jogging back to where they live. 

Spatula stares for a bit after them, before shaking his head amusedly and continuing on his way to his apartment. The sun by now has almost fully set, just barely peeking out over the horizon. It isn’t the first time he’s walking alone back home, but it’s markedly different from the others. It feels much lighter to be walking back, the good mood of the day still bouncing around his head. Normally it feels a bit melancholic walking home alone and arriving to an empty apartment, but at this moment Spatula doesn’t feel an ounce of sadness. Especially since after today he’ll have something to return home too, even if it is just a potted plant. He walks the rest of the way to his apartment with a smile on his face, cradling the succulent in one arm.

Entering his apartment, he firstly puts the potted plant in a spot he thinks should be suitable for it, below the kitchen window. It’s not directly in the sunlight, but it’s also not hidden away in a dark corner, of which he has many . Afterwards he throws his spatula back onto its chair in the living room, entering the kitchen again to make a quick dinner. Before he can even think on what exactly he wants to make, he blinks at the flier on his kitchen table, which he completely forgot about. 

“Oh yeah.. That weird demon gave me this thing..” He mumbles to himself, picking it up and squinting at it. For a moment, he contemplates just simply throwing it away. It’s obviously a front for something more sinister, and he does not want to get involved with whatever it is.. However, on the other hand he has no vague sense of knowing what this flier could possibly be about. Nothing in his Before memories are triggering, this flier and what it’s mentioning is a completely new thing, which doesn’t happen often for him. As such… “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look this up, at the least..” 

He takes the flier with him to his room, all thoughts about dinner forgotten and replaced with theories about what this is linked to. He briefly puts it down on his dresser to swiftly go into his bathroom and do his nightly routine, rushing slightly because of the mystery of it all. Picking it back up once he exits, he flops down onto his bed, leaving the lights on to see the words on it. After a moment of dreadfully staring at the phone number and thinking he’ll have to call it, he turns the flier over curiously and finds a website and email address also listed.

“Okay, well.. I wasn’t expecting that. They didn’t even try to cover it up, huh..” He blinks down at the website, proudly declaring the 'Angel' will help them improve themselves. "And I didn't even have to do any digging."

Chapter Text

Spatula groans, throwing an arm over his eyes as the sunlight streams through his bedroom window. Turning onto his side, he lets out a tired yawn, mind drifting aimlessly as he lies there. Just as he’s about to fall asleep, his phone uncharacteristically starts ringing, the noise jolting him out of the light doze he worked himself into. He rubs his eyes as he palms his nightstand, knocking over the case that holds his ( rarely used ) glasses as he searches blindly for his phone. Eventually he finds it, just in time as it was about to redirect whoever was calling him to voicemail. 

“Y’ello?” He sleepily says into his phone, still mentally shaking himself awake after a long night of deepdiving on his phone. 

“‘Spat? Is that you?” Chocolate Milk says on the other end, sounding a tad concerned. “Where are you dude? I’ve been trying to call you for hours now!” 

Spatula blinks as his brain processes what they’re saying, glancing over at his window to see the sun squarely in the sky. “Um… I’m at my apartment, I just woke up. What time is it?”

“Dude, you’ve been asleep for that long?! It’s the middle of the day man, when you didn’t answer my first text I thought you got kidnapped or something!” 

“Is it really that late..?” He says a bit baffled, getting up and out of bed finally. He idly grabs his glasses case, putting it back onto the nightstand and jamming his phone between his face and shoulder. “I’m so sorry Milk, I must have slept through my alarms and your calls.. Have you been waiting long?” 

“For a bit, after sending the first couple of texts. When I got no answer that’s when I got worried, you’re normally on top of that.. That’s also when I realized I didn’t know where you lived so I couldn’t even check up on you.” There is some shuffling from the other end, a bit of muffled chatter making its way through. “After that, I called up Punk and we started looking around for you.” 

“Is that who’s on the other end?” He asks, grabbing a clean pair of clothes and shuffling out of his bedroom into his bathroom, putting the phone on speaker as he lays it down on the counter to put his contacts in. 

“Oh you can hear them?” Chocolate Milk questions, before more shuffling and some muttering. All of a sudden Spatula can hear a couple of voices he recognizes coming over the phone. The most easily recognizable is Punk’s, but he can also hear Slingshot, Vinestaff, Shuriken, and one other he can’t place. “ Hey guys! I put the phone on speaker, Spatula can hear you now! ” 

More shuffling, presumably one of them coming closer to the phone to speak. 

“Spatula, is that really you??” Punk’s voice comes from the other end, a concerned-but-relieved note in her voice.

“Y-Yeah it’s me.. Who else did you guys gather to look for me??” He says, briefly pausing while putting in his contacts to give the phone a shocked look. It’s a bit of a shock for him, seeing as he has suddenly gone from approximately one friend to a bit more, with people caring about him if he goes silent all of a sudden. 

“Well, we didn’t really gather them, per se. When Milk got me, we first looked around Slingshot’s Cafe, and ended up telling him that we were looking for you. He offered to help, and then Vinestaff and Shuriken tagged along as well, with them just closing the cafe for the time being.. And then a friend of theirs, BoomBox was it? They were at the cafe when we barged in looking for you, and decided to join our search party as well..” 

“A-Ah…” While he heard their voices over the phone, it’s just now hitting him that demons he’s barely interacted with, went out of their way to actually help look for him with his friends/coworkers. “S-Sorry then, to cause all of this trouble.. Didn’t mean to worry you guys, honestly. I just got caught up in something last night and then slept in way later than I intended..”

“Your good dude!” Shuriken’s voice comes from the phone suddenly, a lot more shuffling happening over the phone as it's either transferred over or stolen from Punk.. Spatula is guessing it was stolen as he can hear her grumbling in the background. “This is the most exciting thing that's happened so far today.. And I really gotta thank you for getting me free time off from working.” 

The phone is once more snatched away, with Shuriken letting out a bit of a yelp from the other side as it's taken. 

“I believe what my brother is trying to say is that it was no problem at all.” Vinestaff’s voice comes from the other end now, while someone ( BoomBox maybe? ) snickers in the background at Shuriken’s whining. “We’re just grateful to hear that you’re okay and it was just a bit of a misunderstanding.” 

“Thank you guys..” Spatula says a bit sheepishly, grabbing the phone and turning it off speaker to hold it to his head. He’s a bit embarrassed that he got so absorbed in what he was doing last night that it caused him to sleep in and cause a panic looking for him. “Um, are we still meeting up..?” 

“We totally are, ‘Spat!” Chocolate Milk’s voice comes from the phone again, Vinestaff apparently returning it to them after taking it from her brother. “Got all these people out and about, it would be a waste to just scatter and call it all off after all of this.” 

“Oh, good then! Where should I meet with you guys?”

There’s a bit of muffled discussion on the other end as they work out a place to meet. Spatula waits patiently, putting toothpaste on his toothbrush as he does so. Eventually, a good majority of the talking quiets down, a consensus being met as Chocolate Milk speaks over the phone. 

“Okay so, I think you heard us, but after a bit of discussion we voted to meet at the Skatepark. I think the others are hoping to maybe meet a friend there to drag into this.” 

“Alright then, I’ll meet you all there.” Spatula hears echoes of goodbye’s and same’s over the phone as he hangs up, letting out a bit of a tired sigh as he blinks away the tired still clinging to his eyes. 

As he brushes his teeth, his mind flashes back to what he found on the.. Well, let's just call it by what it very obviously is, the cult website. Like he thought, it wasn’t anything he can recall from Before, with vague allusions on the website about a higher being (the ‘Angel’) and a greater goal aside from self improvement. Nothing on it registered as even vaguely familiar to his foggy memories, and he spent a good amount of time just looking up multiple things mentioned on the website just to see if it was widely known. From what he was able to gather, it’s a relatively obscure group that has only recently started making moves, with multiple social media posts being made talking about being offered the very same flier as Spatula was. Some dismissed it entirely, calling it an obvious prank, while others actually considered going.

The ones who were seriously contemplating and went, Spatula noticed a kind of disturbing trend among them. All of them had non-combat oriented Gear, and were either very vocally upset about their Gear or were social outcasts because of it. It makes sense a starting ( at least it seems like it to him ) cult would go after those beaten down by circumstances in their life. Those isolated, like Spatula was himself, were easy targets as most of the time they would have no one actually looking for them if they were to go missing. What made it even more sinister, in Spatula’s opinion, was the post that all of them would post after they went to the meeting zone ( whatever it was, none ever mentioned one.. ). They all read as off to him, even if he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was exactly. They all talked in some way about leaving society to join the group, with the wording obviously differing from account to account. No matter how much he squinted at the posts, it was as if the demon themself wrote it after suddenly deciding to join the group. 

Looking more into the supposed ‘Angel’ yielded absolutely no results. It didn’t surprise him, but it was frustrating that no matter how much he tried looking it up on the website and off he couldn’t find anything about them. Especially how they were supposedly helping people improve and why they were recruiting people. The lack of reasoning for recruiting was really what baffled him, if he’s honest. Usually with cults there would be some sort of motive you could see once you dived deeper into them, but with this one he couldn’t find anything. It’s obvious they want people, but the reasoning why is still a mystery.

Shaking his head, Spatula quickly finishes what little of his morning routine he has to do, exiting the bathroom and grabbing his ‘Gear’. He puts on his shoes, glancing at his phone and behind him to his apartment before leaving and locking the door. For a brief moment after exiting he got the sensation someone was looking at him, or watching him… But honestly, that could’ve just been his anxiety and nerves acting up. Shrugging it off and pushing it to the back of his mind, he scurries down the steps of his apartment complex and speeds off towards the Skatepark. 

When Spatula arrived at the Skatepark, it was very obvious where his friends were, seeing as Shuriken was currently being chased after by an irate Vinestaff. He jogs up to the group, giving Shuriken and Vinestaff a little wave as they speed past him, a smile growing on his face as they all greet him. Punk stands up from where she was sitting, waiting as he gets a bit closer before speaking. 

“Nice to see you weren’t lying and are actually alive, ‘Spat.” She teases, a smirk on her lips as she crosses her arms across her chest. Spatula just gives her a sheepish shrug, moving to join the group as they watch Vinestaff reclaim her staff from Shuriken after pinning him down finally. 

His gaze is then turned towards Slingshot as he approaches him, BoomBox following behind with a curious look on his face. Slingshot gives Spatula a wide smile as he approaches, which he nervously returns, glancing over to Punk just in time to see her shuffling away to make room for them.

“It’s nice to actually be talking with you, Spatula.” The cat-like demon says, looking a bit excited. Spatula gives him another nervous smile, though he relaxes just a tad. “I know we haven’t introduced ourselves, but I think you know my name, right?” 

“Ah, yeah! Shuriken mentioned you before.. And I kind of figured it out from the cafe sign.” He pauses for a second, realizing that for all that he’s seen Slingshot this really is the first time they are actually formally talking. 

“Haha.. Yeah..” The two of them lapse into an awkward silence, Slingshot’s earlier enthusiasm dying a tad as the smile on his face gets a bit forced. Suddenly, he grabs BoomBox by the shoulder and shoves him in front of him. “Oh right, this is our,” he motions towards Vinestaff and Shuriken, “friend, BoomBox. He helped us look around for you after he heard you were supposedly missing.” 

“‘Sup.” BoomBox gives Spatula a smile and a nod, looking unbothered by the manhandling Slingshot just did. “I’ve heard a bit about you from your friends and mine. It’s nice to put a face to the name, y’know?”

“It’s nice to meet you, BoomBox..” Spatula returns his nod, shuffling a bit closer to Punk, who’s behind him, out of nerves. “Hopefully you’ve heard only good things from them.” He puts on a smile, trying to ease his own anxiety. BoomBox just snorts and gives him a good natured smile. Before he can respond, though, Chocolate Milk slides into the group suddenly.

 “Soooo..” Chocolate Milk shuffles to stand right next to Spatula, putting an arm over his shoulder and jostling him a bit. “What kept you up so long that you slept through like… 30 phone calls from me?” 

Spatula lets out a nervous chuckle, inwardly debating to tell them what he found. ‘ I don’t want to worry them, besides it's not like I’m actually going to contact the cult.. At least I have no plans to do so.. ’ He thinks to himself, as Chocolate Milk jostles him a bit playfully. ‘ ...Maybe I can tell them a little bit, just in case.. ’ 

“I was just looking up something interesting. It was about improving your, um, physical capabilities in combat and stuff.” He lies a bit, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and feeling a bit bad for doing so. “I’m not looking for any trouble but, y’know, just in case..” He trails off, not wanting to continue the lie anymore.

The others blink at him, with Chocolate Milk letting out a hum of understanding as they take their arm off of his shoulder. Punk moves forward a bit, standing a bit closer to Spatula just so he sees the unimpressed look on her face. 

“Was that really why you were late?” She questions, squinting her eyes at him suspiciously, making him sweat a bit. Upon his shaky nod, she finally relents, looking away from him and at Vinestaff and Shuriken as they rejoin the group and catch their breath. “I suppose that makes sense.. You seemed like the cautious type of guy, I’ll be honest.”

“But man, if you wanted to get stronger you could’ve just come to us.” Chocolate Milk butts in, using their arm to motion towards Punk and themself. “I think you saw from yesterday that I’m a pretty good brawler myself, and I’m sure Punk is, like.. Decent at it too.” 

Punk lets out an indignant scoff at that, and pulls them away as Slingshot and Shuriken perk up a bit. 

“Hey, we could help you get a bit stronger, dude. We’re pretty strong, if I do say so myself.” Shuriken puffs out his chest proudly, making Vinestaff shake her head at him. Slingshot nods along to what Shuriken is saying, giving Spatula a thumbs-up when he looks over at him. 

“I-If it wouldn’t be any trouble.. I’d really appreciate it..” Spatula says, giving them a grateful smile. ‘ Besides, if I get into any trouble with this cult, some training would help me big time..’ “When would you guys want to do that, though.. You must be busy with the Phights and the cafe.” 

Shuriken puts a hand on his chin, while Slingshot perks up a bit.

“We could start now!” He suggests, looking excited again as he grabs one of Spatula’s hands and begins dragging him away. “There’s no time like that present, as they say.” 

“Wh… What about the hangout??” Spatula splutters, but doesn’t put up any resistance as Slingshot drags him away, Shuriken idly following behind while Vinestaff goes to tell the others where they are going. “You went through all that trouble to search for me, even closing the cafe for the day, don’t you want to hangout for a bit..?”

“Eh, it’ll be fine.” Shuriken butts in, walking by the two of them with his hands behind his head. “‘Sides, Sling is right, we don’t get many days off so doing it right now is really for the best.” 

Slingshot nods his head as the three of them walk away from the Skatepark. 

“Yep! We have the whole day to train and hangout, Spatula. I’m sure the others won’t miss us too much back there.” 

“A-Alright then..” Spatula mumbles, looking around as it shifts from being somewhere he can recognize to buildings he hasn’t seen before. “But where are you taking me?” 

Slingshot pauses for a moment, looking a bit embarrassed, before immediately brightening up again. 

“Shuri and I know a couple of Phighters that like to train, I’m just taking you to them to ask if we can use their training ground for the day.” 

Outwardly, Spatula gives Slingshot a nod as the three of them continue onward. Inwardly, however, he curls in on himself. He’s already met one new person today, don’t they know if they go over that cap he’ll die from a drain of his social battery!?

‘ Ah whatever, this’ll be good for me. If I want to start investigating a cult, I gotta know how to fight.. Nerves be damned.’ 

[Slingshot]

The day started out pretty normally, with Slingshot being awoken by Vinestaff in their shared home. After eating breakfast, he went off with Shuriken to open the cafe and get it set up for the day, spending a bit of time before officially opening it to cook a couple pastries really quickly while Shuri put down the chairs from the tables. From there, it was a regular old business day, demons coming and going, some he recognized as regulars and others he only barely remembered, coming in and ordering something to eat and/or drink. BoomBox had come in as well, mainly to chat with Shuriken while he was working, talking about some new music he had found online. 

The morning rush of demons had petered out when Chocolate Milk and Punk burst through the doors ( though, really, it was moreso Chocolate Milk burst in and Punk followed behind ), looking a bit frazzled as they rushed up towards the counter. Chocolate Milk had slammed their palms on the counter, with Punk shooting Slingshot an apologetic look as they did so. 

“Has a demon with tired looking eyes, a spatula, and horns that point upwards come in here at all?!” They said frantically, already looking around the cafe as if Spatula would just appear out of thin air. 

Slingshot just blinks, taken aback, before it registers exactly who they are asking for. 

“Oh, Spatula was it? Is that who you are asking about?” 

The two of them perk up, leaning forward a bit in relief.

“Yes! You’ve seen him?” Chocolate Milk asks excitedly, their worried expression melting away for a bit. 

“Ah…No I haven’t seen him today, I just know about him..” Slingshot says, leaning back a bit to put some more distance between them. Chocolate Milk deflates, the worried look returning tenfold while Punk shakes her head concernedly in the back. “If I may ask, why do you ask? Did something happen?” 

“We haven’t been able to get into contact with him, he hasn’t responded to any of our texts which is weird as he’s always on his phone or has it on hand.” Punk replies, giving the cafe another concerned look, staring at the doors for a bit before looking back at Slingshot. “We also have no clue where he lives, so we’re kind of just running around trying to see if anyone has seen him.. “

“And so far, no one has!” Chocolate Milk throws their hands up into the air, looking both exasperated and overwhelmingly concerned. “I mean, we know he doesn’t go out, but we were supposed to meet today, and he wouldn’t just cancel without at least telling us!” 

“Oh…” Slingshot gives them a worried look. While he hasn’t actually talked to the demon that has captured his curiosity, he feels a bit of a connection with him, considering how much he’s come to his cafe and how much growth Slingshot has seen him do. “Would you guys want any help looking for him?” 

Chocolate Milk perks up again, giving Slingshot a hopeful look as they lean forward even more on the counter. “Really?! You’d help us look for-” 

Before they can finish, Punk grabs them by the shoulder and pulls them back, all the while giving Slingshot a suspicious look. “Why do you want to help us? What’s in it for you?” 

Chocolate Milk pauses, their enthusiasm dying once Punk questions Slingshot’s intentions. They, too, give him a suspicious look, crossing their arms across their chest. “Hey, yeah, what do you get out of helping us? And how do you know Spatula for that matter?” 

“Ah..” Slingshot rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I don’t.. Actually know Spatula, to be honest. He just comes into my cafe enough that I learned his name..” He shrugs, giving the two of them a sheepish smile. “I don’t want anything aside from knowing one of my regulars is okay, to be honest.”

The two of them stare at him, with Chocolate Milk mumbling a ‘ that makes sense ’ to themself. While Slingshot definitely didn’t lie about how he knows Spatula, he did lie a tiny bit about why he wants to help find him. It’d be nice to actually get to interact with the demon that has caught his curiosity aside from taking his order from him. What better way to get to know him than from helping his friends find him? 

“I suppose you can help us then..” Punk finally relents, letting go of Chocolate Milk’s shoulder.. To which they immediately go back to leaning on the counter  towards Slingshot, though not as much as before. “But what about your cafe? Can you really just leave the place like that?” 

Slingshot pauses, having admittedly not thought that far ahead. 

“Shuriken can probably handle it alone, if he calls Vinestaff in..” 

Having heard his name, Shuriken perks up from where he was definitely not eavesdropping, shooting over to the three of them. “You said my name?” 

Chocolate Milk and Punk jump a tiny bit at his sudden arrival, blinking at him as Slingshot just nods. “Yea, I was wondering if you could watch over the cafe while I go out for a bit? Call in Vinestaff to help you manage it all.”

“Hm…” Shuriken hums exaggeratedly, before shaking his head. “Yeah, no, I heard what you guys were talking about and I want in, to be honest.” 

“Wh..” Slingshot blinks, and gives Shuriken a confused look. “Why do you want to help us find Spatula??” He asks incredulously. 

“You made me interested in him, to be honest.” Shuriken shrugs, walking behind the counter to take off his work apron and store it underneath it. “Plus, he seemed like a decent guy and CrossRoad’s is a big place. You guys are going to need more than three demons looking for him.” 

“They have a point.” Punk says, shrugging when Slingshot looks over towards her to see if she approves. “We’d be here all day looking around for him. It’d be much more efficient if we had more people to help look.” 

Slingshot lets out a sigh, before resigning to having to close his cafe for the day. No way was he making Vinestaff work alone for who-knows how long. “Fine.. I guess I’ll just close the cafe for the day.. Do you want us to invite Vinestaff to help look?” 

“Already did.” Shuriken says besides Slingshot, holding up his phone which proudly shows him asking Vinestaff if she wants to help look for Spatula. Punk shrugs again, while Chocolate Milk just puts their head in their hands and mumbling about time. “She said she’ll meet us in the middle of CrossRoad’s after we close up.”

“Well.. That takes care of that, I guess.” Slingshot blinks, before straightening up. “Alright then, you two can wait outside while we close up and tell the customers what’s going on.” 

Chocolate Milk and Punk nod, leaving the cafe swiftly to wait while Slingshot and Shuriken hurry around the cafe. They tell the customers that there was an emergency with a friend that requires their presence. The customers aren’t happy at first, but upon hearing their reasoning many of them lighten up in understanding.. The few that are still irate Slingshot coaxes them down with promises of coupons and discounts the next time they come in. The only one that doesn’t leave is BoomBox, who watches them shoo-ing everyone out with a raised eyebrow. 

“So, what’s all this about?” He asks when they approach his table, having cleared out everyone else. “Never seen you guys close this early before, did something happen?” 

“Yeah, we’re going out to look for a friend, apparently they’re missing as no one has seen them or been able to get into contact with them. Want to come with?” Shuriken offers, making Slingshot whip his head over to give him a bit of a judgemental stare that only makes him shrug in response. They really shouldn’t be inviting someone that not only doesn’t know Spatula but that Spatula’s friends don’t know and aren’t here to see… But the invite is already out there, and having another demon searching wouldn’t hurt.

“Eh, sure why not.” BoomBox shrugs, getting up from his seat and picking up his Gear. “I’ve got nothing better to do today anyways.” 

The three of them leave the cafe, with Slingshot locking the doors and turning off the lights behind them. Punk gives Slingshot a raised eyebrow upon seeing BoomBox joining them, but doesn’t get to say anything as Chocolate Milk immediately starts dragging not only her but Slingshot himself away, talking about wasting time and needing to be quick. 

The five of them meet up with Vinestaff immediately, Punk pointing her out when she spotted her and Chocolate Milk booking it towards her. Once there they finally introduce themselves, with Slingshot adding on that Shuriken invited BoomBox (transferring the judging look from Punk onto him instead), and then worked out a plan of attack. They’d split into groups of three, with Punk, Slingshot, and BoomBox being one and Chocolate Milk, Vinestaff, and Shuriken being the other. Punk and Chocolate Milk would lead them around places they know Spatula frequents to search. After a while they’d all meet up back at the center of CrossRoad’s to see if anyone had found anything. Phone numbers were also exchanged, just in case one of them actually found Spatula, so they could tell the others.

The hours went past like this, with no headway being made into the whereabouts of Spatula.. Until finally, one of Chocolate Milk’s numerous calls finally went through during a meetup. As they talked with Spatula, Slingshot and the others let out a sigh of relief. They were seriously debating getting the authorities involved, though Chocolate Milk doesn’t tell Spatula that. Hearing that he was just asleep this entire time was a bit funny, though. While they were all out searching for him, he was just blissfully asleep the entire time, unaware of the panic he was causing. Finally, they get a place to meet up with Spatula, and the group finally works their way towards the Skatepark, a much more relaxed air about them as they make their way. 

When Slingshot see’s Spatula approaching he perks up, having been watching Shuriken’s antics to annoy his sister increasing until he finally just takes his staff and runs away with it. So far, the group hasn’t done much aside from wait for Spatula. Slingshot had texted Skateboard to see if he was around or wanted to come hangout, but apparently he was caught up in something. There was a bit of an awkward silence when they first arrived at the Skatepark, with Spatula’s co workers talking to themselves and the Phighters talking amongst themselves at first, until Punk started chatting with Vinestaff. After that, the two groups relaxed a bit with the awkward air leaving.. And then Shuriken got bold enough to start messing with his sister.

Slingshot watches as Spatula waves to the group, giving him a wave back as he walks towards Chocolate Milk and Punk first. The three of them talk for a bit, before Slingshot can’t wait anymore. Dragging BoomBox with him to introduce him to Spatula, he walks over to him.  It doesn’t go quite as he planned, with it being more awkward than he thought it would be,  but luckily he has another shot to actually get to know Spatula. Hearing him talk about wanting to improve himself with his Gear, Slingshot immediately perked up. What better way to get to know someone than to train with them?

Of course he didn’t really think this all the way through, halfway through dragging Spatula away, Shuriken in tow, and he’s confronted with the fact that.. Well, a Spatula isn’t a ranged weapon. He can’t bring Spatula to where Shuri and him practice as that wouldn’t do him any good. Briefly, he thinks about bringing Spatula to meet Katana.. Before immediately shelving that idea. The nervous Spatula meeting the outwardly intimidating Katana? Slingshot’s sure he’d be sent into a panic attack just seeing him. However, there is a much more friendly melee Phighter he can introduce Spatula too…

[Spatula]

Spatula watches nervously as Slingshot knocks on the door, not knowing what to expect. The two of them, Shuriken and Slingshot, hadn’t told him anything on the walk there, aside from the fact that they were a Phighter and a melee user like him. He’s really hoping it isn’t Katana. From what he remembers, he used to like Katana in the game, but actually meeting him face to face? With what he remembers about his past and appearance? Give him about a day to mentally prepare and he could do it, any sooner and he’d probably be sent into cardiac arrest from how nervous he’d be. As he’s thinking, the door opens and Sword looks curiously at Slingshot. 

“Hey Slingshot! I thought you’d be working right now, at your cafe?” He asks, looking behind Sling to see Shuriken and Spatula standing there. Shuriken gives him a friendly wave while Spatula just stares a bit. “Hey Shuriken… Who’s this here?” 

“Hello Sword! I closed for the day, had to do something pretty important and didn’t know how long it would take.” Slingshot steps out of the way, and beckons Spatula over. He hesitantly shuffles closer, standing beside Slingshot on Sword’s front porch and giving him a nervous smile. “This here’s Spatula, he’s a new friend of mine. He wanted to get stronger with his Gear, and I said I could help.. But as you can imagine, a spatula isn’t exactly a ranged weapon..” 

Sword lets out an understanding hum, glancing over Spatula and assessing him, making him squirm a bit. “That makes sense. Guessing you wanted my help to train him?”

“Yep, if you aren’t busy and don’t mind that is.” 

“I got time. It’ll be a bit different considering his Gear is way different then mine, but I can show him a couple of basics and see how he does.” Sword opens the door more and steps out of the way, inviting the three of them inside.

“Nice! I hope you don’t mind Shuri and me sticking around to help.” Slingshot drags Spatula in, with Shuriken following behind. 

“That’s fine, as long as you guys don’t mind Rocket joining in as well.” The four of them walk through the house, and enter through a door and into the training room. Rocket perks up from where he was waiting at the far end of the room, giving the group a curious look as they walk in behind Sword.

“It should be fine, I don’t think Spatula minds, right?” Slingshot turns to face Spatula, who is looking around wide-eyed. Once he feels eyes on him, he turns his gaze onto Slingshot and gives him a very nervous smile and nod. “Yeah, he doesn’t mind.”

Sword gives them a thumbs-up, walking over to talk to Rocket and tell him what's going on. As he’s doing that, Shuriken steals Slingshot, dragging him over to look at the types of training gear Sword has. Spatula stands alone for a bit, before sighing quietly. He doesn’t regret agreeing to all of this as it’ll help him in the long run, but oh boy does meeting new people still make him want to run and hide for a couple of days. So far, he’s beating his record of talking to one new person, having technically met three new people, even if he’s known about them in the Before. 

Taking the small break from people as it is, Spatula goes over and sits down the training mats, taking out his ‘Gear’ and flipping it idly in his hands as he lets his mind go blank. He’s simultaneously dreading and looking forward to the training session, wanting to get stronger while also knowing it's going to suck since he has never trained in this (and probably his last one too) life. As Sword breaks away from Rocket and walks over to him, excitement wins over the dread as he stands up and faces Sword.

Chapter Text

“Soo.. What kind of training have you done before?” Sword questions Spatula as he stands up, gripping his ‘Gear’ nervously. Sword himself walks past Spatula and grabs a training sword, turning back around to face him for his answer. 

“Um… I’ve never trained with my Gear, to be honest.” Spatula admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But! I’ve worked a bit to try and learn how to skateboard… If that helps at all..” 

Sword hums, putting a hand on his chin as he thinks, before letting out a sigh. 

“It helps a little bit.. But overall you have no experience.” He flips the training sword idly in his hands, presenting it towards Spatula, who takes it. “We’ll start out simple then, do some basic exercises with the sword to just get a feel on where you are at.”

Spatula nods, getting into what he thinks  is a ready stance with his training sword, grip awkward on the handle on it. Truthfully, he’s just recreating what he’s seen online in shows and stories. Probably not the best thing to do, but he’s flying by the seat of his pants here so it's better than nothing. As he’s internally monologuing, Sword grabs another training sword for himself, giving him a raised eyebrow when he notices his stance, which makes Spatula shrug awkwardly. 

“Alright then, let's start.” Sword approaches Spatula slowly, making sure he can see him swing the dull blade of the practice sword. Hastily, Spatula brings up his own, but is easily disarmed due to his awkward grip. “Okay then.. First lesson will be on your grip and stance then.” 

The next few hours passed by in a flash of pain and learning as Spatula learned not only how to properly grip his weapon and have a more balanced stance, but also a couple of training moves from Sword. When he finally called it a day, Spatula was left panting, beaten a bit from how much correcting Sword had to do to his stance and grip. Despite the pain, however, he felt accomplished, and like he had actually learned something. Shuriken and Slingshot had stayed throughout the training session, mainly trying to give him some pointers and convince him to somehow fling his spatula around as a move. Rocket had stuck around for a bit, but had left eventually once the training session continued on for a while and didn’t look like it would be ending any time soon. Before leaving the training room, Sword had asked if Spatula wanted to continue, to which he said yes. They set up a time and a date that worked with both of their busy schedules, and then him, Shuriken, and Slingshot were politely shoo-ed out of the house, with Sword giving him some exercises to do while waiting for the next training session. 

While leaving the house, Spatula gives Sword another grateful smile, before being dragged away by Shuriken and Slingshot. The two of them lead him to a part of CrossRoad he's more familiar with, before waving goodbye and going their way home. He waves goodbye to their backs, watching them leave for a moment before continuing the trek to his apartment, gripping his spatula tightly. 

Finally making it to his apartment, Spatula opens the door, briefly pausing to look around as he gets the feeling something is a bit.. Off. However, he’s unable to actually find anything wrong, so he shrugs and continues inside, locking the door behind him. He waters his new plant on the kitchen windowsill, staring at it briefly while fiddling with the handle of his spatula. After a moment of just enjoying the peace, he quickly tosses his spatula onto its chair before going back into the kitchen and making himself something to eat, making a quick bowl of ramen with a boiled egg on top.

Finishing his dinner, he places his dishes into his sink, idly noting that he’ll have to clean them tomorrow, before walking over and into his bathroom to do his nightly routine. He stares a bit at himself in the mirror, observing the bruises on his wrists from where Sword corrected his grip. It’s a bit surreal, he’ll admit, that he’s training with Sword. He’s aware that this is now his reality, believe him, but that didn’t stop him from just.. Imagining Sword as he was in the game, so seeing him and actually interacting with him personally is a bit weird. It was the same with the other Phighters, it's just much more disorientating with Sword as he’s only interacted in what was basically the same environment as the game, in a fight. 

Shaking those thoughts away he finally does his nightly routine, leaving the bathroom with his phone in hand as he sets a ludicrous number of alarms. Don’t want to start another panic because he was too tired from looking at his phone all night long. He shivers briefly upon entering his bedroom, looking at his open window with a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t remember leaving it open… 

Frowning, he looks around, now more sure that something weird is going on. He searches around his bedroom, throwing his phone on his bed as he looks. When he doesn’t find anything suspicious in there, he looks around the rest of his apartment. Each search yields nothing, he can’t find anything out of place, missing, or new. Unsettled, he decides to just lock his windows and close the curtains in his room, picking up his phone and scrolling on his page to get his mind off of it all.

Drifting off after a couple of hours mindlessly scrolling, he can’t help but think that maybe he really did leave the window open, and all this cult stuff is just making him paranoid.

The next few weeks fly by in a blur for Spatula, spending time outside while his work is busy remodeling after the brawl that happened. The Boss gave them a bit more time off, cause apparently they want to actually remake the workspace, the damage from the brawl was just a convenient enough excuse for them to actually close the place down to do it. He’s had plenty of time to himself, seeing as he can’t go out every day with his friends and the Phighters. As such, he’s had time to actually pick up a hobby… Which is exercising. Not exciting, he knows, especially since it was literally kind of assigned to him by Sword to help with his training, but hey! A hobby is a hobby, and he actually has one, so he’d say he’s doing pretty good so far. 

Speaking of training, so far he’s managed to actually get good enough to put up a bit of a fight against Sword in their sparring sessions, when they manage to have them. He’s also been able to gain a bit of muscle with all of this exercising.. Not that you would be able to see it, considering how much he hunches over and turtles in on himself. Still, he’s making progress with his training and is starting to gain a bit more confidence in himself. 

That confidence, of course, has had the unfortunate side-effect of making his investigation of the cult turn into less of a ‘I’ll stalk them online and research’ and more into a ‘I want to go and see what they are doing personally’. It’s dumb, he knows that, but every time he goes to stalk their website and looks into them, the idea of just contacting them himself is always in the back of his mind. Every time he notices his progress with training and exercising, that idea just grows and grows. Still, he ( relatively ) has his wits about him, so he hasn’t actually acted on that idea just yet.

Though, to be honest, he might not even have to go to them. It seems that they’re actually coming to him , as he is definitely being watched. For days now he has not only felt the feeling of eyes burning into his back, but seen the same business demon that gave him the flier in the places he frequents. It’s not everyday ( which he thanks the Sword’s for, cause if it was he would have most definitely been driven insane due to paranoia by now ), but it's happened frequently enough that it most definitely isn’t a mistake or a trick of his anxiety riddled mind. It is also, absolutely, the cult that he’s starting to regret investigating. Who else would be this interested in him? He doesn’t even do anything that interesting aside from talk to a suspicious number of Phighters!

Letting out a sigh from it all, Spatula rubs his eyes as he gets out of bed, grabbing his phone off of his nightstand as he does so. He checks his phone as he walks out of his bedroom and into his bathroom, scrolling idly through his feed for a moment before checking his text messages. Idly getting out his toothbrush, he sees that Slingshot had texted him a couple of minutes ago, talking about inviting him to hang out at his place for the day. Shooting him a thumbs-up and a smile, Spatula turns off his phone and continues his morning routine. 

Over the weeks he’s gotten pretty close with Slingshot and Shuriken, more than he ever thought he would to be honest, especially after that embarrassing first impression he left on them. He’s hung out with the two of them a lot recently, even when Punk and Chocolate Milk weren’t around, which is really saying something. Though to be fair, for a while there he thought he would never go out unless one of his coworkers was with him. Anyways, so far he’s just been hanging out at Slingshot’s Cafe or at the skatepark with them, with the two of them occasionally dragging him out of his comfort zone to new areas of CrossRoads (like with Sword’s house). All that is to say, he’s fairly confident he can call them his friends now.

Finishing up in the bathroom, Spatula splashes some water quickly on his face to wake himself up some more. While he’s prone to long inner monologues, two in one morning is a lot even for him. Wiping his face off, he grabs his phone and leaves the bathroom, making himself some quick toast in his toaster and staring at his succulent as he waits. Normally he’d skip breakfast, but with all the training and exercising he’s done he has found himself actually being hungry in the morning. It's a bit weird stopping in the morning to make something to eat, but it's also nice to just take it slow for a bit before starting the day. Idly grabbing his toast after it pops up, he smears it with butter and goes to sit down at his table, electing to just use a napkin instead of putting his toast on a plate to save himself having to wash some dishes later. 

‘ Hm.. I should really come up with a name for the succulent I got.. ’ He thinks to himself as he munches on his toast, staring at the plant as he eats. He finishes up rather quickly, shelving the thought of naming it later as he grabs his spatula and puts on his shoes. Glancing around his apartment quickly to make sure no windows are open ( a habit he formed after that first day of training ), he opens his door and steps out, locking it behind him. Taking out his phone, he makes his way to Slingshot’s Cafe, idly scrolling as he walks along. 

The walk to the cafe is uneventful as always, with the only exciting thing happening along the way being that Spatula almost walked into a light pole due to being on his phone. Luckily he looked up in time, but it was close. Just as he arrives at the cafe doors, he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder, the grip tight but not painful. Immediately, he spins around, one hand going to his ‘Gear’ while the other pries the hand off of his shoulder. The demon that grabbed him (another business looking demon…) puts their hands in the air in a surrender gesture, that fake smile plastered on their face. Begrudgingly, Spatula lets go of the handle of his ‘Gear’, though his hand doesn’t leave his side just in case they start swinging.

“Sorry for startling you, good sir!” The business demon says, putting their hands down and dusting off their suit and adjusting their tie. “I just recognized your face as the young demon I gave that flier to not too long ago, at this very cafe. I was just wondering if you have put in any thought into joining our club.” 

“A-Ah… Well.” Spatula flounders for a bit. Obviously he can’t tell the recruiter of a cult that he’s actually been contemplating contacting them, as it’ll just make them stalk him even more. However, since they have been stalking him, they obviously know he has some kind of interest in it. “I-I’ve thought about it a bit, haven’t come to any decision yet..” 

“Hm, well is there any way I can sway you over to the side of joining?” The business demon sidles up to Spatula’s side, putting a hand around his shoulder again, which immediately makes him tense up. 

“Not really..” Spatula mumbles, trying to shrug the demon off. They ignore his attempts and obvious discomfort with the unwanted touch, letting out a loud humming noise and putting a hand on their chin as they think. “Would you please let go of me..?” 

They stoutly ignore him, in fact doing the opposite by squeezing him closer to them. 

“I’m sure there’s something me and my own can do to help make your decision a bit easier! Why don’t you and I go for a walk? I'll explain a bit about what the club does and by the end of it you can decide if you want to go or not.” They squeeze his shoulder painfully, the plastic smile growing a bit larger. “I’m sure some time seeing more of CrossRoad’s would do you better, seeing as you aren’t the sociable type, hm?” 

Before he can actually respond to any of that, Slingshot opens the cafe doors behind him. Honestly because of this interaction, Spatula had briefly forgotten why he was even out in the first place. Even with this disruption, the business demon doesn’t let go of his shoulder, though the grip does ease a tiny bit. Slingshot narrows his eyes at the demon, reaching out and grabbing Spatula by the other shoulder and trying to tug him away from them. 

“Excuse me, but would you please let go of my friend here?” Slingshot says with a very obviously fake cheer in his voice. “He doesn’t like strangers touching him, you see.” 

“Ah, but Spatula and I here aren’t strangers.” The business demon states, their plastic smile turning sharp as their eyes narrow a bit. “Why, I’d say we know each other quite well. Isn’t that right, Spatula?”

Spatula just stares at him for a moment, in a tad bit of shock hearing his name come from them. It's one thing to be aware that they are stalking him, it's another to have it shoved into his face so bluntly. He never told this random demon his name, so the only way they know it is if they were stalking him. It's.. Unsettling, to say the least. Shoving that aside for now, he focuses on the important part: Should he go along with this lie? 

Morally, and honestly for his own good, he really shouldn’t. Not only would he be lying to a friend, but it would be about knowing some cult member, one that has been stalking him for awhile now. However.. He doesn’t want to get Slingshot and the rest involved. Right now he doesn’t exactly know what this cult is capable of, aside from stalking obviously. It may be a bit paranoid for him to think this, but he’s afraid that if he talks to the others about this that they too will start being stalked by these guys. And if they proved to be a threat or an inconvenience? Once more, Spatula has no idea what they would do, if they would let them be or.. Get rid of them.  So… 

“Ahaha.. Yeah, we knew each other in the past..” Spatula gives Slingshot a very nervous looking smile and a thumbs-up, while trying to subtly shuffle out of the business demon's grip. Understandably, Slingshot doesn’t look convinced, giving him a suspicious look. 

“Is that so? How did you two know each other?” He probes, giving Spatula another chance to tell the truth. Before he can even contemplate taking it, the business demon clears their throat and answers for him. 

“We used to be a part of the same club. I was training him for a bit before he had to leave.” They say, finally letting go of Spatula and letting him be pulled closer to Slingshot. The plastic smile on their face has grown, since he supported their lie. “I was trying to convince him to join back.” 

“Hmm…” Slingshot doesn’t look convinced, especially since he knows that Spatula wasn’t trained before meeting Sword. Seeing that he doesn’t look like he’s going to be leaving any time soon, and not wanting him to interact with the cult any more then he already has, Spatula taps him on the shoulder and leans in. 

“Wait for me inside, I’ll be fine.” Slingshot turns to give him a look as he whispers that to him, but Spatula pushes him towards the door insistently. Pushing him back into the cafe, he turns around to face the business demon, who’s looking a bit smug at him. Clearing his throat, he shuffles his feet nervously, one hand near the handle of his spatula as the two of them stand there for a moment. 

“...I’ll wait for you to finish up with these demons.” They say, dusting off their suit again idly and turning around. “Tell me your answer then.”

Spatula watches them walk off, shoulders relaxing as they get further and further away. Letting out a heavy sigh, he rubs his face with one hand as he stands outside for a moment. ‘ What am I going to tell them? I haven’t not been thinking about going, but I still am unsure if I should go… Not to mention what the others would think. If I suddenly disappeared for a week, maybe even longer, the panic that would ensue..’

He’s torn out of his musings as the cafe door opens again, this time with Shuriken peeking out at him. He has a curious look on his face as he raises an eyebrow at Spatula, though a hint of concern shines through. Slingshot must have told him what had happened outside, and what he heard for him to be concerned. 

“Everything good dude?”  He says, opening the cafe door more and stepping forward a bit. His eyes darted around, looking for the demon that was with Spatula mere seconds before he opened the door. 

“Y-Yeah..” Spatula stutters a bit, Still a bit shaken up from the interaction and the implications. Inwardly gathering himself, he subtly shakes his head and clenches his fists, giving Shuriken a forced smile. “Let’s go inside, I’ve been looking forward to some nice tea this whole morning.” 

Shuriken gives him a disbelieving look, but backs up anyway to let him enter the cafe, letting him enter first before following behind him. Looking around the cafe, Spatula gives a small wave to Slingshot, before bolting over to a table to wait for when they close. A cup of tea would be nice, but confronting Slingshot right now is not on his agenda. What he really wants is some time to himself, to gather his thoughts and relax a bit. Sitting down, he lets out a quiet, heavy sigh, putting his face into his hands and just letting his brain think of nothing for a little bit. 

‘ What am I doing man… Getting involved in something I barely even know anything about and lying to my friends like this..’ He drags a hand down his face, resting his chin on the other as he stares at the table. ‘ Is this even worth it? What do I get out of any of this, aside from knowledge? ’ For the first time since actually getting involved with the cult, he ponders what he is doing and why he is doing it. So far he’s just been going with his own curiosity, looking into the cult simply for the fact he knew nothing about it. Now that he’s actually confronted with members from it, however, he has to actually comprehend the consequences this could have. Cult’s aren’t something you mess with all willy-nilly, and yet here he is.

Letting himself stew in his thoughts for a while, he idly folds the corner of a napkin on his table. The stress of it all, the ‘Should he, should he not?’ eats away at his thoughts as he sits there, shoulders hunching in on themselves the longer he’s stuck thinking about it. Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of it, shoving the napkin roughly aside to take out his phone. A bit desperately, he scrolls through his feed, looking for anything to get his mind off of it all. Even still, the cult manages to worm itself into his brain, with every sad post making him think about those who could be suffering actively by the cult.. Only to be immediately combated with how he could be suffering by involving himself with the cult. 

Before he knows it, time has passed and the others are doing clean-up, with him being jolted out of his spiraling thoughts as Shuriken shakes his shoulder. Jolting and letting out a yelp, he awkwardly jerks his shoulder out of Shuriken’s hold, almost toppling over in his chair. 

“Woah! Didn’t mean to spook you, ‘Spat!” Shuriken holds up one hand in surrender, the other holding a broom. “I was just trying to get you to stand up for a bit so I can clean that table.” 

“O-Oh..” Spatula rubs the back of his neck, face flushing in embarrassment because of his reaction. He hurriedly stands, pulling his chair out with him to make it easier for Shuriken to clean, while awkwardly standing by. “Sorry… I was just, thinking of something.” 

Shuriken lets out a hum as he sweeps under the table, glancing over to give him a curious look. “What were you thinking so hard about that it took me shaking you to get your attention?” Spatula grimaces a bit, before quickly trying to wipe his face, making Shuriken raise an eyebrow at him. After a couple of seconds of just standing there, he seems to get the hint that Spatula doesn’t really want to answer. “You know, you can tell Sling and me dude. We’ve hung out enough by now. I'd call us friends, y’know?”

Spatula squirms where he stands, wringing his hands as he takes in Shuriken's words. After a bit of back and forth in his head, he lets out a small sigh, giving in. 

“I’m having trouble coming to a conclusion.. I don’t know if I should do something or not, and every time I think I’ve come to a conclusion my mind comes up with a million other reasons not to do it.” 

“Having a bout of indecisiveness huh?” He leans on the broom, not even pretending to be busy now as he tilts his head at Spatula. “What are you trying to do?” 

“I don’t really want to talk about it… It’s kind of personal, y’know?” Spatula hunches in on himself, shoulders hiking upwards at the lie. “All I’m going to say is, I’m.. Worried about what will happen if I do or don’t go.”

Shuriken sways a bit while leaning on the broom, clearly thinking from what little he has given him. The two stand there in silence for a bit, with Spatula squirming the longer the silence goes on. Even saying that much to Shuriken is making him anxious, mind beginning to race again. Before Spatula can spiral and Shuriken can actually answer him, Slingshot approaches the two with a raised eyebrow. 

“Shuriken, aren’t you supposed to be helping me clean up so we can close?” He says, crossing his arms across his chest, to which Shuriken just shrugs and moves his broom a tiny bit. Slingshot rolls his eyes, before turning a curious/concerned gaze onto Spatula. “How’re you, Spatula? I know you said that guy was someone you knew in the past, but their grip looked a bit painful..” 

“O-Oh, well! I’m doing okay, haha..” Spatula shuffles where he stands, wringing his hands even tighter from the nerves. “A-And they were just excited to see me again, y’know? Didn’t realize they were hurting me because of that.”

The two share a disbelieving look, before looking back at him with a concerned look in their eyes, however they don’t call him out on the lie. Even still, Slingshot crosses his arms across his chest and gives Spatula a slightly disappointed look under all the concern. Before it can continue however, Shuriken butts into the conversation, clearing his throat and stopping his poor attempt at sweeping the floor where he stands, leaning on the broom again instead while facing Spatula. 

“Anyways, what I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted,” He nudges Slingshot, earning another eye roll from him. “Was that you can’t know for sure unless you actually do it, whatever it is you want to do. No use worrying about all the consequences if you haven’t even done it yet.” 

“I.. suppose you are right..” Spatula mutters, stopping his nervous hand wringing to instead fiddle with the ends of his t-shirt. “S-Still, isn’t it important to consider how your actions can affect things?” 

“Shuri’s right though,” Slingshot butts in, looking curious from the subject of the conversation. “You can’t be stuck thinking about the what-if’s if you haven’t even done anything. It’s good to think about what can happen, but it doesn’t help to worry about them too much.. For whatever it is you are doing… What is it you guys are talking about doing? “

“No clue, Spat’ here was just having trouble deciding to do something or not, something personal apparently.” Shuriken shrugs, leaning forward a bit on the broom, and almost toppling over. “ Ahem . Anyways I was just trying to help him come to some kind of conclusion.” 

“Oh, alright then..” Slingshot gives a narrowed eyed look at Spatula, making him squirm again, clearly thinking about something.. “Well, I’ve cleaned up the rest of the cafe, with no help from you ” He nudges Shuriken’s back, making him squawk as he almost topples over again. “So why don’t you wait outside while Shuriken and I close up?” 

“Hey wait, why do you need my help to-”

 Shuriken indignantly says, before being cut off by Slingshot slapping a hand over his mouth. Ignoring his muffled complaints, he gives Spatula a slightly strained smile. 

“Ignore him, he’s forgetting that he told me earlier that he’d help me close up as payback for all the pastries he’s eaten while at work.”

Spatula blinks, not quite sure what to think, before giving him an awkward smile. 

“U-Um.. Well okay then, I’ll just. Wait outside, I guess..” 

He shuffles towards the door, as Slingshot takes his hand off of Shuriken’s mouth and begins dragging him to the back of the cafe. Just before he’s out the door he vaguely hears Slingshot complain about Shuriken licking his hand. Closing the door behind him, he lets out a heavy sigh, leaning on the wall beside it. He fiddles with the handle of his ‘Gear’, glancing around a bit frantically to see if he can catch a glimpse of the business demon from earlier. When he can’t find any sort of sign that he’s being watched, he relaxes, shoulders slumping just a tad. 

‘...Talking with them helped a bit, to be honest.. Even if they were unaware of what the bigger picture actually is.’ He chews on his bottom lip, taking out his spatula to stare at his reflection in it. His tired, frowning face stares back at him, his eyes serious even though he’s literally just staring at a spatula. ‘Even still.. I can’t get my mind to stop thinking about it all.. Gah!’ He shakes his head rapidly, slapping his cheeks lightly to clear his mind. ‘No more thinking, like they said, only do or don’t. IF I go, what do I get out of all of this? What's my goal? Those are better questions than what-ifs!... And I just gave myself a new dilemma, didn’t I?’ He lets out another sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Before he can even attempt to solve that dilemma,  Slingshot and Shuriken finally exit out of the cafe, the two of them looking a bit serious as they walk out. However, before Spatula can attempt to ask them if anything was wrong, their faces quickly clear up as they spot him waiting, smiles replacing their serious frowns. The two of them quickly sweep Spatula away from the cafe, not letting him get a word in as they start leading him to their apartment.

“This is going to be fun, dude, having you over like this!” Shuriken pumps his fist into the air, an excited grin on his face. “It’s been so long since we’ve had someone over, I’m so hyped for this.” 

Spatula gives him a small excited smile back. 

“I’m pretty excited too, to be honest. It'll be my first time over to someone else’s house since moving to CrossRoads.”

“No way, really?!” Shuriken gives him a bit of a surprised look, making Spatula flush in embarrassment and shrug. “Dude, you should’ve told us before, would’ve prepared something to make this night awesome!” 

“Ahaha..” Spatula nervously chuckles, shrugging again while giving him an embarrassed smile. “I, uh, didn’t think it would be that important to mention, really.” 

“It’s totally important, Spat. Your first time seeing walls different from your own apartment, that’s pretty big I’d say.” Slingshot says, slowing his walk to nudge Spatula lightly on the shoulder while smirking at him.

“W-Well, I mean I’ve seen different walls then my apartment, I work y’know?” Spatula sputters a bit, nudging Slingshot back and shooting him an incredulous look. As soon as he sees the teasing smirk on his face, though, he rolls his eyes at him and speeds up his pace. “Whatever, let’s just get to your guys’ house now.” 

Slingshot and Shuriken snicker as he walks ahead of them a bit, before speeding up their pace as well and walking next to him, nudging and teasing him all the way as they continue on. Finally though, they reach their house, which Spatula knows is theirs because Vinestaff is currently outside.. Talking to Katana. At the sight of Katana, Spatula slows his pace, allowing himself to hide behind Slingshot and Shuriken a bit, shoulders hunching inwards to look a bit smaller. Even still, as they approach, Spatula can feel Katana’s eyes on him, looking into his very soul.. Or his anxiety is making him think that, since he can’t actually see Katana’s eyes through his mask. Either way, it makes him attempt to hide behind Slingshot and Shuriken even more, peeking out from behind them to glance at Katana before looking away quickly.  Ignoring or just plain unaware of his nerves, the three (Shuriken, Slingshot, and Vinestaff that is), exchange cheerful greetings, with Spatula’s hiding spot being taken away from him as Slingshot and Shuriken move to stand by Vinestaff, leaving him feeling exposed. Whatever those three are talking about is lost to him, as he continues his game of glancing over nervously at Katana before quickly looking away.

“Hello Spatula, so glad you could make it!” He’s thrown out of his anxiously staring by Vinestaff’s cheerful voice, with her approaching him and offering a hand out for him to shake. As he nervously takes it, she gives him a slightly apologetic smile while tilting her head slightly towards Katana. “I hope you don’t mind that we invited Katana over as well. It’s been a bit since we had him over, and Slingshot didn’t tell me he invited you over until I had already invited him.” 

“I-It’s okay! I really don’t mind at all.” Spatula waves his hands a bit, glancing over at Katana nervously once more. He really isn’t lying, though, despite all of his nerves he genuinely doesn’t mind that they are having Katana over as well. If only the rest of his brain could get along with that. 

“Okay, good!” Vinestaff claps her hands happily, before turning around and opening the door behind her. Shuriken and Slingshot dart inside almost immediately, making Vinestaff roll her eyes at them. She turns towards Katana and Spatula, who are politely waiting to be invited in, and gives them a smile. “Well, let's get inside then, no use standing around out here.” 

Invitation received, the two of them enter the house, taking off their shoes at the door and putting their Gear on a rack by the door. Vinestaff follows behind, closing and locking the door behind her before motioning for them to follow her into the kitchen. Following her into the kitchen, she motions for them to sit at the kitchen table, standing near it instead of sitting herself. Spatula sits down at one end, with Katana sitting directly across from him, making him let out an internal sigh of relief at not having to sit beside someone he doesn’t really know.

“I’m going to go get you guys some tea to drink while waiting for dinner. If Slingshot or Shuriken come in, let me know so I can get them a cup as well.” She gives the two of them another smile as they sit down, moving away from the table to grab them cups. 

Vinestaff places the cups down in front of them, moving back and grabbing the tea pot. As she pours the tea, Spatula silently sniffs the air, internally thanking the Sword’s that it ISN’T Black tea. For once, the tea he’ll be drinking won’t be so bitter he’ll have to hold a funeral for his taste buds, as at least from the smell of it she’s pouring Green Tea. Still not as sweet as he’d like, but infinitely better than Black tea. After pouring their tea, she puts the teapot on the table, in between Katana and Spatula, and straightens up.

“Well, I’m going to go get Slingshot and Spatula so we can all eat dinner together before hanging out.” She gives the two of them a little wave before leaving the kitchen, her footsteps echoing in the silence as she leaves. 

The two of them sit at the table in silence for a moment, the only sound Spatula’s sips as he drinks his tea idly. Katana continues to stare at him from across the table, making him squirm a bit under his gaze. Somewhere else in the house, Vinestaff, Shuriken, and Slingshot can be heard discussing something, the words lost in the walls. Putting his half full cup down, Spatula fiddles with the handle, avoiding Katana’s gaze as best as he can. 

“...I was told about a confrontation you had from Vinestaff, that Shuriken and Slingshot overheard.” Katana’s voice pierces through the heavy silence, making Spatula jerk up in his seat and glance at him. Just as quickly he looks away and continues fiddling with the tea cup, now a bit more tense in his seat. Katana lets him stew for a couple of seconds, or maybe he expects Spatula to deny it. “There is no shame in escaping something from your past to live today.” 

Spatula takes a nervous sip of his mostly cold tea, glancing over at Katana. ‘… They all must think I was part of the cult already, for him to be saying this. While untrue, I can use this a bit, ask questions like I really was a part of it, get their opinions..’  

“I… I just feel for those still with them.” He lets out a sigh, only half lying as he did truly feel for those who fell for the cult’s ideals. “I keep thinking I could have maybe helped them in some way..” 

Katana hums in understanding, a lull in the conversation as he thinks. The sounds of the others grow a bit louder before dying down. “There was nothing more you could do, if they did not leave on their own. As long as you attempted to help them, you did as much as you could have.” 

Spatula stares down at the little tea left in his cup, staring at his reflection in it as the words sink in. ‘… I see now. To leave those pulled in by the honeyed words and atmosphere of this cult would be selfish of me. If I can’t even say I attempted to convince them to leave, then I truly haven’t done anything at all. What good is research if others have the wool pulled over their eyes?’ He sets down his tea cup back on its coaster with a small clink as he thinks, ‘ I've made my decision. I’ll see this cult for myself, and try to help those that were fooled by them. It’s the least I can do.’

“Thank you, Katana.” He gives him a small, grateful smile, more at ease now that he’s come to a conclusion. The anxiety and uncertainty of whether he should or should not go that has been plaguing him for weeks now has finally been resolved. “Your words have helped put a part of my mind at ease.” 

Katana just inclines his head in response to his thanks, lifting his mask a tad to take a sip at his tea, as the others finally come back to the kitchen. Shuriken speeds over and into a seat by Spatula, with Slingshot hot on his heels. Vinestaff walks in a second later, rolling her eyes at their antics as she walks around the table. Shaking her head at them, she walks over towards the oven, putting on a pair of oven mitts as she opens it. As she does so, Slingshot starts putting plates and silverware down at the table in front of the seats, before getting out a few cups for himself, Shuriken, and Vinestaff.

“Dinner for today is seared pork chops with scalloped potatoes!” Vinestaff puts down the platter of pork chops on the table, moving quickly to bring over the second platter, this one containing the scalloped potatoes. She takes off her oven mitts, putting them on the counter before going back to the table and sitting down. “Let’s dig in now. I hope you guys enjoy it!”

The dinner goes by in a flash, with Katana waiting for the others to finish, before politely asking them to leave so he can eat. Speaking of the food, Spatula enjoyed it greatly, wishing that he could eat like this more often. His meals have so far consisted of easy, quick to make things and the things he grills up at work. Having a home cooked meal like this brings a rush of nostalgia to him, though he can’t quite place what he is being nostalgic over. 

After dinner, Slingshot and Shuriken hurriedly drag Spatula upstairs to hang out, pulling out a game console, some games, and controllers to play with. The most memorable game they played was a game about.. Cubes, he thinks. To be honest he’s not really sure what the game was about, but all he knows was that it was fun watching Shuriken getting blown up repeatedly by a green creature. The next hours then go by in a slight haze as it gets later and later, with them continuing to game. Eventually, however, one of them looks at the time and realizes how late it's getting. 

“Ahh crap, do you think you can stay over for the night, Spat?” Slingshot says tiredly, rubbing one of his eyes furiously to stay awake. Spatula blinks tiredly, thinking on it as he lets out a loud yawn, before abruptly jolting upwards.

“Shit, I can’t stay any later. I'm sorry guys.” Spatula hurriedly stands up, wobbling for a bit due to how tired he is, before straightening out.  He gives the two of them an apologetic smile as he dusts off his clothes. “I just remembered someone wanted to talk to me tonight, and I totally blew them off… I gotta go, um, apologize.” 

“Aw man.. Well it was nice having you over, Spat’.” Shuriken says, hanging off of the couch. He yawns, equally as tired as the others, and gives him a wave. 

“We’ll have to do this again sometime, yeah?” Slingshot yawns, putting down his controller to send Spatula a wave as well.” 

“Totally, this was fun, guys. Tell Vinestaff I said goodbye!” Spatula gives them a tired smile as he begins walking out of the room, returning their waves. Hearing their tired mutters of goodbye/goodnight, he finally leaves the room, hurrying downstairs and towards the entryway. 

 He haphazardly shoves his shoes on, grabbing his ‘Gear’ as well as he does so, opening the door and carefully closing/locking it behind him. With his resolve to actually go through with visiting the Cult, he was genuinely shocked when he heard what time it was and realized that the business demon had probably left after waiting for him. As he approaches the cafe, he sees he was right in assuming they had left, as he doesn’t spot them anywhere..

Letting out a sigh, Spatula drags a tired hand down his face, mindful of his claws as he does so. Gripping his ‘Gear’ tightly, he turns away from the cafe and begins the jog back to his apartment. Normally he’d take his time, but he doesn’t want to be out in the dark all alone late at night. Jogging towards his apartment complex, he stops abruptly at the sight of the business demon waiting in front of it, casually leaning against the stone wall. For a few seconds he blinks dumbly, wondering why they’re there, before shaking his head and walking closer to them. As soon as they notice him, they perk up, standing straight and giving him a smirk before plastering that plastic smile back onto their face. 

“I almost thought you weren’t going to come, Spatula.” They say, watching as he approaches and crossing their arms across their chest. “I saw you leave with the staff, your friends I’m assuming, and waited to see if you would come back. I waited for a while outside of that cafe, though you didn’t show up.”

Spatula crosses his arms across his chest, body tense as he narrows his eyes at them. 

“It took a little longer than I expected, talking with them. By the time I was able to get away from it and go to the cafe, well it was already pretty late as you can tell.” He pauses, fighting the urge to bite his lip as he prepares himself to lie. “Besides, we aren’t really friends, more acquaintances I would say.” 

The demon chuckles, adjusting its tie as it walks a bit closer to Spatula, making him tense up even more. “Acquaintances, sure, sure. Anyways, we both know why you are here. You’re interested in joining the club, yes?” 

Spatula takes in a quiet breath, glancing away from them to gather his thoughts and his resolve, that earlier fire he had after talking with Katana having died down a bit, especially now that he’s confronted with them. Even still..

He looks back over at the business demon, watching as their smile grows sinister, whatever they’re seeing in his expression pleasing to them. He narrows his eyes at them, the resolve from before still burning brightly in them.

“Yeah, I want to join your little club. How do I get in?”

Chapter Text

“Yes, I’m okay, I’m just going out of CrossRoad’s for a little bit, okay?” Spatula sighs a bit exasperatedly into his phone, a small smile on his face from his friends worry. Since he actually has decided on going to the cult, seeing what's going on and potentially helping some demons out, he’s been faced with another ( easier to solve ) dilemma: Telling all of his friends, without actually telling them what’s going on. 

“Okay, listen, you say those words, but they aren’t like registering in my brain.” Chocolate Milk says from the other side, sounding a bit frantic and disbelieving. “ I have never once known you to go out of CrossRoads, you barely go anywhere new as is, so forgive me if I’m a teensy bit alarmed by you suddenly deciding to go somewhere new without any one of us accompanying you.” 

“W-Well… I mean..” Spatula stutters a tiny bit, an embarrassed flush overtaking his face. Milk isn’t exactly wrong for being alarmed, he doesn’t exactly get out all that often, even with his new and improved schedule, but to hear it from someone else is something. “I-It’s just something personal I have to deal with, if I could I would have you or Punk go with me if you can, but I have to handle it on my own..” 

“ I get that, Spat’, but you can’t at least tell me anything about what’s going on or where you are heading?” 

Spatula fiddles with the handle of his ‘Gear’, struck again with the worries about what-if.. Before shaking his head slightly, and remembering what the others said just the day before. 

“Sorry Milk, I’d rather deal with it myself. I’ll let you know when I’m leaving and coming back, at least?” 

He hears a heavy sigh coming from the other end, and a bit of shuffling from Chocolate Milk. 

“ ...I guess, if that's the best I can get outta you, man. I hope things turn out well with whatever it is you are having to deal with.” 

“I promise you, I’ll be just fine.” He lies to them, forcing a sort of cheer into his voice to mask the way it trembles lightly.

“ If you say so…” There’s some more shuffling before their voice comes over again, this time a bit more cheerful. “ Anyways, did you want to hang out today with Punk and me? There’s supposedly some sort of sale going on at the Roblox Mall at BloxTopic that Punk has been looking forward to.” 

“A-Ah…Erm, well I was kind of hoping to spend today getting ready..” Spatula rubs the back of his neck, despite the fact that Chocolate Milk can’t see him at all. It’s a lie, of course, he packed pretty much as soon as he woke up, nerves flaring over it all and not resting until he had triple checked everything.   “S-Sorry, maybe when I come back?”

“ Oh… I get it man, want to make sure you got everything especially for a personal trip.” Chocolate Milk says, a bit of an awkward tone to their voice before covering it up with some more cheer from before. “ I’ll let Punk know, if you haven’t already told her?” 

“I called her before calling you. I figured she wouldn’t worry as much as you would, if the ‘missing’ incident were anything like she told me.” He teases them, smirking into the phone as he hears them let out an exaggeratedly offended huff.

“ Yeah yeah, rib a demon for worrying about their hermit friend. Next time I’ll try not to be so worried, how about that.” They tease back, snickering a bit to themself. 

The two of them share a good chuckle as they poke each other back and forth, before Spatula actually glances at his phone and sees exactly how much time he’s spent talking to Chocolate Milk. Bidding a slightly hasty goodbye, Spatula hangs-up the phone and puts it face down onto the kitchen table, shoving his face into his hands. Letting out a sigh, he drags his hands down his face, sitting in silence as he gathers his thoughts. After a moment of silence, he flips his phone back up, turning it on and unlocking it once more. Ignoring the texts from his other friends, he scrolls down a tiny bit to get to the number the cultist gave him and the texts they exchanged.

Looking at the time on his phone, Spatula saw that so far he has 4 more hours until the pickup time… 4 hours to sit alone and question everything for the millionth time today. Once more, he puts his phone down to rub his face in despair, one hand going up to grip at one of his horns and tug on it idly. Biting his lip as he sits there in his thoughts, he glances around his apartment for a distraction aside from his phone ( seeing as how that turned out ). His gaze lands on his succulent, which he still hasn’t given a name to, and he grasps the feeble distraction with the desperation only a guy filled to the brim with anxiety can. The succulent looks a bit pitiful from where he’s sitting, drooping a bit from a lack of water due to him forgetting. What a perfect time to water it!

 He scooches his chair closer to the kitchen window, leaving his phone behind in a semi-conscious action to get away from it all briefly, and stretches to grab the plant. So far, he has been.. Not the best caregiver of it, if he’s being honest. As much as he appreciates Vinestaff and Punk for helping him get the plant in the first place, but it’s kind of hard to keep track of watering the plant when he has so much other drama going on. Just as the tips of his claws hook over the rim of the pot the plant is in to bring it closer, his chair tips a bit forward, making him panic and lean back hard to stop himself from falling forward.. Only to fall backwards, with the pot going right along with him. 

Letting out a pain yell, Spatula closes his eyes as the plant pot hits the ground near his head, shattering just as loudly as he yelled. As soon as he processes the fact he brought it down with him, he quickly brings his hands towards his face. The shards scratch near his right eye, just before he can cover it with his hands, drawing blood where they nick him. Dirt rains down on his hands for a moment, intermingling with the shards, with a couple pieces of the succulent being torn off from the fall and hitting his hands as well. In a flash, it's all over, only the ache of his head and the stinging of his cuts left.

For a moment he just lays there in embarrassment, hands still over his eyes. After another moment just spent wallowing in silence, he drags his hands down his face, mindful of the cuts, and lets out a loud sigh. He turns his head, looking over at the pitiful remains of his succulent and the pot it was in. As bad of an owner as he was, it still pains him to see it just go out like this, especially since he was the cause of it. He wiggles a bit out of the chair he’s now laying on, rolling away from the wreckage of his poor plant to stand up and dust himself off, shaking his head to get all the dirt off. 

A bit carelessly, he begins scooping up the said wreckage, hissing when he gets cut. He could care less about the cuts at this point, he’s already bleeding from the cuts on his face, a little more on his hands won’t kill him. Throwing away the remains of his plant into the trash, he gives it a little salute. It did its job in lightening up his apartment, and that was all he could’ve asked for. 

Washing his hands off in the sink, he glances over towards his phone on his table, watching as it lights up in another text message. He carefully splashes water on his face, focusing on the right side, before carefully drying himself off. Picking up his phone gingerly, he lets out a disgruntled moan as he realizes that barely any time at all has really passed. 

‘ Gah, maybe I should’ve taken Milk’s offer to go with them and Punk..’ He thinks dejectedly to himself, shoving his phone into his pants as he picks up his kitchen chair. ‘… Who am I kidding, if I went to hang with them today, I would’ve just spilled it all as soon as I saw them.’

Letting out his millionth heavy sigh, he flops back down into the chair, pulling his phone out of his pocket out of reflex.. However as soon as he realizes what he just did he lets out a frustrated groan, slamming his phone face down onto the table and standing back up.

Determinedly he walks into the living room, scooping up his spatula so he can sit down into his only chair, cradling it as he sits there. 

‘…God this is pathetic, sitting here cradling a spatula of all things because I don’t have anything to actually do in my own apartment. What a joke.. ’ 

The silence trickles on, Spatula just sitting and cradling his ‘Gear’ in silence. Finally though he gets fed up with it all, standing up and defeatedly going back to the kitchen table to pick up his phone and scroll on. The messaging app sings a siren song to his anxieties, making him continuously go back and stare at the little exchange they had, before exiting out of it to try and distract himself. Every post he reads, however, his brain somehow manages to tie into the whole cult. 

The hours whittle away like that, Spatula stewing in his rising worries and nerves as he continuously attempts to distract himself only to inevitably fail at it. After the fifth time that day he puts his face into his hands and borderline screams into them, he glances at the time once more.

 ‘ What time is it..3 pm huh… Wait…3 pm?!’ He immediately jumps up from where he’s sitting, shoving his phone into his pocket haphazardly as he bolts into his bedroom. He grabs his previously packed suitcase with one hand, the other still tightly gripping his spatula from when he was cuddling with it. He gives his bedroom one last glance around, just in case he’s missing anything, before leaving as quickly as he entered, booking it towards his apartment door and out, locking it behind him.

The walk to the bus stop isn’t long at all, but it feels like forever to him with his racing thoughts. His grip on his spatula teeters between bruising and loose as he stares determinedly ahead of himself, walking closer and closer to the bus stop. As soon as he reaches it, he sits down on the bench and continues his staring forward, half zoning out as he grips his suitcase to himself tightly. A couple of demons join him in his waiting, making idle chatter between themselves, however the words they say are lost to him. 

After a moment of listlessly staring, Spatula is knocked out of his head by a demon approaching him, and him specifically.

“Are you waiting for the bus for an improvement club as well?” They ask him, also carrying a suitcase in one of their hands. Upon seeing Spatula’s gaze on them, they give him a bright and welcoming smile.

“...Yes, I’m guessing you are looking to join the club as well?” 

“Yep!” They politely nudge him, and he makes space for them on the bench as best he can with the other demons sitting by him. Despite the cramped space, the other demon happily squeezes onto the bench, pulling their suitcase into their lap. “I was a bit suspicious at first on if this was really a club, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to check it out, y’know?” 

“Mhm…”

“If it really is an improvement club then I’ll be stoked, cause I’ve been trying to get in with a gym for ages now, but all of them have some stupid requirements. ‘ Oh you can’t join 'cause you look like you’re from this faction ’ or ‘ Why do you need to work out, your Gear isn’t even good for combat! ’ Like, can’t a demon just want to improve themselves, is that such a bad thing?” They look at Spatula with a still bright smile after their ramble. 

“Yyyeah…” Spatula scooches as much as he can away from them, intimidated by the friendly aura this demon is giving off. ‘ Why are you talking to me..?’ He almost asks, but holds his tongue because, really, they haven’t done anything to warrant his annoyance. 

However, it seems like the demon gets the message anyways, as after Spatula’s awkward reply they go quiet. Unconsciously, Spatula’s shoulders loosen a tad, no longer expected to speak to this stranger or being spoken to. The two of them sit there in silence for a bit, more demons coming then what he honestly expected. From how sketchy the initial flier was, and from how blatantly obvious the website was, you’d imagine not many demons would fall for this obvious cult, and yet.. From what Spatula can see, including himself and the demons sitting on the bench with him, there’s probably about 20 demons who have fallen for it. Most of them are probably like the cheery one next to him, not wanting to let this rare opportunity go to waste even if they are still suspicious about the real intentions of the cult.

Finally, a bus pulls up to the bus stop, making everyone raise their heads to look up at it. The doors open, and immediately Spatula recognizes the business demon that’s been stalking him driving the bus. They give him the same plastic smile as soon as they see him amongst the small crowd, before clearing their throat and addressing the gathered demons.

“I am truly grateful that so many of you have taken this once in a lifetime offer of spending a week within the improvement club. I hope that by the end of this week, you have all decided to join the club in improving not only ourselves but others as well.” They pause, before flashing a pin at the gathered demons, the same one they advised Spatula to look out for if other buses pulled up. “This pin is a sign of a certified member of the club, anyone wearing a pin like this would be delighted to answer any questions you have, whether that be about the club or our goals.

Now without further ado, please board the bus so I may take you all to our destination!” 

With those words, the assorted demons give each other a glance, the few that are still suspicious about this all ( Including Spatula ) hesitating. Finally, one of them steps forward, boarding the bus with their head held high and shaking the hand of the business demon strongly. With them, the floodgates open as the others begin boarding the bus, pushing each other to get on. 

For a moment, Spatula just watches them all shove each other as they scramble a bit to get onto the bus, before he’s jolted for the second time today by the cheery demon sitting next to him.

“Welp, no use hesitating now, y’know? Let’s get on this bus and see what this really is all about.” They give Spatula a smile, before standing up and approaching the small line of demons waiting at the doors. 

Spatula stares at their back for a bit, biting his lower lip nervously, before letting out a shaky breath, standing up and waiting beside them. While he has no idea who this demon is, he’d rather be stuck with someone friendly than a stranger he doesn’t know. As such, he sticks like glue to them as they board the bus, sitting beside them near the front of the bus. The two of them similarly tuck their suitcases underneath the bus seat, and watch as the last few demons trickle in. 

The bus starts with a jolt, the business demon flashing a slightly sinister looking smile into the rearview mirror before driving towards Lost Temple. 

Spatula fiddles with the handle of his ‘Gear’ nervously, already regretting everything, even as he attempts to muster up the same determination and resolve he had yesterday after talking to his friends. He’s on the verge of a slight panic attack when his thoughts are interrupted by the cheery demon next to him.

“Y’know, I just realized I never actually introduced myself to you!” They chuckle, not a hint of shame in their voice as they look over at him and extend a hand. “Sorry for my bad manners, but my name’s Spork, he/him.” 

Spatula stares at the hand for a moment, before shaking it, a bit startled by how enthusiastically Spork shakes it. 

“U-Um, my name’s Spatula, same pronouns as well..”

 “Nice to meetcha, Spatula!” He lets go of his hand, setting it on the bag resting by his side. “I’m kind of excited for all of this, to be honest. It’s still super sketchy, but the mystery of it all is intriguing, you know?” 

“I get that..” Spatula looks down at his sneakers, his thoughts briefly turning dark as the previous worries surface again. “The mystery of it all, what’s really happening..”

“Exactly! Can’t just overlook something like this, cause it’s not everyday that something like this happens.” Spork pats him on the shoulder, making Spatula jolt and swivel his gaze back onto his face. “Anyways, this trip kind of seems like it’ll be awhile, considering they couldn’t say anything about where they’re taking us.. So want to see some photos of my cats?” 

Spatula stares at Spork’s brightly grinning face, before a small smile grows on his own face. 

“Y’know what.. I would like that, I would like that very much.” 

Spork lets out a small cheer and immediately begins rummaging through his bag.

“Oh man, I’m so glad you said yes. I just took some absolutely adorable pictures of my two cats, Cupcake and Muffins are their names by the way , and I have been DYING, dying I say, to show someone them. All of the usual people I normally show them off to said no, but oh man I am so excited for you to see…” 

The bus continues onwards towards the idly setting sun, and while he’s still majorly nervous about all of this, for a moment Spatula can relax as he listens to Spork ramble on about his cats.

Chapter Text

“-and that’s when I realized what they were talking about. Once I got the full picture, I couldn’t just let them walk away after what they did. Some demons nowadays, man, are just looking for a reason to hate someone.” 

Spork’s voice washes over Spatula as he rambles on, having long since diverged from the original topic of his cats. While Spatula can’t exactly recall how they exactly got to talking about faction discrimination, he isn’t complaining as Spork’s take on it all is pretty unique from his own, all about solving the problem physically.

However, before he can continue on the bus finally begins slowing down, making the scattered conversations quiet down and stop completely. At this point they had been traveling for about 3 or so hours, passing by the usual road taken to Lost Temple and riding on an off road for a vast majority of the time. 

The bus finally reaches a stop, the assembled demons ( Spatula included ) poking their heads out into the aisle of the bus or looking over each other's heads to see the mysterious destination the recruiter didn’t want to tell them…Only to be sorely disappointed, as the bus has been parked in an unofficial parking lot in front of some cave. 

‘ This really doesn’t make me feel any more confident in any of this… ’ Spatula thinks to himself, letting out a quiet sigh as he grips his ‘Gear’ tighter. Before he can worry anymore about the consequences of going along with this very sketchy group, he is jolted a tiny bit by Spork to his left, who jostles him slightly by the shoulder. 

“ Man, could this get any sketchier??” He mumbles to Spatula, a half-grimace half-smile on his face, making Spatula let out a strained chuckled. 

‘ No, no it really couldn’t.. ’

The recruiter up front clears their throat, stopping the idle chatter that had picked up again. Once everyone’s attention was on them, they gave them all a very plastic feeling wide grin as they flourish their arms out.

“We have finally arrived at the Improvement Club! Now I know it doesn’t look like much from the outside, but please have faith, for it’s much more impressive once you see the inside of it.”  They pause for a moment, for the theatrics of it all. “And yes, I am talking about the cave behind me. We stumbled upon this gem of a cave with pure luck and transformed it into the base of the club operations.” 

They pause again, looking at all the demons before them and gauging their reactions, before nodding to themself. 

“Well then, if no one has any questions you can now exit the bus and start your journey towards self improvement!” 

The walk through the cave is uneventful, for how nerve wracking it is, the dim lights above them as they move deeper and deeper into the cave lead by the recruiter only adding to the sketchy looks and ominous feelings. Spatula wasn’t the only one feeling it, as the other demons were similarly spooked into feeling quiet, not wanting to get the attention from any of the people there. 

Finally, they approach a door, the recruiter knocking politely on it as the rest of them wait in tense silence. After a beat the door opens and the recruiter leads them deeper into the bowels of the ‘club’. As they enter, it just gets more sketchy and more obvious that this is a cult.

They have clearly stepped into some sort of church that has been carved into the cave walls, pews to the right of the group that go on for quite a bit and an altar adorned with what looks like some sort of shrubbery, with a gleaming gold altar cloth draped over it. Light streams through a skylight onto the altar in a half moon symbol, the symbol only accentuated from how dim it is inside. 

“Ah, new recruits, yes?” A demon dressed in a white robe with gold trimmings on it says, approaching the group with barely any sound. A white cloth similarly covers their eyes, one that Spatula is absolutely certain they can’t see through. “Welcome everyone! It is an honor to meet more interested in joining!” 

The recruiter turns around to face the group, their plastic smile still not moving. 

“This here is a top member of the Improvement Club, having been one of you not long ago before meeting us. They will explain more about the Club and show you guys to your dorms.” 

With that, the recruiter leaves, giving a parting nod to the robed demon as they vanish into the dim darkness of the church. Once they leave, the robed demon steps forward towards the group with that same plastic smile on their face.

“I would like to give a bit of an explanation before I show you folks to your dorms so you can get settled. This here,” They flourish their arms out to gesture towards the pews and altar. “Is indeed a religious place. However , we are in fact an Improvement club, helping unfortunate demons or those who are wanting to be better in life. We won’t force you to join our religion, as that would go against our values of not discriminating, however you will be exposed to many of our practices throughout your stay here.” 

The gathered demons murmur, however the general air of suspicion they held throughout this introduction eases a tiny bit from how.. Honest the robed demon is. The plastic grin on the robed demon grows just a tiny bit, before returning to normal. 

“With that being said, we do not appreciate any type of phones allowed in our holy grounds. If you would not mind handing over your phones, you will get them back at the end of your stay I assure you.” The robed demon takes out a basket from where they hid it in their robes.

After a moment of suspicious silence, a demon walks from out of the crowd and puts their phone into the basket, inspiring others to go over and put their own into the basket as well.

Spatula grips his ‘Gear’ tightly as Spork leaves his side for the first time since leaving the bus to put his phone into the basket. ‘ This is such a bad idea.. But if I don’t follow the crowd then who knows what they will do.. ’

Hesitating, he walks forward with the last few demons, taking out his phone and staring at it for a bit, before putting it into the basket. ‘ It’ll be okay, I.. I can deal with anything on my own, surely. I trained a bit, I’m not completely helpless. ’

He’s jolted from his thoughts by the robed demon moving closer to the altar and putting the basket of phones onto it. Afterwards, he walks back to the group with a grateful smile on their face. 

“Thank you for being mindful of our religion’s ways.. Now to get into what I’m sure you were all waiting for: The Improvement Club.” 

The robed demon goes into a spiel about the ‘club’, one that Spatula had heard before from the recruiter the night he decided to go. As they are talking about the benefits of the club, he instead looks around the cave, noting the intricate carvings and tapestries on the walls… Just as he’s about to tune into the spiel again, he catches movement in the darkness of the cave. He’s just barely able to make out the movement of dark robes in the dim light, more members of the cult just sitting back and watching the group idly, without their knowledge. 

“...Now I’m sorry to ask this, especially after I asked for you to hand over your phones, but the first few days of the club we focus on your body without your Gear. As such I have to ask you to hand over your Gear as well, only for the first three days of this regiment.” Before Spatula can attempt to see what else is hiding in the darkness, he’s jolted out of his observations by the white robed demon’s demands.

Predictably, the gathered demons let out protests, not wanting to be left basically defenseless in this sketchy place. However, the white robed demon was prepared.. 

“I know, I know, you came here to get stronger with Gear, and I understand that this is not the most friendly looking place. However, to rely solely on one's Gear would be a weakness, and that is not something we are trying to foster with this club.. I’m sure none of you came to this club wanting to be weak, correct??” 

As soon as they say that, the protests die almost immediately, making the white robed demon’s smile widen before they wipe it from their face. 

“For now I am going to show you guys to your dorm rooms, you will be paired up with the demon you sat with on the bus. There will be a trainer waiting at your dorm door that will be taking your Gear.” They turn around with a slight flourish, the ends of their robe flaring. “Follow me now.” 

The white robed demon leads them further into the transformed cave, past a couple of closed doors and clearly handmade gym rooms with improvised weightlifting equipment, until finally leading them into a more.. Residential looking area, with T.V.’s and couches for relaxation. As they said, there were demons posted by the dorm doors, all standing ramrod straight and with their arms behind their backs.

The white robed demons split away from the group to talk to the ones by the doors.. In a normal scenario perhaps those gathered would attempt to talk to each other, mingle a bit to get to know those they will be in close contact for a week with, however no one really makes a move to talk to each other, instead staying nearby their own bus buddy… At least Spatula does, and he assumes that's why no one really journeys away from their own buddy.

“So… What do you think of all of this so far, Spatula?” He’s jolted from his own thoughts once more by Spork beside him, giving him a smile as he rocks back and forth on his heels. “Personally, I don’t know what to think, it’s just too sketchy right now, y’know? Doesn’t inspire much confidence, but they were also pretty honest..” He shrugs as he trails off. 

“Um…I’m not too sure what to think either..” Spatula half-lies to him, giving him a small smile. ‘ They were definitely lying when we first got here, I just don’t know what about.. Man, why did I decide to do this again?! ’ 

“Yeah, I shoulda seen that answer, haha! It's not like anything has really happened yet, we did just get here, huh.” Spork pats Spatula on the shoulder in a friendly manner, jolting him out of another anxiety filled spiral once again. Before he can speak again, however, the white robed demon clears their throat as they approach the groups. 

“Alright now, I’ve talked to the ones that will be taking your Gear’s for the next few days. Please hand them over, otherwise you won’t be allowed into your dorm room.” 

Spatula lets out a shaky breath as he follows behind Spork to their shared room, watching the other demons similarly move to their new rooms. He grips his spatula tightly, more anxious than he thought he would be at the thought of actually giving it up. It’s not his Gear, he isn’t tied to it at all nor can he do anything extraordinary or special with it.. But it's been with him for his entire new life, a means to defend himself even when he didn’t know how to fight back at all. 

He stares into the cheap metal of his spatula, holding it in a shaky hand, before he reluctantly hands it over to the demon by his dorm door. Hesitating for just a bit on the threshold of the doorway, he takes in a deep breath and hides his shaking hands in the pockets of his sweatpants before stepping inside behind Spork.

The rest of the afternoon is spent unpacking, Spatula’s mind unable to even comprehend what Spork is saying as he attempts to make idle chatter. He’s more shaken up about this than he thought he would be, his hands still shaking from the anxiety, his thoughts racing and unable to be anchored down in his own head. 

He’s pretty sure he said goodnight to Spork before tucking himself in, but his head feels fuzzy from it all so he isn’t too confident he did.

As Spatula uneasily fell asleep, he had the unnerving feeling like something horrible was going to happen, his breath speeding up as he shoots upwards in his bunk bed, clawing at his eyes as they refused to open. In what felt like mere seconds after his eyes closed the blackness behind his eyelids surged forward, engulfing him completely with barely any time for him to open his mouth and scream. However, just as he was certain he was going to die from suffocation, he was suddenly spit out into another black void. 

‘ W-Wha…’ He rubs the top of his head, glancing around frantically from where he was deposited and attempting to stand up.. Attempt being the key word here, for as soon as gets his feet planted underneath himself the force of gravity seemingly triples, making him yelp as he’s forced face down once more unto the ground. ‘ G-gah…Why..’ 

The air is suffocating here, he’s barely able to force out a couple of syllables before having to gasp for air, lest he wants to die from oxygen deprivation. Every wobbly attempt to stand up or at the very least get his hands underneath him is met with an increase in the force bearing down on him, and he’s forced back to where he started. His feeble attempts to pry himself off of the floor are suddenly interrupted, a light searing into his eyes from ahead of him as it slowly descends onto the empty plains, the void eagerly sucking it in from where it touches it.

Before his eyes, a form composed solely of light touches down in a way away from where he lays, the only thing he’s able to make out from the figure are its antlers, laden in gold and shining brightly on top of its head. He stares upwards at it, in awe of how it seemingly glides over to him despite the crushing weight of gravity. Through squinted eyes, he’s just barely able to watch it kneel down in front of him, a gentle smile on its face as it stares at him. 

Staring upwards at it through squinted eyes, Spatula feels slightly more at ease, for surely this being of light is here to help him or at least means that he is safe now in this desolate void. Just barely he’s able to catch sight of it raising one arm, agonizingly slow, as it reaches to his face, the gentle smile never leaving its own. Before he can even attempt to make a questioning noise, sudden and blinding pain lace through his body as it digs its claws into his left eye, scooping the eyeball out as it reaches inside of him. 

His other eye quickly goes wide as he lets out a silent scream, unable to get enough air to actually articulate how painful it is. He feebly squirms against them, barely able to raise a heavy limb and paw at their arm, sparks burning his hand as he does so. The pain is incomparable though, to whatever they are doing to him. It feels as though they are grabbing something integral to him, whatever it is he doesn’t know, and pulling on it roughly. 

Their once gentle smile has turned sinister in his eye, despite not having changed even when he is clearly struggling against them. After a couple more agonizing moments of tugging, Spatula feels something give within him, the pain immediately feeling.. Far away. Not dulled, he is still acutely aware of the pain as it hasn’t gone away, but it feels like he is now simply observing it instead of actively feeling it. At the same time, everything becomes fuzzier, his emotions dulling and surroundings, as bland as they were, looking a lot less.. Bright, to put it simply. His feeble struggles against them cease, his left arm falling once more against his side on the ground as he lays there and simply breathes.

The last thing he sees before his vision fizzes out is the being giving him another sinisterly gentle smile as it holds something within its grasp, his mind unable to comprehend what exactly it took, before turning away from him and beginning its ascent upwards from where it came. 

His right eye flutters shut as h e jolts upwards in his bed, being roughly shaken awake by Spork, who is giving him a concerned look on his face. For a moment, they stare at each other as Spatula wakes up even more. His face feels damp as he goes to roughly scrub at his eyes, as he was apparently crying in his sleep. Understandable, given the nightmare he just went through, but still pretty embarrassing for a first day wake up. 

“Are you okay, Spatula? You were making some pretty distressing noises in your sleep..” Spork’s concerned voice jolts him out of his musings as he shakes his shoulder gently. Spatula blinks a bit at him, before giving him a jaw cracking yawn and a thumbs-up. He lets out a relieved sigh and leaning away from him as a smile grows on his face. “That’s good, thought maybe you were having a bad dream or all of this was getting to you.. Eh, anyways! The recruiters came in a little bit before you woke up and told us that breakfast would be in 20 minutes and that afterwards they’ll be talking going through a whole introduction for what we’ll all be doing.” 

“Ah, okay.. Thank you for catching me up..” Spatula lets out another yawn as he gets up out of his bed, Spork backing up so he has room. “You can go on ahead, if you want, Spork. I’m going to wake myself up some more and get ready here.” 

“Well alright, if you say so.” Spork shrugs, walking out of the room to get ready himself. “I’ll see you in the cafeteria, Spatula!”

Spatula watches him leave, letting out a heavy sigh as soon as the door closes behind him. He rubs his left eye, the nightmare still on his mind.. Shaking his head to get it off his mind, he changed out of his sleep wear and put on his sneakers, feeling a bit off kilter due to not having his phone with him. Once he’s fully dressed he grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste out of his suitcase and walks on into the communal bathrooms, giving shy nods at the demons already in there. 

He brushes his teeth idly, glancing around at others and watching them mill about. However, as he’s spitting out the toothpaste in his mouth, he suddenly pauses. His reflection in the mirror strikes him as.. Odd, somehow. It's clearly him, nothing has drastically changed between the night before and now, but he’s struck with the odd sensation that something fundamental has changed within him. 

‘ The dream.. Was it really..?’ He puts one clawed hand carefully below his left eye, looking deep into it. Despite how hard he stares into it, however, he can’t find anything wrong or different about it, it's still the same eye he’s had this entire life. ‘ Gah, it’s probably just nerves. The dream was just a dream and it just has me on edge, that's all.’ 

He shakes his head slightly, finishing up in the bathroom and leaving, despite the nagging feeling that it was more than just a dream. Pushing that thought out of his mind he makes his way to the cafeteria, stuffing his hands into his pockets to hide the way they continue to shake.

Spork's cats! Muffins (left) and Cupcake (right). They will be mentioned in the story, but I figured why not put them here for now just so you know what they look like! :)

Chapter Text

Spatula lets out a heavy sigh, wiping the sweat off of his brow as he relaxes for a moment. The sun beats down heavily on him as he stands there, roasting him alive it feels like. 

The recruiters of the “club” had almost immediately put them to work that first day, granted the work was pretty simple compared to what they are doing now, but it was apparent what they wanted them all to do from the start: 

Menial Labor. 

That first day, after orientation ( which was just more thanks and suspicious, at least to Spatula, addendums about their religion) , they had tasked the gathered demons with sprucing up their church and living areas.. Literally just their chores. 

No one even complained that much, despite how obvious it was they were just pushing their chores on them, because they spun it so well. 

“Before getting into the hard training we must first warm up your bodies, to get them used to the strain that will be put on them!” The recruiter had said, with a plastic smile on their face. 

“… So you're having us do your chores ?” A demon from somewhere in the crowd had said in response. 

“ Why, yes!” They had cheerfully replied back, crossing their arms across their chest placidly. “ Chores are a good, easy way to work those muscles and prepare them for the heavy training.” 

The assembled demons had been suitably convinced, murmuring amongst themselves for a minute. From around him, Spatula had heard the agreements of the others to their logic, with Spork nodding along to what the recruiter had said. 

After that they had been put into groups and sent to work almost immediately, with that first day being all about helping clean the communal areas and around the church. The next day was much the same, however with the addition of the groups being assigned meal times to make them. 

The first two days spent inside were.. Fine, actually. Spatula would’ve thought that by the second day there would’ve been some more attempts at trying to sway people to join their religion, but there wasn’t. Just the monotonous chores they were all assigned, and the staring from the dark robed demons in the shadows.. It was making his already pretty bad anxiety even worse , all this staring while nothing happens.

He lets out a heavy sigh, shaking his head slightly, before going back to shoveling away at the dirt in front of him. The two days with no overt propaganda or changes aside, the recruiters have stuck to their words, unfortunately. All those chores he was repeatedly told to do are actually making a difference, his stamina increasing from the hours of sweeping and cleaning he was forced to do. 

The latest chore they have them doing is what’s really putting his new muscles to use, shoveling for hours on end in the Lost Temple heat, for seemingly no reason. The gathered rock and soil would be periodically inspected, for whatever purpose the cult needed it, and then taken away when a certain criteria was met. 

No matter how many times Spatula attempted to ask what they were gathering all of this dirt and rock for, he was turned away every time, told often to ‘ keep shoveling, moving your mouth does not help muscles grow!’ . It would be downright frustrating if Spatula was any other demon, but he’s himself and he can only find himself being worried about it all. 

There isn’t anything inherently malicious they could be doing with the dirt and rock, but God if it doesn’t make his head spin thinking about what they could possibly want with it, his anxiety working overtime to make up scenarios in which it can be used maliciously. 

As such.. He has come up with a plan.  See, they can’t be out here for too long in the blazing heat without needing to come inside for a break and to hydrate. When the next break comes up, he’s going to try and split away from the group, and try to follow after the dark robed cultists. He’s tried before, but it seems like someone is always trying to find him.. Mainly Spork, but he can’t be mad at the guy considering that they are literally paired together. 

‘ Sorry Spork..’ He heaves another heaping of dirt out of his hole, grunting. ‘ But for my own peace of mind, I need to find out what it is these guys are planning.. ’

It feels like hours have passed before they are finally called in for a break, at that point he’s beginning to doubt his plan.. Mainly if he can actually pull it off while being as exhausted as he is. Still, he gathers his resolve and, as Spork and him are walking back inside of the cave, he turns towards him, trying to make it obvious how tired he feels. 

“Hey.. Uh, Spork?”  He starts, idly handing his shovel over to a demon in the next group. “I’m feeling a bit tired.. Going to lay down for a bit in our dorm, alright?”

“Oh! Yeah I feel you man, you go lay down.” He gives Spatula a wide smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’ll come get you to let you know when it’s our turn to do the other tasks”

“Thanks man.. I really appreciate it..” He gives Spork a slight smile, feeling just the tiniest bit bad for lying to him. Turning around, he gives him one last wave before heading in the direction of the dorms.

He walks for a bit down the long hallway, making sure to actually seem as if he is going to the dorm room before turning a corner and immediately looking around at the other doors. Going up to one, he pauses, hand hovering over the doorknob as he glances around nervously. Seeing no one immediately around him, or any of the cultists hiding in the shadows, he cautiously and carefully jiggles it. For a moment he thinks it’s locked, before it turns.. He carefully opens the door, poking his head into the room nervously. 

The room is dark, darker than he thinks is reasonably dark.. Like seriously, how do they even see with how dark it is. Still, nevertheless, he squints as he tries to make out anything in the overarching darkness, opening the door a bit more so he can squeeze in.

Through the darkness, he’s just barely able to make out paintings on the walls, depicting.. Well, something. He can’t exactly make out what is on   the paintings, but he can tell they’re there. Similarly, he can tell there’s statues around, depicting some kind of animal as far as he can tell. 

Walking a bit further into the room, he’s able to make out a tad more of his surroundings, his eyes adjusting to the darkness more. The walls are decorated rather strangely in his opinion, with some sort of cloth or clothes hanging, weapons of different sorts. It doesn’t fit together at all, the paintings, clothing, and weapons, plus the statues around him. 

Spatula puts his hands in front of him as he walks into the room even more, trying his best not to run into anything or trip over something. Right in the back of the room is some sort of pedestal, standing out starkly in the darkness.

Carefully creeping up to the pedestal, he paws at it for a moment, before his hands catch on a book of some sorts on it. Ever so carefully, he pats at the book, doing his best to try and turn it to him by feeling the words written on it. Finally he picks it up, shoving it almost straight into his face so he can try to make out anything on the pages. 

Predictably he isn’t  quite able to make out anything coherent, barely able to read the words of some sort of dance and dedication to something before he has to take a break, eyes pounding from the strain. He puts the book carefully down again so he can rub aggressively at his eyes. His right eye relaxes quickly, the pain receding, but his left eye burns still, no matter how much he rubs at it. 

Leaving his hand over his eye, Spatula lets out a quiet huff of frustration as he turns back around to the door. He carefully creeps back over to it, not wanting to push his luck and stay longer. 

‘ First time I’m able to sneak away and I can’t even find out anything about this cult..’ He thinks despairingly to himself, rubbing absentmindedly at his left eye as he carefully pries the door open again. ‘ Guess I should’ve expected that though. Not every first try is a guaranteed win, after all.’ 

Slinking out the door, he lets his hand fall away from his face, deciding to just weather through the pain in his eye. Before he can move away from the door, however, he feels a hand on his shoulder as he’s tugged away and then spin around. He barely gets to let out the beginnings of a yelp before a hand covers his mouth, muffling the sound. 

“ What were you thinking, sneaking around alone like that?!?” Spork whisper yells at him, a serious and concerned look on his face. His grip tightens on Spatula’s shoulder before he lets out a quiet sigh, letting go of him and taking a step away. “ Sword’s, what if someone stumbled upon you snooping about like that man?” 

“S..Sorry about that Spork..” Spatula whispers back, a tad shocked at how intense Spork looks and sounds. The other hasn’t exactly been as outwardly nervous about the cult as Spatula had been, so to hear him be this serious is… Weird. “ I was just..”  

Spork quickly shushes him, pulling him away from the door and walking down the corridor they’re in quickly. Just in time too, as some cult members started coming their way, whispering to each other before cutting themselves off as soon as they saw the duo. As the two of them pass by the group of cultists, and though the hoods they wore obscured their faces, Spatula could swear that he saw them giving him curious looks as they passed by.

The pair walk around aimlessly in the corridors, trying to look as normal as possible, which just makes Spatula more nervous knowing he was snooping around literal seconds ago. His mind flashes with all that could go wrong, maybe in the dark he left some footprints, or the cult members who passed them by before just somehow knew he was in the room behind him. He gets caught up in his thoughts, worries swarming his mind as he’s tugged along by Spork in some arbitrary direction. 

Shaking his head slightly, he glances around quickly to get a grasp on his surroundings, realizing that Spork has dragged him to some sort of open room filled with garments of some kind. The garments look…Familiar to him for some reason, his brain stopping its search for worries in order to instead look at why he feels like he’s seen this style before. 

However, he isn’t able to really come up with any concrete answer aside from realizing it has something to do with the Before, as Spork snaps his fingers in front of his eyes. Refocusing on the present, he gives the serious looking Spork a sheepish half hearted smile, getting a playful eye roll in return.

“Okay, we should be far away enough to speak freely now.” His friend says, letting go of him to take a couple of steps away, giving him a once over. The serious look stays stamped on his face, still so weird to see. 

“A-Ah, good… As I was trying to say, I just wanted to try and find out what the goal was of all this.” Spatula quickly says, wanting to get the questioning over with and not give Spork any time to interrupt him. 

“I get that, I really do, but Spat’ you can’t just go wandering off without anyone knowing.” Spork shakes his head, crossing his arms across his chest as he frowns at him. “If you had gotten caught, who knows what would happen? I wouldn’t have been able to help you either man.” 

Spatula winces, glancing away in slight embarrassment as his cheeks heat up a bit. 

“I… I suppose you’re right..” 

“I know I’m right.” Spork nods self satisfyingly to himself, before deflating and giving him a tired look, biting his lip as he contemplates something.

The two of them stand in the silence for a moment, Spatula opening and closing his mouth nervously, uncertain if he should say anything. Finally, after what feels like an eternity to him, Spork turns away from him with a heavy sigh, one hand going up to rub at his temples. 

“I…I care about you man, you're my first friend in forever..” He confesses, sounding both tired and defeated at the same time. “I haven't actually had any friends for so long, you're the first demon I’ve gotten close with since..” 

“That can’t be true..!” Spatula sputters out, halfway yelling from surprise as he cuts him off. “You're so enthusiastic and easy to get along with, I can’t be your first friend in ages!” 

It’s baffling to imagine that before all of this, Spork was friendless, even more so to come to the realization it was him , nervous and people scared Spatula who broke that streak. For all his denying, he’s well aware he’s borderline a hermit with how much he avoids people, even someone like Spork.

His friend just lets out a sort of strained chuckle at his words, hunching in on himself a tad. 

“It’s the truth, man.. Before you I kind of had no one, just my cats and me against the world.” Spork lets out a slightly defeated sigh, unable to see the gobsmacked look on Spatula’s face. “I tried to make friends, honestly, but it just seemed like I wasn’t ever enough for people, or they just got.. Tired of my ramblings, cause they’d all leave or get mad at me eventually. I stopped trying after a while, as I’m sure you can understand why. Getting told to just leave someone alone or that I wasn’t ever really their friend over and over.. It’s not pleasant.”

The two of them stand in a somber silence for a moment, Spatula just uncertain on what to say to all of that. He never imagined that easy going Spork would be friendless, it just seemed natural to imagine that he  had someone waiting for him out there, aside from his cats. After a moment, he tentatively opens his mouth. 

“You…You said I was your first friend in a while .” He points out timidly, borderline whispering the words for fear that it’s a sore subject. “…Did your old friends leave you like that..?” 

Spork is quiet for a moment, shoulders tense as he stands there. Before Spatula can take back his words however, he lets out a tired sigh. 

“…My last friend, we were close, almost like we were brothers..” He whispers out, shoulders hunched in defeat. “But he was from a different Faction than me… A Blackrockian in Playground… He hid it well, but once people started finding out..” 

He pauses voice cracking on the last word, taking a moment to gather himself. Spatula takes a step forward, planning on giving him some sort of comfort instead of just standing there, but Spork continues on before he can.

“..By the time I had found him, it was already too late. I wanted so badly to get revenge for him, to hurt those who had hurt him just because of where he came from.. But he told me not to, that I’d just be continuing the cycle or something.” 

He lets out a scoff that turns into a slightly bitter, wet sounding chuckle, one hand going up to rub furiously at his eyes. 

“He was always the better demon between us..” He whispers out defeatedly, letting out a shaky breath and taking in one in return. 

Spatula stares at him, at a loss for words really. He’s not one for actually comforting someone, and so far in his new life he hasn’t had to actually do so, so far. He’s at a loss for what to do, aside from attempting to get closer and maybe hug his friend. Taking a few steps closer, he finds his resolve wavering just the tiniest bits, inexplicably worried he’ll mess it up somehow.. As if you can mess up a hug. However his indecision and worry lasted just long enough for Spork to get himself back together, with him letting out a resolute breath and straightening up, turning around to face him abruptly. 

“Anyways! All that is to say, I don’t want to lose you too man. I.. I can’t handle it if I were to find you.. Like him..” Spork starts out strong, before trailing off at the mention again of his dead friend, however he pulls himself back rather quickly. “That’s why, if you are going to be sneaking off, you have to tell me. So I can at least help if something were to happen, maybe draw attention or something, instead of standing by.”

All Spatula can do is stare at him in sympathy for a bit, before reluctantly nodding his head in acceptance. A small part of him is relieved, to have someone actually in his corner so to speak, though the vast majority is unhappy with this outcome. He’s had it in his head he has to do this alone, to spare anyone any pain, so he’s.. Reluctant to actually go along with Spork’s plea, but seeing his face streaked with tears.. Knowing what he does now about his friend.. He can’t find it in himself to really put up a fuss about it. After seeing his agreement, Spork lets out a relieved sigh, patting him on the shoulder roughly and giving him a smile. 

“Thank you, man.. Seriously, you don’t understand how much this really means to me. Let’s get to bed now, yea? Who knows what they’ll have us doing tomorrow.” He gives Spatula one more pat on the shoulder before letting go, and stepping away, back towards the dorms. However when he doesn’t hear Spatula’s footsteps behind him, he stops, turning back around to give him a curious look. “Are you not coming with me..?” 

“Ah… I just want some time to myself.. To think about things..”  Spatula sheepishly averts his gaze from his friend, wringing his hands in his nerves, missing the smile Spork sends him. 

“Oh, that's alright! As long as you aren’t sneaking off, you can take as much time as you want, man.” 

“Oh nono, I’m not sneaking off, don’t worry.” He quickly reassures Spork, not about to go back on his word immediately, if at all . “I seriously just need to think on things for a little bit.” 

“Well, alright then..” Spork shrugs, giving him one last assessing look and seeing how serious he is about not sneaking off, before turning back around and continuing out of the room. 

Spatula lets out a quiet sigh, shoulders slumping as he rubs his face with one hand, briefly stopping on his left eye. The pain from before had dialed down a bit, but it still aches something fierce. Despite his anxieties, he wasn’t one to pay any attention to his dreams, but from the way his eye has been acting.. He’s starting to think it wasn’t just some dream.

That isn’t even considering the fact that he’s been feeling.. Off ever since that dream, more than just his eye continuously hurting. He feels more.. Real in a sense, colors brighter and smells more powerful then they were before, that kind of stuff. He has no clue what could have caused it, nor what it even means, considering he hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary, being in a cult excluded obviously.

Letting out another sigh, he shuffles over towards the nearest wall, leaning on it before sliding down slowly to sit on the floor, ignoring the way the hanging garments around him sway more fiercely. He continues to absentmindedly rub at his left eye as he brings his knees up to his chest, hugging them close with one arm. 

‘ Okay so.. Today was a complete bust, I wasn’t able to find anything of interest. I’ve learned nothing except they are probably using the dirt to make some sort of statues. Yippee.’ He grits his teeth slightly in defeat as, leaning his head back onto the wall more and scrubbing a bit furiously at his eye. ‘ God, three days in and I’ve done nothing but waste time playing good little recruit. What a fucking joke…’ 

He stops scrubbing at his eye to instead grasp at his left horn, tugging on it a bit painfully as he bites his bottom lip. He wasn’t expecting to really do much, if he was honest, but to be this far in and still have no information? It's disheartening, and only feeds his anxiety as he imagines what they are really up to, behind closed doors. For as much as the exercises and chores are unfortunately helping him build muscles, he just knows that it's all building up to something.. He just can’t, for the second life of him, figure out what it is.

Taking another second for himself, he lets out a measured breath as he lets go of his horn, letting out a little hiss as he plucks his claws from it. Apparently he was so out of it, stuck inside his own head, he didn’t feel it when his grip went from slightly painful to excruciating as his claws sunk deep into his horns. Feeling the blood trickle down slightly from the wounds, he lets out his third sigh in a row, wiping his claws haphazardly on his pants before standing up. 

Moving away from the wall he makes his way back to the dorms, stuffing his hands into his pockets and keeping his head down to avoid the eyes of the cultists mulling about. He could not mentally handle an encounter with one of them, so soon after his anxiety attack. It would just send him spiraling back into it, only leagues more embarrassing as he’d have an audience with the cultists.  

Finally, his feet take him back to the dorms, his mind halfway there as he enters the communal area. He gives vague nods to the other demons, not really in the right mindspace to attempt talking or hanging around with them… Though he really needs to do that, seeing as he’s only hung out with Spork so far.. 

‘ Another time.. ’ He hazily thinks to himself, pushing open his dorm door hesitantly, head still kept down. 

“Oh there you are! I was just about to go looking for ya, Spat’!” Spork cheerfully calls out from his bed, putting down the book he was reading to wave at him. 

He blinks at the floor, taking in his friend’s words and processing them for a moment. Had he really been so zoned out that he didn’t realize how much time had passed..? 

Shaking himself internally, he gives Spork a belated nod as he walks over his bed and flops down onto it, holding in his hiss of pain as the open wounds on his horn meet the fabric of his pillow. 

“Tired huh? I don’t blame you, I’m pretty tired myself after a day like today..” Spork lets out a slight chuckle, a slight ‘thud’ echoing in Spatula’s ears as he presumably puts his book on his nightstand. “See ya in the morning, Spat..” 

Spatula lets out a muffled goodnight back to him, as Spork turns off the lights. As the darkness blankets his vision, he vows to himself that tomorrow he’ll actually find something about this cult.. Whether it be through sneaking off with Spork, or confronting one of the cult members.

Chapter Text

Waking up that morning, his resolve from the night before hadn’t wavered at all. He was determined to actually get some info from this cult, his own wellbeing be damned . Though to be fair, if he spends any more time left in the dark about the intentions of this cult his wellbeing will be threatened anyways. So far he’s been able to keep it together relatively well, but he can just feel his thoughts attempting to boil over, getting stronger the longer he’s left unaware. 

Internally shaking his head, he lets out a silent huff as he gets out of bed, doing his best to not get caught up in his musings and thoughts again. Glancing towards his friend, he’s surprised to see Spork isn’t up yet, as he’s normally up way before him. He stares curiously at his friend’s shape on the bed, coiled up in his blankets, before internally shrugging and just walking to the door. For a moment he contemplates waking Spork up or leaving him some sort of note, the conversation from last night still fresh in his mind, before deciding that just going out early isn’t necessarily sneaking off. 

Exiting their dorm room, Spatula glances around, both surprised and not to see how little demons were hanging around. He expected that others would sleep in considering the type of work they did yesterday, but for there to be just three demons ( not including him ) up is jarring. For once it seems like he is the one up at an ungodly hour, which is surprising considering his sleeping habits. 

Absentmindedly rubbing his left eye, he makes his way to the communal bathrooms to take a shower, finding the sight of it being so empty jarring to him. Taking off his clothes and laying them down on the sink counter, he steps inside a shower stall, making sure to close the curtain behind him. As the ( for once ) warm water washes over him, he stares a bit despondently at the tiles on the floor. The warm water is almost too much for his.. Well he wouldn’t call them enhanced, but newly sharp senses. What he would’ve considered just lukewarm is almost scalding to him now. 

Raising his hands he stares at them for a moment, truly taking in the weird feeling for once and not just idly commentating on it in his head. It was almost like.. Before the dream this body wasn’t truly his, that he was just kind of spectating it no matter how much he actually felt things. It’s different from dissociation, he ( unfortunately ) knows that much as he’s had personal experience with how that feels like. He wasn’t even really aware he was just spectating things, that's the main difference between the two feelings.

‘ ...Can a dream really do something like this? Make me feel as if I’m more.. Anchored in the present?’ He thinks to himself as he continues staring at his hand, a grimace forming on his face, water still washing over him. ‘ What does it even all mean ?? Gah, if I just had some more of my memories from Before.. Would make this so much easier I bet. ’ 

He rubs at his eye absentmindedly, before catching himself doing it, pulling his hand away from his face to stare at it with a frown.

‘ And THAT, what even happened to my eye?! Why does it feel so weird and hurt so much?!’ He grits his teeth as he thinks, clenching his hands into fists. Before he can dwell on it anymore, he lets out a harsh breath and slaps himself gently. ‘ Enough thinking. I’ll get answers today or so help me..’ 

He finishes up in the shower after that, doing his best to just.. Not think too deeply again on the weird feelings in his body and the pain in his eye. It’s a hard thing for him to do really, his mind racing as he exits the shower and covers himself with a towel, but as he timidly walks out of the bathroom he’s able to shove all those thoughts to the wayside for now. 

More demons are up finally, some still looking half-asleep as they leave their rooms while others relax on the couches in the common room. A few glance up as he walks into the room towards his dorm, giving him a few half-hearted waves and mumbled greetings as he passes by. Nodding back to them, he remembers what he also thought of the night before, how he needed to perhaps.. Just a tiny bit.. Be more social. 

It goes against basically everything his mind is screaming at him, but well.. It’d be best to actually talk to the others who are with him in this cult instead of just isolating himself like he has ( unknowingly ) been doing. Learning at least a little bit of their stories would also help just in case anything were to happen.. Which he hopes nothing does, but, again, his brain can’t help but jump to the worst scenarios. 

‘Besides, they probably have people waiting for them outside of here that would miss them if they went missing.’ He thinks to himself as he opens Spork and his dorm door, stepping inside and shutting it gently behind him. ‘It’d probably make more sense if I were to talk to people and tell them my story instead to be honest.. I only really have like.. Maybe two people outside of here that would really miss me..’

He nods towards the just-woke-up Spork, who gives him a sleepy but cheerful good morning in return, climbing out of bed with a yawn. The thought of people outside of here missing him being just maybe two people makes him both sad and slightly grateful. Sad because.. Well now that he’s looking back on it, he really should’ve put more effort into being friends with other demons.. But also grateful because if the worst were to come to fruition, he wouldn’t be making anyone overtly sad with his disappearance, or at least not any sadness that wouldn’t be easily conquerable. 

“Yo, Spat, you with me here??” He’s abruptly broken out of his depressing musings by Spork, who’s giving him an amused yet concerned look. Once he has his attention, Spork shakes his head slightly at him. “What’s going on in that head of yours, man? I called out to you for a bit and you didn’t answer me..”

“Oh, uh… Nothing of importance y'know? Just thinking..” He shrugs, brushing off his friends' worry. After a night like last night, he doesn’t want to make Spork worry about him at all.. Which is something he’s pretty sure he’s already failed at considering the unimpressed look that’s now being shot at him. 

“You can tell me if something’s bothering you man. I’ve already spilled my guts to you so it’s only fair if you get to do the same.” Spork crosses his hands over his chest, his unimpressed look turning into a determined one as he continues staring at Spatula, who flushes embarrassingly. 

“I… Uh…” He stutters for a moment, not expecting to be confronted so bluntly on this, before gaining back his composure. “I was just.. Thinking that I should talk to people more..” 

Spork hums as he thinks on his words, the sound covering up Spatula’s relieved sigh. It’s technically not even a lie, he started that whole spiral thinking about how he needed to talk a bit more with those sucked into the cult.. It just isn’t the entire truth. Luckily for him, it’s a very believable half-truth.. 

“Well… Hm..” Spork rubs the back of his head as he looks up at the ceiling, a contemplative frown on his face. The silence lingers on, making Spatula deflate a tiny bit.. He isn’t that bad at socializing is he..? “I'm going to need a bit to think up a solution for that.. I was kind of expecting you to say you were thinking about the next time you’ll sneak out so I wasn’t prepared for that.” 

His friend gives him a sheepish smile as Spatula lets out a relieved breath. ‘ I knew I wasn’t that bad at talking at people anymore! He just was expecting something else phew..’

“That’s fair honestly..” He gives Spork a small smile and a shrug. “Especially with how you found me last night.. But nah, waking up this early just made me think about how I don’t really know any of the others.” 

“Figured it would’ve been on your mind first thing in the morning. When you weren’t here I kind of figured you were trying to sneak out again, man.” He shrugs again, smiling brightly at him despite the fact he just said he thought he broke his promise. “But honestly that makes more sense, you wanting to get to know the others and stuck on how to do it.” 

“I.. I wouldn’t have done that to you Spork..” He says, a slight frown on his face. “You’re my friend and I care about you and your feelings, y’know?” 

Spork is quiet for a bit, the smile on his face slowly shrinking until it’s gone. He glances away from Spatula, staring at the wall to his right as his lips wobble slightly. The two stand in silence for a second before he clears his throat and looks back at Spatula.

“…Yeah.. I know..” He starts a bit hesitantly, a small smile on his face, voice sounding a bit strained. “Sorry man, just.. Gotta get used to having a friend like you again.”

The silence blankets them again, much more lighter than before however. After a beat Spork starts again, looking a tad embarrassed. 

“And uh… Same for me to you, Spat. I care about you as well man, just so you know.” 

Spatula gives him a brighter smile upon hearing those words, the earlier depressing thoughts seeming so far away now that he’s talking to his friend. After their small moment, he lets Spork get ready, walking out of the dorm room to attempt and mingle with the other demons. Normally he’d just wait inside his room until breakfast, but well.. In order to get to know the others, he has to stop doing that. 

Very nervously, he shuffles over towards one of the many couches in the common room, shoulders making their way to his ears as he does so. Doing his best to both act casual and not let his anxiety show on his face, he sits down on the couch next to the others. For a brief moment the conversation they were having stops as he sits down, but it quickly picks back up as he continues to just sit there in silence. 

Despite the fact he hasn’t said a single word to them so far, inwardly he begins celebrating. It’s a very small step towards talking to them, but it’s a step nonetheless. Before can fully work up the courage to actually attempt talking with them, he’s broken out of his thoughts as Spork comes out of their dorm room, ready for the day. Upon seeing him sitting there, he immediately makes a beeline towards Spatula, sitting down between him and the others. 

“What do you think they’ll have us doing today, Spat?” He ponders, leaning back from where he sits on the couch. “There isn’t much for us to do in the desert aside from dig more holes..” 

Spatula lets out a hum, putting thoughts of talking to the others on the back burner for now as he thinks on the question. It’s, admittedly, a good one, cause really what will they be doing now?? 

“Honestly I have no idea.. Maybe we’ll start doing some basic stuff, like weight training..?” He shrugs, a sort of lost look on his face. “Sorry, that’s my best guess..” 

“Nah that’s a fair guess honestly! So far the only normal thing we’ve done is stretches, it’d be a nice change of pace.” 

From next to Spork, one of the other demons cuts in, making Spatula jolt and Spork turn to face them with a curious but friendly look on his face.

“I could see that, it would also be a nice break from all that digging yesterday.”

They give the pair a friendly smile, looking a tad nervous as they cut into the conversation. Their friend next to them looks over at Spork and Spatula with an unimpressed look as they look the two of them over. 

“That’s what I’m saying! They can’t just put us back out there without a break, yknow?” Spork excitedly states, nudging Spatula slightly and looking back over at the others meaningfully.

Spatula’s throat feels tight as he looks back over at them, his nerves rearing their ugly head as he’s confronted with talking with them. The conversation fizzles out in his ears a little bit as he focuses not on the conversation but instead on taking in how they look. The one that spoke first has a specific theme to them, blues splashed over them with their horns (which are in a wavy pattern) even being painted light blue to dark blue in a gradient. Their friend next to them favors the color brown, almost beige color, with their horns being long and pointed back. 

Finally, taking in a deep breath and after looking them over, Spatula feels like he can talk again. The conversation fades in as he focuses on it, the words washing over him at first before registering. 

“…Seriously, I’m surprised no one has complained yet myself. Guess we’re all just too timid or something, don’t want to start any sort of conflict.” The demon with the blue horns rolls their eyes exaggeratedly, glancing around at the other demons milling about. “Wouldn’t surprise me if that was the case though.. Don’t think you get to being here by being like… Some social deity.”

“Ha! Yeah, don’t see anyone here that would really qualify as being ‘social’.” The demon with the beige coloring states, a wry grin on their face. 

“Pfft, can you really tell that just by looks alone?” Spork asks a bit incredulously, getting a playful smirk from the blue demon. 

“Believe it or not, there is a certain look that social outcasts and hermits have.” They poke Spork’s shoulder playfully, the smirk still on their face. “Messy clothes and/or hair… An apathetic or angry look on their face… And the obvious staring when faced with any sort of social interaction.. Like your friend here!” 

Abruptly they point towards Spatula, making him jolt and blink at them.. Before spluttering out denials as the words register in his mind. The blue demon snickers at him as the beige one rolls their eyes at their friends' antics.

“Sorry to call you out like that, just had to get you out of your head somehow!” They give him an apologetic yet playful smile, reaching over Spork to pat him consolingly on the shoulder. 

“O-Oh…” Is all Spatula can get out, feeling off balance as he wasn’t exactly expecting to be called out so accurately like that. Mercifully they let him get his composure back, looking expectantly at him as they wait. “…I don’t think I, uh, caught your names..”

The pair of strangers blink, glancing at each other for a moment, before the blue horned demon lets out a slight chuckle as they shake their head. 

“Y'know I don’t think we actually introduced ourselves.. Even after we rudely cut into your guys’ conversation like that.” They admit, their friend looking a bit sheepish. Facing Spork, they offer out their hand, a nervous smile on their face. “I’m, uh, Ship in a Bottle. Call me Shib though, it’s less of a mouthful.” 

Spork enthusiastically takes her hand, shaking it a bit violently in his excitement.

“The names Spork! It’s so nice to meet you Shib!” 

As those two are exchanging greetings, the beige colored demon clears their throat as they lean over to face Spatula. Their nerves are on clear display on their face, however unlike Shib they are frowning instead of smiling. Even still, Spatula smiles back politely, nervous himself. 

“I’m.. Uh.. Cocoa Guitar.. CG for short.” They mutter out timidly, shoving an arm out so Spatula can shake it, staring intently at their arm. 

“Nice to meet you… I’m Spatula.” He hesitates before swiftly shaking their hand, barely even shaking it up and down before immediately letting go. Despite this, and his own nerves, he gives CG a more genuine smile, getting a small one in return. 

Before they can continue with the conversation, the door to the communal room opens, a recruiter in a white robe stepping in. They look over the communal room, a plastic smile plastered on their face, before nodding self satisfyingly to themself. 

“Good to see you all up so early after yesterday's workout!” They ‘cheerfully’ state, the tone falling flat and sounding not genuine coming from them. They open their arms as if they were presenting something or looking for a hug. “The days before had prepared you well I see, for you all to be up this early! The workout plan we had devised while worshipping our Deity seems to be working well for even nonbelievers.” 

Spatula exchanges glances with the others on the couch with him, a worried frown on his face. Spork and CG look unimpressed with the recruiters words, with CG having a somewhat disgusted sneer on his face. Shib is more bold in her distaste, as soon as Spatula’s eyes land on her, she makes an ‘is this guy crazy look?’ before devolving into quiet chuckles. Her antics get him to smile, though it quickly falls as soon as he looks back over at the recruiter as they begin talking again.

“Now, the cafeteria is open, but before you go off to eat your hard earned meals the other members of the church and I would like to extend an invitation to all of you to join us in some weapons practice.” They fold their arms into the long sleeves of their white robe, plastic smile still on their face even as the group of demons starts objecting.

“Wait a minute, your stupid flyer said that we’d get some practice with combative Gears to defend ourselves! What’s all this about having to join you and your cults session in order to get that?!” One brave and angered demon shouts out, stepping away from the crowd and closer to the recruiter. 

The other demons around them glance worriedly at each other, with some shaking their heads at the cult comment. From the corner of his eye, Spatula can see a black robed demon step in the doorway of the communal area, silently backing up the recruiter and making the previously brave demon falter in his approach. 

“And you shall get your training, trust me.” The recruiter easily soothes, sounding a bit peeved underneath all of the plastic friendliness. “This is just an extra lesson, for those who are wanting to learn more about the weapons they will be training with and about our religion.” 

The brave demon from before backs down, having been successfully placated, but Spatula barely notices it. His mind replays the words the recruiter said, about how they will also be learning about their religion. 

‘ This is my chance to actually learn something!’ He thinks a bit excitedly to himself, eyes lighting up as he clasps his hands together tightly. As soon as he thinks that however, his mind immediately starts conjuring up ways it all could go wrong.. But he slightly shakes his head, trying to banish them. ‘… This is going to be super dangerous, I run the risk of being indoctrinated… But I can’t just let this opportunity slip through my fingers.. Learning from the mouth of beasts on how to be one, to get all poetic.’

He’s broken out of his plotting by Spork jostling his shoulder, giving him a strained smile as he glances at the recruiter. Spatula refocuses on the present, internally shaking his head to clear his mind as he listens to the agenda for the day.

“…As such the others and I have decided that today will be spent doing low energy exercises in one of our many training rooms, with straws being pulled for which group will be in charge of dinner tonight. Are there any questions?” The recruiter asks, even though no one ever has any questions, too timid to speak up unless pushed. At the lack of a response the recruiter’s smile widens a tad. “Okay then! I’ll let you guys finish getting ready, and remember breakfast is in ten!” 

With that, the recruiter spins around, their robe flourishing dramatically behind them as they leave with the black robed demon. For a moment the room is silent as everyone watches them leave, before conversations start up again hesitantly. 

Next to him, Shib lets out a dramatic breath, a nervous smile on her face as she looks at Spork and Spatula.

“Well, CG and I still have to finish getting ready for the day. See you guys at breakfast?” She asks hopefully, a slight waver in her voice from how nervous she is. CG next to her also gives them a shaky smile, almost a grimace on his face. 

Spork glances over to Spatula to gauge how he feels about it. As soon as he realizes his friend is looking at him, he gives a slight nod at Spork. While the idea of eating with people he’s just met makes his skin crawl and his appetite die quickly, this is also a golden opportunity for him to actually get closer to them and learn a bit about why they’re here.  

Seeing that he’s onboard with them joining, Spork turns to look back at them, giving them a wide, friendly smile.

“We’ll see you guys there then! Save you some seats at our table.” 

CG and Shib smile more brightly at that, glancing excitedly at each other before getting up and off of the couch. They exchange goodbyes with Spork and Spatula before going into their dorm room to get ready. As soon as they leave, the smile on Spork’s face dims a bit, a more serious look in his eyes as he sighs heavily. 

He turns to face Spatula again, glancing around meaningfully at the others in the room before tilting his head towards the exit. Getting the hint, Spatula wrings his hands nervously as he stands up, glancing around a bit frantically before walking over towards the door the recruiter went out, Spork right behind him. 

The two of them walked for a while, wanting to be both far away from the others and close enough to the cafeteria so they don’t miss breakfast. It takes a bit, but they are eventually able to find a secluded enough space that isn’t too far away, a little alcove cloaked in darkness. As soon as they step into the shadows, Spork lets out another, heavier breath. 

“Okay so… Initially I just wanted to talk to you about how you plan to sneak around, but after this morning I’m sure we both know why we are here.” He drags a hand down his face, looking simultaneously tired and serious at the same. “Before we start discussing anything, what are you thinking about their offer?” 

Spatula stares at his friend, battling with this idea that he needs to take this alone and with his desire to keep his promise and keep Spork in the loop. Finally, his loyalty wins out, and he sighs. 

“I… I was thinking about taking them up on it.” He admits a bit hesitantly, afraid of what Spork might think. 

Spork clenches his jaw, glancing away for a moment before unclenching it and letting out a sigh.

“… I thought that might be the case.” He gives Spatula a resigned look, eyes gleaming with determination despite it. “I’m glad you told me though, before rushing into it. l’ll have your back no matter what happens, man.” 

Spatula blinks in surprise, not expecting Spork to just… Give in like that. However, he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, not voicing his surprise to his friend. 

“Thank you, Spork..” He mutters out a bit gratefully, shoulders lowering from how high he unconsciously had them. 

“I may not have known you for long, man, but I can already tell how much this means to you.” Spork seriously says, crossing his arms across his chest as he looks up at the ceiling above them. “So as much as I don’t like it, I’m not going to stop you from searching for answers.” 

The smile on Spatula’s face grows a tiny bit, as an embarrassed flush blooms on his face. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly at his friends words. 

“Was I really that obvious..?” He mutters half heartedly, looking away from Spork’s amused look. 

“Well, when the friend you’ve known for a couple of days who’s basically a hermit suddenly decides to sneak around voluntarily… You kind of figure they’re passionate about something, man.” 

He nudges Spatula’s shoulder playfully, the serious look melting away for a mischievous grin. In response, Spatula just lets out a long suffering sigh, the smile on his face growing into a slight grin as he rolls his eyes at his friend. 

“I really need to stop being so obvious… How I ended up in this cult in the first place.” He dramatically states, with Spork nodding back mock-seriously. 

The two stare at each other for a beat afterwards, only to devolve in giggles at the ‘serious’ looks on each other's face. They giggle together for a little bit before calming down, with Spork wiping away an invisible tear from the corner of his eye. 

“Okay enough messing around, let’s get to the cafeteria before it closes.” He slings an arm over Spatula’s shoulder, a bright smile on his face as he begins dragging him towards the cafeteria. 

Spatula just goes along with it, enjoying the closeness with his friend. To be honest, so far in this new life he doesn’t think he’s smiled as wide as he has when talking with Spork. Shaking his head slightly to get rid of such mushy thoughts, he focuses on their footsteps as they continue down the corridor.

The two of them reach the cafeteria just in time, with the line just now forming for food. Quickly they stand in line, with Spork letting go of his shoulder so he can hold a tray. Spatula looks around as he waits in line, scanning the tables for CG and Shib, unable to find them. 

Shrugging mentally, he figures they’re just running a bit late as he grabs a tray given to him. As they slowly approach the food, he inwardly wrinkles his nose at the selection for today. He’ll never outwardly express his disgust or deny the food given to him, but… Well the idea of eating the oat omelette they are serving makes his stomach churn. 

Still, he loads up his plate with one, making sure to take as many fruits as he’s allowed to, to hopefully eat before the omelette. Inwardly dreading putting the oat omelette anywhere near his mouth, he blindly follows Spork towards a table. 

Putting his tray down on the table, he lets out a quiet sigh as he picks up his fork. Next to him, Spork lets out a slight chuckle as he shovels a piece of omelette into his mouth. 

“Haven’t even touched your food and you already look like it’s personally offended you, Spat’.” He says around a mouthful of food, shameless. 

Spatula just rolls his eyes at him as he quickly fills his mouth with fruit. ‘ At least I can always count on fruit to taste good..’ He thinks a bit dramatically to himself as he chews on a piece of strawberry. 

The two of them sit there in silence as they work their way through their meals, before it’s abruptly cut off by a tray clattering as it’s set at their table. Looking up from his food, Spatula is met with the grinning face of Shib and CG as they sit down. 

“Sorry it took us so long… Shib misplaced my guitar pick last night and we spent a long time looking for it..” CG sheepishly says, glancing down towards his food as he pokes at it a tiny. Next to them, Shib shrugs shamelessly. 

“The little thing is so hard to see and easy to misplace… Though maybe shoving it off the nightstand in the night wasn’t my best move.” She chuckles to herself as CG rolls their eyes at her. Picking up her fork she similarly begins poking at her food, though her focus is on Spork and Spatula. 

“Hopefully you two weren’t waiting too long though, we did our best to rush until CG noticed the pick was missing.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about us waiting!” Spork quickly waves her off, a friendly smile on his face as he scoops up another bite of omelette. “Spat’ and I had something to talk about, so we haven’t been waiting long honestly.”

“Oh good! I was worried you guys had already eaten and left..” Shib admits a bit timidly, looking over at CG instead of at them. 

“Oh… We wouldn’t have done that.” Spatula interjects a bit nervously, glancing away as Shib looks over at him. He doesn’t get to see the smile on her face as he instead focuses on shoveling another strawberry into his mouth. 

“Spat’s right, even if you guys had missed breakfast completely we would’ve waited for you honestly.” Spork says, shrugging at Shib and CG’s incredulous looks as he shoves another bite of omelette into his mouth. 

The two of them look at each other, Shib’s earlier smile reappearing as CG smiles faintly. They don’t say anything however, and the table descends into silence once more as they all focus on eating. 

The omelette was, unfortunately, as taste bud assaulting as Spatula had thought it would be. Every bite he ate made his stomach churn, but he forced himself to eat it anyway. No point in wasting food when he’d already taken a bite out of it. 

As he begrudgingly ate the omelette, he was thankfully broken out of his self-made torture by Shib. She put down her fork a bit dramatically, the clattering making everyone at the table look at her curiously. 

“So… I was just wondering, but how long have you two been friends?” She asks curiously, tilting her head to the side slightly. Spork and Spatula glance at each other a bit surprised, before looking back over at Shib. 

“Um… If you don’t mind me asking.. What makes you ask that?” Spatula asks, curiosity pushing aside his nerves and making him ask before Spork could. 

Shib just hums, tapping her chin lightly with her fork as she thinks. 

“Well… I don’t know what gave off this impression, but it feels like you two have known each other for a while.. Might be how often we’ve seen you two together.” 

“Ah…” Spatula lets out quietly to himself, reflecting on that observation. ‘ I suppose from an outside point of view, it does look like we’re close friends who’ve known each other for a while…’

Spork smiles widely at her, looking inordinately happy that the two of them look like close friends. 

“To be honest, we only met at the bus stop while waiting to be taken here.. We haven’t known each other all that long.”

Shib blinks in surprise, sharing a glance with CG before looking back at the two of them with a wide smile on her face. She leans forward a bit excitedly.

“No way… CG and me are the exact same! We met at the bus stop and just kind of clicked right away!” 

“Really???” Spork asks incredulously, sharing a pleasantly surprised look with Spatula. “…To be honest I kind of assumed you two had known each other before all of this. Guess we both got the same impression!” 

Shib snickers to herself at that, with CG giving an embarrassed but amused smile at Spork. The conversation dies for a moment there, with no one really picking it back up, the sound of their cutlery scraping against their trays filling the silence. 

Inwardly, Spatula debates with himself on breaking the silence, a question burning in his brain. Finally he decides he’s already spoken up, so there’s no real reason to worry about speaking up again. 

“Um… If you don’t mind me asking.. How did you end up here, Shib?” Despite his curiosity and inward decision to not worry about speaking up, he still feels a flash of anxiety run through him after asking his question. 

Shib blinks at him, looking a little surprised to see him asking, before tilting her head curiously at him. 

“What do you mean by that exactly, Spatula?” 

“Well.. You… You’re very charismatic, and as you said before the majority of people here are not the most social… I just can’t see why you would be scouted out, honestly.” He fidgets slightly with his fork, unable to look anyone in the eyes as he explains himself. He hears Shib hum as she thinks on his question, not able to see the contemplative frown on her face. 

“…I’m glad I give off the vibes of someone.. Well social I’ll say, but in all honesty..” She pauses biting her lip, not that Spatula can see it, as focused as he is on avoiding eye contact. “Before all of this, I… Was kind of a hermit, not gonna lie.” 

The three of them blink a bit, all shocked to hear that considering how outgoing she’s been. Raising his head from where it was bowed to stare at his plate, Spatula gives her a surprised look, mouth partially open as he’s able to ask how that could be the case. He’s beat to it though by, surprisingly, CG. 

“Wait, really?? I figured you were just some.. Unfortunate popular girl who got dragged into all of this.” CG states, looking the most surprised out of the three of them. Their eyes are wide, and they’ve reeled back as if the idea that Shib was a hermit slapped them in the face physically.

“Haha! I mean.. You aren’t technically wrong I guess.” Shib has an amused smile on her face, though there’s a sad look in her eyes. “I used to be pretty popular, had a huuuuuge friend group that was super close together.. Or well, I thought we were close together..” 

Her smile falls into a frown, a pained look on her face as she averts her gaze towards the table to avoid the sympathetic looks on the others faces. The implication of what happened is pretty obvious, and no one really knows how to pick the conversation back up from there, glancing uncertainly at each other. CG looks like he wants to say something, their mouth opening and closing in a loop, before they finally are able to stutter something out. 

“I…I was sort of a hermit before as well, Shib.” He stutters out, flushing and giving the three a wide-eyed look as soon as everyone’s attention is on him. Despite this, they continue on, steeling their nerves as best as they can. “N..No one really wanted to be friends with someone as… Blunt and mean looking as I am. I just.. Gave up on trying after a while.”

He shrugs awkwardly, immediately glancing away towards his mostly empty plate. Spatula and Spork glance at each other, before looking back at Shib. The sad look on her face is still there, but it's less potent, a sort of understanding in her eyes as she looks at CG. After a beat, Spork clears his throat, a nervous but friendly smile on his face. 

“Spat’ and I were the same, guys. Didn’t really have a lot of friends and just kind of stuck to ourselves before all of this.” Spatula nods his head to Spork’s words, silently grateful he didn’t have to say it himself. 

The sad look on Shib’s face disappears, a grateful smile growing on her face. She looks between CG, Spork, and Spatula for a moment, before the smile turns into a full blown grin. 

“Thank you guys…” She says softly, with the trio giving her soft smiles and nods. The tender moment doesn’t last long, as Shib shakes her head slightly, the soft grin on her face turning into a mischievous smirk. “Though what a group we make, all friendless hermits… No wonder we were scouted out, we’re prime pickings here!” 

Shib breaks down into giggles after saying that, with Spork quickly joining in, amused smiles on their faces. CG just rolls their eyes, eating what's left on their tray, though they can’t stop the small smirk on their face. Picking at what remains of his own food, Spatula lets out a quiet chuckle, inwardly acknowledging just how right Shib was in that assessment. 

‘ It’s sinister when you think deeply on it, that we were all picked out because of us being outcasts.. But it's nice to think that the others here are just as nervous and awkward as I am.’ He scoops the last bit of fruit into his mouth, having saved a bite to eat after finishing his omelette, looking up at the others. 

Just as he does so, he catches sight of the white robed demon waiting patiently by the cafeteria door, hands folded into their sleeves. All of a sudden he remembers their words from this morning, about the extra class they can take. He nudges Spork subtly, glancing meaningfully at the recruiter once he has his attention. A complicated look crosses over Spork’s face before he gives Spatula a reluctant subtle nod. 

Inwardly steeling himself for what he’s about to do, Spatula abruptly stands up from the table, tray in hand. CG and Shib give him curious looks as he does, as the sound broke the silence that had descended upon the group.

“I’m done with breakfast.. Just going back to the dorms for now..” He says, giving them a nervous smile as he tilts his empty tray at them slightly. 

“Oh, alright! See you there.” Shib says, giving him a friendly smile and nod. Next to her, despite their deadpan face, CG gives a small wave to Spatula. 

Nodding once again towards Spork, he walks away from the table, putting his tray onto the dirty tray pile, before turning around and heading straight for the recruiter. His hands shake as he gets closer, mind flashing with what-ifs, but he continues onwards, hiding his hands in his pant pockets. 

Once he gets close enough the recruiter notices him approaching, the plastic smile on their face growing and seeming a tad more genuine. They wait patiently as he approaches, not moving an inch as they stand there. 

“I’d like to join your extra classes.” Spatula states as soon as he’s in front of them, not giving himself any time to second guess his decision any more. The smile on the recruiters face turns into a full blown grin, disturbingly genuine for once, at his words.

Chapter Text

“I am so happy you have taken an interest in our religion, Spatula!” They enthusiastically say, walking up to him and slinging an arm around his shoulder. They begin leading him out of the cafeteria doors, ignoring the slightly shocked look on his face and how he squirms uncomfortably under their grip. “So far, you are one of three that have decided to take us up on our offer. You won’t be disappointed in our teachings, and I hope it can convince you to maybe join us.”

‘ I… At this point I should’ve expected them to know my name, but it’s still surprising hearing them say it directly.. ’ He thinks to himself as he’s guided through the dimly lit corridors. ‘… Keep calm, gotta act like I’m truly interested in all of this.’

“Ah.. Y.. Yeah! I was a bit curious from what little you have told us before, and I figured this would help me learn more to make a decision..” He sprinkles a bit of the truth into his lie to back it up, after all he is curious about the cult.. Just not for the reasons he’s implying.

“Oh I’m so glad to hear that! This will be an amazing learning opportunity for you then!” The corridor they’re leading him down is one he doesn’t recognize, the doors unfamiliar and the walls more freely decorated with paintings. The corridors near the entrance and around the common area are barebones, bland stone, so seeing them decorated is a bit jarring.  

As he’s being led, he takes the time to actually look at the art work, being able to see it this time in the dim light. The paintings were unique to say the least, tickling Spatula’s memories of Before as they favored a.. Mosaic type of style. It was notable as he hadn’t seen any art using that style in the Inpherno until now. 

His head starts to hurt as he unconsciously stops in his tracks to stare at the paintings. It feels like he knows something about them, the answer on the tip of his tongue, but his poor battered memory won’t give it up. Not helping his growing headache at all, his left eye starts aching more intensely as he stares. One painting in particular ( depicting a demon with a bow and arrow standing, a deer by their side) catches his eye, a faint feeling of recognition, like he’s seen the demon depicted before, stirring in his mind.

“I see you’ve taken notice and an interest in our artwork.” He’s jolted out of his desperate attempts to remember and make any sense out of his feelings by the recruiter. 

Turning to face them, he finds a peaceful smile on their face as they look at the painting Spatula had been so captivated with. Frowning slightly to himself, he turns his attention back to the painting, the memories he had felt so close to uncovering slipping through the holes in his mind once again. 

“Yeah…This one here, is it based on anybody?” His nerves feel far away, replaced by a burning curiosity and need to know as he points at the painting. 

“Oh that one..?” The recruiter turns a sharp, curious look onto him, one that he’s blissfully unaware of as he stares at the painting. “Hmm… Someone very real is depicted there.. Would you mind me asking why you asked that..?” 

Spatula frowns to himself, letting out a slight hum as he continues to stare. 

“Ah… The demon depicted just looks like someone I know.” 

The recruiter goes eerily silent, he idly notes. Just as he’s about to turn to look towards them, see what they are thinking, his eyes suddenly widen. The memories he had previously thought he’d lost suddenly bulldozing their way to the front of his mind. 

‘ This style… I remember going to an art museum? Yes.. an art museum and seeing paintings like this..’ His mouth slightly parts as his brain jolts, the answer coming to him suddenly. ‘ The Greek’s! The Ancient Greeks, their paintings were in this style, I remember!’ 

For a moment he smiles to himself as he remembers, very vaguely, going to the art museum with his.. Mom? He’s not quite sure who he went with, but it was someone he loved and cared for as the memories are seeped in a warm fuzzy feeling. Every piece they’d stop to observe it, discussing in hushed tones the history behind it. His smile falls though, as the memory only goes so far, with only the Greek section being distinguishable. 

To make matters worse, the particular painting he’s staring at doesn’t remind him of any of the paintings he saw in the Before. The style is different, and the demon depicted doesn’t ring a bell for any Greek painting that he can currently remember. It doesn’t help that he still has the creeping feeling of having met the demon in the painting either. 

After a moment of fruitlessly trying to get more memories to suddenly be clear, he shakes his head slightly, wincing at the racketing pain in it. Rubbing his left eye, he puts off thoughts on getting any more answers on this subject for now. 

“…Um, let’s continue on..” Spatula turns his attention to the recruiter, seeing them staring at the painting lost in thought like he was. 

The recruiter stares at the painting for a beat, before turning to look at him, an indescribable look in their eyes. Without saying a word, they give him a wide smile and pull him along again. A sense of dread fills him as they pull him further into the cave, getting the feeling that he’s messed up along the lines somewhere. Despite that, he isn’t able to actually come up with any reason or way they’d be acting.. extra weird with him. 

The silence weighs heavily on him, mind racing as he tries to figure out what he did wrong or if he revealed his true intentions. The worst scenarios flash into his mind, of the recruiter finding out he isn’t really interested and just killing him right there. He clenches his hands tightly, claws digging into his skin as he does his best to resist the urge to tug worriedly at his horns. 

Right now, he can’t afford to seem nervous or weak in front of the recruiter. Nevermind the fact that they likely already know a whole ton about him and how much of a mess he is. Revealing that he’s about worked himself up to a panic attack would just make things worse for him. 

A bit desperately, he focuses on the recruiter in front of him and where he’s being led, trying to distract himself. The corridor gets lighter the longer they walk, with an actual lighting system in place instead of torches. Doors on either side of Spatula have intricately carved wood depicting various animals ( deer and bear he recognizes) and the same demon in the painting. 

The recruiter stops in front of a door, the wood carved to have various weapons depicted on it, tilting their head at him with a smile on their face. 

“This is our stop! You’ll be training here for the day, and don’t worry it’ll be low energy exercise as well. Don’t want to strain your growing muscles!” 

They pat him on the shoulder roughly before opening the door for him, an expectant look on their face. Taking in as quiet and as discrete a breath that he can, he gives them a shaky smile as he walks into the training room. 

The first thing he notices as soon as he walks in, is how bright it is. The rest of the cult quarters and places he’s seen, including the Church, were carved directly out of the cave stone, with torches that they’d manually light to battle the darkness with. In this room, however, it’s like he isn’t in a cave at all. It follows the pattern he’s noticed so far, with the main cult sections of the cave having functional lights, but they’ve completely renovated the place. Beautiful marble pillars frame the door and the corners, the walls covered in carved marble as well. Statues depicting that same demon from the painting are standing by a rack of bows and quivers. 

‘T…The statues…’ Outwardly he’s as stonefaced as he can be, his face always perpetually holding a hint of the anxiety he has underneath. Inwardly though? Not only is he panicking hard at the sight of the statues, but he’s also screaming at himself for revealing that the pictured demon was familiar looking. ‘ Oh God… I need to get out of here..’

It’s one thing to see someone depicted in a painting or a statue and get the feeling you recognize them, it happens all the time, similarities being passed down through different families and generations. It’s another thing when said person depicted is in the artwork of a known cult.. And then to say you find them familiar? To the cultists' face??

He’s accidentally implied to them he knows what very well could be their god or a revered cult member. It might’ve been a good idea to just not have taken them up on their offer, answers be damned. He’s going to have to be as vigilant as he can be now around them, and the class hasn’t even started.

As if they can read his thoughts, and the second thing he notices immediately, the black robed demon approaches him, pulling back the hood of their robe to give him a charming smile. Unlike the recruiters smile this one seems 100% genuine, no hidden intentions or mockery behind it. However that just makes him more nervous as it’s a fully indoctrinated demon, especially after his revelation. 

“We are so glad you decided to join us for today's lesson, new comer!” The female demon cheerfully says, gently guiding him into the room. 

Now Spatula has known for a while to not assume anyone’s gender in this new world, as unlike Before there isn’t any biological stuff going on. All demons are inherently agender and come to the conclusion themselves what they want to be presented as. All this is to say, when Spatula says female demon he really means female. The black robed demon has gone through lengths to get it across that she is a girl, to get the message across immediately with one look. 

Similarly the black robed demons also in the training room are very much so female. Really the only other non-female in the room aside from Spatula himself is the one of the other recruits who took the lesson offer. It’s.. Interesting really that, assumedly, all the black robed demons he’s seen before were all females as well. He doesn’t get time to actually think on that though, as he’s gently pushed towards the two other recruits. 

“We‘ll wait a bit more before starting today's lesson, just in case any more newcomers decide to join us.”  The ( assumed) trainer claps her hands with a pleased smile on her face as she turns around, leaving the recruit group to go and talk to her fellow cult members.

As a group, the recruits just stare at each other, uncertain looks on their faces. Eventually one of them speaks up, the awkward silence becoming too much to bear. To be honest though, Spatula doesn’t really hear a word they are saying, gaze slowly drifting away from the others and stopping at the wall in front of him. 

A growing dread is rising in him, all the new information he’s accidentally stumbled upon creeping up on him. It’s very easy for him to see this all going wrong, especially since he’s right in the heart of the cult. Despite his earlier resolve he can’t find it in himself to actually want to stay for more answers. 

‘ I learned they’re Greek and they have something with girl demons.. That’s good enough, right?! ’ He thinks frantically to himself, trying to appease his curiosity while also giving himself an excuse to dip out of there. For all of his frantic worrying, however, he doesn’t actually focus on an escape plan, more just a ‘ Get OUT of here ’ plan. 

“Okay so it seems like no one else will be joining us, which is a shame..” The trainer says, a disappointed frown on her face. Spatula blinks, torn out of his spiraling thoughts at the announcement.. And making him pale a tiny bit as he realizes he’s missed his opportunity to leave. 

“Oh well! Let’s get these potential new members a weapon and begin training!” The frown on the trainer’s face is replaced with an enthusiastic smile, the other cultists mirroring her look. 

Spatula is halfway there, mind racing as he’s on the verge of a panic attack. A bow is shoved into his hands, with a quiver draped over one of his shoulders. The world is fuzzy to him as he stares a bit despondently, colors looking less and less real as he gets wrapped up in his head. 

His breathing speeds up, barely noticeable as he clutches the bow in his hands tightly. Distantly he’s grateful he has it, as otherwise he’d be digging bloody gouges into his horns by now. The world in front of him feels distant and like an afterthought, mind racing uncontrollably. Every uncontrollable worry that passes through his mind increases his anxiety even more, as shouldn’t he just be able to stop his own mind??? 

He’s unaware of anything that’s happening around him, too caught up in trying to control his breathing and stopping himself from just fainting right there. Spatula is only broken out of it by the hand that grasps his shoulder suddenly, spinning him around slightly to face the trainer. 

“Please pay attention, newcomer, these are important lessons, integral to using a bow and arrow.” She speaks gently but firmly, unknowingly pulling him out of his spiraling. 

For a moment he just stares at her, mind stalling after it all before working again. He glances around quickly, seeing the others pointing their arrows at the target in front of them, sparing him glances. Refocusing back on the trainer he just gives her a quiet nod, afraid that if he spoke now his voice would break and give him away. 

The trainer nods self satisfyingly to herself, letting go of his shoulder. She doesn’t leave him though, instead she gently adjusts his hold on the bow, not commenting on the deep gouges he left in the wood. 

“Now, you want to extend your arm like so..” She gently coaxes him to do such, and not knowing what else to do he follows along. “Flex your fingers out… And turn your wrist.” 

He follows along, brow slightly furrowed at the weird grip he has on the bow. For a minute the trainer keeps her hands on him, assessing him for any mistakes. Finally she pulls away, giving him an approving nod and moving away to assess the others' grips. 

Spatula stares at the bow he’s holding in front of him, in slight shock as he thinks about the turn of events. From being on the edge of a panic attack to being taught casually how to properly hold a bow.. Not what one would usually do to shake someone out of a panic attack, but if it works… He guesses.

After assessing everyone else’s grips, the trainer nods to herself again, picking up a bow herself and notching an arrow. 

“Alright, now give the target your best shot. It doesn’t matter how accurate you are, do your best.” 

Fumbling a little bit with his bow, Spatula hesitantly notches an arrow on his bow, closing his left eye and staring at the target. Taking in a breath he lets the arrow fly, flinching back from his bow and almost dropping it as he does so. 

The arrow flies straight…Into the wall that is. The arrow bounces off the marble wall a bit pathetically, making a tiny ‘ tink!’ noise as it does so. He winces to himself at the complete miss, face immediately flushing red in embarrassment. Luckily for him, no one really pays his fumble any attention, more frustrated as they attempt to hit the bullseye themselves. 

Before he or anyone else can put their bows down, the trainer quickly stops them. 

“Don’t stop, continue trying to hit the target. Once everyone runs out of arrows we’ll stop for the day.” 

Face burning, Spatula reluctantly complies with her orders, notching another arrow and letting it fly. Each time he lets the arrow fly, he flinches and then winces as he sees another miss. However the longer they do it, the more confident he gets in himself, the flinching going from a full body to small face flinches. 

His aim improves a bit, nothing drastic or impressive, but he actually starts hitting the target after a while. The last few arrows he shoots hit the middle ring of the target, near the bullseye but not directly on it. 

Letting his bow arm fall to his side, a slight smile on his face at his progress. Glancing around he sees the other recruits handing their bows over to the cultists. Wearily he approaches the cultists, not wanting to get close but having to. They give him friendly smiles as he approaches, one even beginning to open their mouth. 

With all his practice with being a hermit, he effortlessly shoves the bow and quiver into their hands before they can speak, scurrying off to stand in a corner away from them. Mentally fist pumping in successfully dodging that interaction, he leans against a wall, shoulders hunched in. 

Once more the trainer claps her hands, getting everyone’s attention. She smiles at them all, folding her hands in the sleeves of her robes. 

“Now before everyone can disperse, we must pay tribute to the One above us. Not only for a hopeful hunting season but also for all the newcomers we have in our lovely home.” The other cultists in the room nod along to what she is saying, with even Spatula’s fellow recruits following along with it all. 

Not wanting to paint an even bigger target on his back, he nods along as well, reluctantly. Seeing all the nods in the room, the smile on the trainer's face grows a bit bigger, a pleased but gentle look in her eyes. Spatula feels a bit ill at the sight, someone so entrenched in the cult that they genuinely believe spreading the word is something good.. 

Shaking his head slightly to himself, he refocuses back on what is being said. 

“Oh Angel, descended from the original horned beings.. Thank you for more members in worship, for guiding their paths towards ours and bringing them to us..” The trainer has her hands clasped in prayer, eyes closed with the smile still on her face. “May our hunts from now be blessed by thee, so that we may continue singing your praises..” 

The assembled demons nod along with her words, a silence descending upon them all as they, supposedly, give thanks to this ‘Angel’. Just as Spatula thinks that’s the end, the trainer opens her mouth again. 

“We leave these bows in worship of you.” Finally the trainer opens her eyes, motioning for the other cultists to take the bows with them. 

As the others leave, Spatula and the other recruits look at each other before hesitantly attempting to follow them. Once they leave the room, the trainer shuts the door behind them, locking it. Outside the cultists carrying the bows walk down a different corridor, one devoid of any paintings. 

Just as the trio are about to follow them, they are stopped by a recruiter. The white robe is almost harsh to look at now in the lighting, especially after the dark robes of the other cultists being what they’ve seen for a while now. 

“Sorry but that is one custom you few, as outsiders, are unable to see.” The recruiter blocks them from progressing, eventually beginning to slowly push them back down the corridor they came from, to the other recruits. 

“As the select few who took our offer, you all will be offered exclusive classes, all focusing on different aspects of our religion.” They state, continuing to push them closer to the common areas, a plastic smile on their face. “You don’t have to take all of them, of course. On top of that, you will all be granted a special honor at the end of the week!” 

The corridors darken, the intricate carvings and paintings slowly being phased out and replaced with the cold stone walls Spatula has grown used to. Despite this, the sense of dread he’s had through this entire ordeal slowly leaves him, making him feel more at ease as they leave. 

“I’ll pull you three aside when such an opportunity arises, so you don’t miss anything. Now, go enjoy the rest of your day!” 

The recruiter gives them all a placid smile, bowing slightly before straightening up and turning around. Just as they step forward they pause, making a slight ‘ah’ noise. 

“Before I forget, if you guys have any questions feel free to approach any one of us and ask them. No one will turn you away.” With that, they continue on their way, leaving the trio standing in front of the dorm common room door. 

Not wanting to talk with the others ( as he isn’t quite confident they aren’t just curious like Spatula is..Their almost enthusiastic nodding in the training room flashing in his head.) he quickly walks into the common room, stopping in his tracks almost immediately. 

Shib, CG, and Spork turn to look at him, with the former two giving him friendly and enthusiastic waves. Spork though? He gives Spatula a serious look, tilting his head ever so slightly towards their dorm room. It makes sense he’d want to talk after the class, but still his breath picks up a bit as he realizes he’s going to have to tell his friend everything . 

“Hey Spatula! Where were you? Spork wouldn’t tell us anything.” Shib says as he approaches the couch, a clueless smile on her face. From next to her CG pipes up as well, looking a lot more relaxed in both Spork and Spatula’s own presence. 

“We wanted to spend some time with you, get to know you more maybe…” They sport a smile, awkward smile as they say so. 

Before Spatula can actually even attempt to come up with an excuse, Spork stands up from the couch, giving the two a slightly strained smile. He walks over towards Spatula, slinging an arm around his shoulder. 

“Sorry about this guys! Gotta talk to Spat’ about something important..” He leans down close to Spatula’s ear and then mock whispers: “You can’t keep sneaking away to hopefully get food, man! You're going to get in trouble!” 

Spatula blinks a bit, barely able to process that Spork is covering for him completely before he’s being dragged into their dorm room. From behind, on the couch, Shib lets out a stifled giggle while CG coughs to cover what sounds like a laugh. 

The door closes behind them, whatever light feeling that was in the air immediately dying with it. A heavy weight settled in Spatula’s throat as he avoids Spork’s gaze, staring instead at the wall beside him. 

For a moment, his friend lets him stew, his nerves racketing upwards as the seconds tick by in silence. Mercifully, he eventually breaks the silence, making Spatula let out a quiet breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“…Are you okay?” Blinking in surprise, he finally pries his eyes away from the wall towards Spork, not expecting that question to first come out of his mouth. 

Hesitating, he thinks on it all, what he went through and how he feels. It wasn’t a lot, in the grand scheme of things really, he just shot a bow for a couple hours.. And yet.. 

His mind flashes back through the day, all the revelations he went through and the dread he’s carried around since that very first one. His earlier panic attack plays through his mind prominently. And yet, through it all, what really catches his attention and makes him pause the longest is the fact he can’t remember clearly anything about his family. 

From the warmth and laughter he can remember, it wasn’t like his family hated him and vice versa. For all intents and purposes you’d imagine their faces would be what he’d remember most. He can remember the little things about his family, small unimportant things like what shampoo they’d use or what color of car they drove.. But he can’t remember anything actually important. 

It’s a dumb thing to get stuck on, he realizes, especially with where he is right now… Though perhaps it’s because he’s in such a dangerous situation that he’s thinking about it, mind searching for lost memories it can never get back ( and he has tried, desperately, to get them back..) . 

‘… I want my mom.’ The thought is idle, crossing his mind almost casually before he realizes what he just thought. Funnily enough, it’s what breaks him. Not the realization that he’s way in over his head, nor how dangerous this all actually is. It’s the thought of his mom, whom he can’t even remember, hugging him and protecting him from this all that makes him cry. 

Spork lets out a surprised noise as he silently cries to himself, before hesitantly approaching him and hugging him. Spatula shakily reaches up and grips tightly onto Spork’s arms, crying just that harder into them. It’s nowhere near the same as what he can vaguely remember his mom’s arms being, but the familiar warmth of arms around him, comforting him.. He closes his eyes, practically melting into the hug as he cries. 

‘ I think this is my first real hug here.. ’ He thinks idly to himself, as Spork tightens his arms around him. 

The two stand like that for a good while, until Spatula has cried himself dry. Pulling himself away from his friend, he rubs embarrassingly at his eyes, getting a glimpse at the sympathetic look in Spork’s eyes before he does so. 

“S.. Sorry about that.. Don’t know what came over me..” His voice is hoarse from crying, making him inwardly wince and want to curl into himself more. 

Spork just waves him off, letting out a tired sigh as he does so.

“It’s okay man… Seems to me like you needed a good cry, honestly.”

Spatula just gives him a halfhearted shrug, feeling drained beyond belief and not wanting to talk anymore. Spork seems to get that as he continues on without a response.

“Anyways, you uh… You don’t have to answer any questions tonight, don’t seem to be in the right headspace right now.” He pats Spatula on the shoulder softly, before gently pushing him towards the bed. 

Getting the hint, Spatula lays down, body immediately untensing as he does so. All the tensions he unknowingly and knowingly carried with him throughout the day seeps out of him, as Spork turns off the dorm light. 

More tired than he thought, he barely gets a chance to really work himself up into a worry about what questions he’ll be asked tomorrow before his eyes are fluttering closed. 

Eyes fully closing, he dreams of vague impressions and a warmth that is all consuming, but gentle.

Art of Shib!! Look at her go!

CG as well here now!

Chapter Text

Spatula woke up slowly, the faint warmth he felt from his dream fading slowly. For a moment he just lays there, staring up with half-lidded eyes up at the ceiling as what happened yesterday fills his mind. He grips his blanket tightly, as the consequences of all of this, what danger he really is in once more hits him like a truck. 

‘ I.. I really don’t want to get out of bed.. Can’t I just go back to sleep and forget all of this ever happened?? ’ He thinks despairingly to himself, all the confidence he ever got in himself crumbling away in the face of it all. Don’t get him wrong, he had a vague idea of what he was getting himself into by going along with the cult.. But it hadn’t properly hit him just how serious it all was until he put himself in the spotlight. 

Before he sinks further into despair and panic, the door to the dorm room opens as Spork walks in, purposefully loud and getting his attention. He watches from his bed as his friend pauses, closing the door gently behind him, walking over to his own bed across from him. Sitting down on his bed, he threads his fingers together, settling his chin on them as he gives Spatula a serious-but-worried look.

The silence stretches on for a bit, with Spatula not really wanting to speak it outloud, making the situation even more real than it already is. Finally though, Spork lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes briefly before opening them.

“...What happened yesterday, man?” His voice is quiet and soft, yet still holding a hard edge in his voice, a silent ‘I won’t take your silence as an answer’. Staring at him, Spatula slowly looks away, back towards the ceiling. 

“...I may.. Have fucked up, like… a lot.” He admits reluctantly after a while, still not looking Spork in the eyes. He hears a sharp intake of breath from the other bed, and some shuffling. Equally as reluctantly, he turns his head to face Spork. 

His friend looks very worried, a sort of haunted look in his eyes as he bites his lower lip. His gaze burns a hole into Spatula as he stares at him, silently demanding more answers or for an explanation. 

“I…There.. There was this painting..” He starts slowly, gathering his frenzied thoughts together to actually articulate what happened. “The demon depicted in it.. I felt like I recognized them, like I knew them somehow..”

He stops, not wanting to say anything more, desperately still trying to reason with himself that it isn’t that bad. Despite him stopping, Spork gets the idea, letting out a quiet curse and standing up from his bed to pace around their dorm room. A heavy silence descends on the two of them, the room feeling smaller and smaller to Spatula as it goes unbroken. 

“Spatula.” Hearing his name jolts him out of his growing panic, making him blink and refocus on Spork, who’s staring down at him seriously. “You need to stay out of their view for a while, keep yourself as small and unimportant as possible. There’s still hope you’ll make it out of here fine.” 

A bitter, hopeless smile crosses Spatula’s face as he stares up at his friend, shaking his head lightly. 

“That’s not going to happen, Spork.” 

“Why not?!” His friend almost yells out, teeth gritted as he stares in concerned anger at Spatula. “I know this is something you are convinced you need to do, but it’s not worth it to put yourself in this much danger for simple curiosity! And if you can’t get it in your thick head that your life matters, if this is some sort of suicidal rush, then get it in your head that I need you man! I don’t want to lose another friend, not like this..”

Spatula waits until his friend is done, staring emotionlessly at him as he lets out a harsh breath. Finally, he lets out a humorless chuckle, turning his gaze back up at the ceiling, not really looking at it so much as just staring.

“It’s not that, not this time.” The world fizzes out as he stares without blinking at the cave ceiling, mind drifting slightly as he does so. He hears Spork about to say something, but cuts him off before he does so. “They’re going to seek me out, for classes or something. I can’t just lie low, Spork.”

The silence descends upon the room again, this time more hopeless instead of heavy as Spork sits down on his bed. He puts his head in his hands, clutching at the base of his horns as he does so. Spatula stares a bit despondently at him, turning his attention back towards the ceiling after a beat. 

“There.. There’s really no way to get out of it..? You can’t just say no??” His friend says a bit desperately, sounding like he knows the answer but is doing his best to try and find work arounds anyways.

“That would just put me at a greater risk..” He answers a bit quietly, closing his eyes as he lays there. A cloud of despair hangs over the two of them, the unknown fate of what the cultists will do to Spatula choking them. 

A knock on their dorm door jolts them out of it, making Spatula open his eyes and Spork get up off his bed. He glances over at Spatula, a frown on his face as he clenches his hand into a fist and very carefully approaches their door. 

Sitting up on his bed, his heart starts racing, sweat gathering at his forehead. He was resigned to his fate, emotions put on the back burner as his brain tried distancing himself from the problem, but the sudden knock on the door brings them reeling towards the front suddenly. Gripping his bedsheets tightly, claws tearing them slightly, he stares a bit hopelessly and desperately at Spork. 

His friend just gives him a slight grimace, a slightly panicked look in his eyes before his face hardens into a frown. Hesitating for a moment, he takes in a very quiet breath before pulling open the door in one quick movement, the hand not holding the door handle clenched into a fist at his side.

Very quickly though, he relaxes the hard look on his face being replaced by a slightly relieved and embarrassed one. 

“Oh, uh, hi Shib! W-What brings you here?” 

Spork is pushed a bit to the side by a very bewildered and curious Shib taking a step into the room. 

“Yeah uh, hi Spork. Is everything okay?? What was with the death glare when you opened the door??” 

Spork glances over towards Spatula very briefly, a very embarrassed  and nervous look on his face. All he gets in response though is a similar look, with Spatula letting go of his slightly mangled bedsheet as he stares back. Looking back over at Shib he gets greeted with a very curious, narrow eyed look from her. 

“Ahaha… Uh, we’re all good in here, nothing happening you know!” Shib raises an eyebrow, the curious look on her face turning to one of disbelief at the blatant lie Spork just said. She doesn’t get a chance to say anything though, as he bulldozes onwards. “Anyways, we really need to get ready for the day so see youlaterbye! l 

He pushes Shib out of their dorm room, ignoring her protests as he does so, and closes the door resolutely behind her. Locking the door, he lets out a relieved breath as he leans on it, closing his eyes briefly. 

From his bed, Spatula lets out an amused snort, actually feeling much better from the interruption. The reality of it all is still staring him in the face ( unlike before, he can’t simply ignore it this time..) , but it’s much easier to imagine a good outcome now. 

Spork shakes his head, a faint amused smile on his face before he turns back around to face Spatula. His smile falls, replaced with a serious look, making Spatula get more serious as well, familiar nerves working their way up his throat a tad. 

“I won’t lie and say it’ll be all okay… But honestly?” He pauses the serious look on his face melting a bit, shoulders slumping in defeat, but with a twinge of hope in his eyes. “There isn’t anything we can do, really, so it’s best to just try and be as optimistic as we possibly can. Maybe things will turn out okay, we won’t know until we continue on.” 

Spatula looks away from his friend, staring at his hands clutched above his bedsheet. The thought of how helpless he really is here, that all he can realistically do is just sit and wait doesn’t help how grim the situation already seems. 

‘ But Spork is right… I can’t hide away without drawing attention, and going along is almost equally as dangerous…’ He closes his eyes briefly, gathering his thoughts silently. ‘ I don’t like it, but going along and hoping for the best is really all I can do..’  

Opening his eyes he looks back up at Spork, who’s been waiting patiently as he thinks, a flash of guilt flowing through him as he ( for the first time ) really takes in what he’s been doing to his friend. Being backed into a corner like this isn’t the most ideal time to realize that he’s essentially been making his friend watch helplessly as he flings himself into dangerous situations… But it helps him understand better why Spork has been so vocally against it all, why he wanted to at least know what he was doing. 

“…I.. I hope things really do turn out well..And I’m sorry, for.. All of this.” He averts his gaze to the wall behind his friend, not wanting to look away but also not strong enough to look him directly in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to… to get as involved as I did.. To make it seem like I was trying to get myself k… killed.” 

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Spork staring at him, a blank look on his face as he stares. For a moment he’s eerily still as he stands there after Spatula’s apology, not moving a muscle. It makes him feel both more guilty and anxious as the seconds tick by. 

Finally Spork lets out a sigh, shaking his head slightly as he turns away from Spatula and grabs some clean clothes. 

“Don’t apologize man… I mean it’s not great that you’ve put yourself in danger like this.” He pauses for a moment, letting Spatula stew again in guilt. “But you're not the one leading this cult or recruiting people. There really isn’t anything you need to apologize for.” 

Spatula sucks in a sharp breath at that, shoulders unknowingly untensing as he sits there in bed. As his friend continues getting ready for the day, he stares for a moment at his hands, lightly feeling like a weight has been taken from his shoulders. 

“…Thank you.” He whispers out, slightly surprised at how relieved he feels, unaware he was this stressed out over it all. ‘ I should stop repressing my emotions so much..’

“Ain’t nothing I did, just telling you the truth.” Spork says bluntly, turning around to give Spatula a friendly smile. The smile turns into a playful smirk as he walks near his bed. “Now get outta bed and get ready for the day!” 

He unceremoniously pulls the blanket off of Spatula, making him yelp as the cold air hits him all at once. Spork cackles as he scrambles on his bed to get off, quickly unlocking the door and running out of it. 

Letting out an amused sigh, he shakes his head from where he’s halfway out of bed. Fully getting out of bed, he stretches out as he gets out clean clothes of his own to change into. 

‘ I won’t run away from the reality of the situation anymore. From now on, all serious thoughts.’ He nods to himself resolutely as he thinks this. Shucking off his old clothes, he gets ready for the day, only slightly dreading it. 

Exiting his dorm room, he sees Shib waving excitedly at him next to Spork and CG. Around her the other demons are moved back a little bit, just so they don’t get hit by accident. 

“Heeeeey! Over here Spatula!!” She calls out shamelessly, making him flush as several demons turn their gazes onto him. 

Ducking his head and hunching in on himself, he swiftly makes his way over towards her, muttering apologies as he pushes through the crowd of demons. 

As soon as he gets close to them, Shib grabs the sleeve of his shirt and pulls him close to the group, making him let out a slight noise in surprise. She smiles brightly at him as she slings an arm around his shoulder. 

“Soo, spill the beans on what was going on this morning.” She jostles him playfully, ignorant to how he stiffens up in her hold. From across him, next to CG, Spork gives him a slightly strained smile. 

“CG and I have been dying to know, but Spork here has been tight lipped about it all.” 

“Ahaha… Nothing at all happened this morning, what are you talking about..?” Spatula laughs awkwardly, doing his best to avoid her look and wiggle out of her hold. Even still he sees the unamused look on CG’s face, with Shib giving off an unamused snort as well. 

“Come on, you guys don’t have to lie to us! We won’t like… Judge you or anything.” Shib squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, unknowingly bringing him back in closer, his progress at shimmying out of her grip vanishing. 

Before he can open his mouth and say some half baked excuse or lie, CG sighs next to Spork, shaking their head at Shib. 

“If they don’t want to tell us we should respect it Shib..” He pauses, ignoring the pout on her face and the dramatic sigh she lets out, face serious as he glances between Spork and Spatula. “Though really, she’s right.. You guys can tell us anything.” 

Spatula gives CG an uneasy grin, grateful for them making Shib stop asking as well as the support.. But also feeling a twinge of guilt and dread at the fact he can’t tell them, for fear of making them targets. 

Next to CG, Spork catches his eye, giving him an equally uneasy look. The serious look on his face doesn’t last long however, as Spatula watches him plaster a very convincing friendly smile on instead. 

“We'll keep that in mind! Glad to have friends like you guys!” His cheerful voice is slightly jarring to hear, considering how serious and dreadful the day started. 

The other two give him smiles in return, unknowing of the deep guilt churning in Spatula’s gut. He’d thought it before, but seeing his friend lie for him like this, putting on a mask of friendliness and enthusiasm despite the seriousness of the situation.. It kind of makes him want to shrivel up and hide, either that or get on his knees right then and there and apologize once more for doing this to Spork. 

Seeing the others eating it up doesn’t help as well, in fact it only makes him wonder even more if he fell for the same tactic. It causes a new sort of guilt and worry to bloom in his gut, one born out of concern for his friend. Hopefully Spork hasn’t been hiding behind a mask of friendliness often.. 

Shaking his head internally, Spatula refocuses back on the present, pushing his guilt and depressing thoughts to the side once again. The others have moved on, the topic flowing from what happened that morning to something else. Tuning in, he finds it a conversation he’d been silently dreading. 

“So far they’ve just told us to gather around, that they had something planned. I’m not too sure what they’ll have us do since it’s the second to last day, but it’s big whatever it is.” CG shrugs their shoulders, frowning slightly to themself in contemplation. Next to him, Spork lets out a quiet hum as he thinks on it. 

Shib lets out a scoff at their words, rolling her eyes from where she still stands next to Spatula. 

“I don’t think it’s as important as they’re making it out to be, really. Probably just some more peddling for their ‘religion’.” 

The other two nod their heads slightly to her words, with CG nodding a bit decisively while Spork nods subtly. Despite himself, Spatula can’t agree with her words, the events of yesterday making him more inclined to believe today really will be interesting. 

As if to prove him right, the recruiter and a veritable entourage of other cultists come into the room, all holding various containers filled with Gears. Immediately upon seeing them all chatter stops in the room, with multiple demons visibly perking up and attempting to get a better look at the containers, trying to find their Gear. 

From around him, Shib and CG immediately focus on the recruiter, with Shib finally letting go of Spatula’s shoulder to step a bit closer toward the recruiter. Spork immediately sidles up next to him, a sort of curious look in his eyes as he glances from the containers to Spatula. 

“You didn’t hear anything about this, right..?” He whispers, looking back over at the recruiter as they do converse lightly with the other cultists near them. 

Immediately Spatula shakes his head, unable to recall any talk about Gear from yesterday. 

“Not a clue.” He whispers back, gaze equally as glued onto the front. 

A silence descends upon the room as the cultists up front discuss something, with one leaving the room after a beat. Scattered whispers sometimes fill the air, but they quickly die out. No one is willing to break the silence completely, a sort of.. Heavy feeling to it as it blankets the room. 

Finally, after a minute of more discussion, the recruiter breaks the silence, clearing their throat and giving the assembled demons a plastic grin. 

“As I’m sure you are all aware, tomorrow is your final day with us, with you all being taken back out of our humble abode into the real world.” The recruiter paces a tiny bit as they talk, the plastic smile on their face looking a bit more… Fake then the last times they’ve had it. 

Next to them, the cultists stand eerily still, not even looking like they are breathing as they just stand there. At some unseen motion, however, they suddenly step forward, near the crowd. 

“As such, we are going to be spending today teaching you guys how to work with your Gear’s. My companions, if you don’t mind.” 

The recruiter waves a hand towards the crowd, ignoring the loud whispers of excitement. Not even acknowledging their words, the cultists move forward again in unison, placing down the containers on the ground and opening them up. 

A mad scramble occurs, everyone eager in their own way to finally get their Gear back after having been separated from it for so long. However, they are quickly stopped, the black robed cultists hiding in the shadows stepping forward menacingly, hands grasping some sort of weapon or Gear underneath their robes. 

Quickly lines form instead, demons pushing and shoving slightly, too excited and antsy to really calm down completely. From around Spatula, the others are a tad different. Shib and CG were quick to step in line, dragging Spork and him behind the duo. Spork himself didn’t move, a contemplative frown on his face before he was tugged into a line, whereupon he wiped the frown off his face. 

And Spatula? He didn’t make a move either, a bit paralyzed from shock and surprise. It hadn’t really occurred to him fully that he was still on a time limit, one that had been rapidly coming to its end. On one hand he’s glad it’s ending this soon.. But on the other, he’s not so sure he’ll be let go that easily. 

The group waits in line, with it moving relatively quickly. Demons had to kind of find their Gear themself, with no care really being put in place to distinguish who’s Gear is who’s. Even still, the excitement at finally getting it back made people waste no time in grabbing and taking back what is theirs. 

Spatula’s group, having been at the back, takes a while to get anywhere close to the containers. They’re about halfway to the front when a black robed demon approaches them, a sincere smile on their face. 

“Hello there, you’re Spatula yes?” Their voice is gentle but the excitement hiding behind it is easy to hear. Shib and CG glance between the cultist and Spatula curiously, looking a bit concerned for him. 

Spork is giving the cultist a narrow eyed look, borderline glaring at them and making them shuffle a bit awkwardly, smile falling flat a tad. They clear their throat, focusing solely on Spatula and ignoring the look they are getting from Spork. 

“I was told.. To come get you..?” 

“Oh… Uh.. Right now?” Is all he can nervously say, glancing a bit frantically at his glaring friend and the cultist. 

“Yes, it’s urgent and it can't wait.” They sound more sure of themself, straightening up and ignoring the searing glare they are now getting from Spork. Spatula barely gets to open his mouth before he is interrupted by them again. “Don’t worry about your Gear, this has to do with it.” 

Shutting his mouth, he glances from his friend to Shib and CG, all three looking worried, with Spork giving him a borderline pleading look to not go with them. However, out of the corner of his eye he spots the other cultists, the ones with the recruiter and the ones hiding in the shadows. 

‘ If I say no or make a scene…’ His mind immediately flashes to the worst case scenario, images of blood and screaming filing his head before he gathers himself. Shaking slightly, he sends an apologetic and helpless look to his friend before turning back towards the cultist. “A..Alright then.” 

The cultist gives him a wide, genuine smile, grabbing him by the sleeve and tugging him away before the others can object. As he’s being tugged away, Spatula can’t help but feel a creeping sense of dread fill his being, hands shaking as he does his best to not let it all get to him then and there. 

He isn’t dragged out of the room, instead he’s led toward a corner away from the entrance, where the cultists and Gear’s are. There he finds the others who attended the classes standing there, looking equally as curious and cautious as Spatula himself feels. Though they look much more casual than he feels, not as wary as they realistically should be. Once more his mind flashes back to how nonchalant they were in the training class yesterday, a sense of dread different then the one he has been feeling filling him as he recalls this. 

‘ Hopefully they aren’t ACTUALLY interested in all of this nonsense .’ He has a feeling they really are, but at this point he’d like to be optimistic about SOMETHING, so he’s choosing to ignore this particular reality right now. 

Seeing all three of them there and waiting, the cultists who grabbed him clapped their hands, a bright smile on their face. From out of the shadows, a couple more black robed cultists come out to stand near them, looming over them a tad menacingly. 

“Alright now, let me just say something really quickly! You guys aren’t getting your Gear’s back..” They say it bluntly, straight and to the point, but don’t get any further as immediately one of the others interrupts them in outrage.

“Wait, what do you mean we don’t get our Gear's back!? What the hell are you guys trying to do here??” Spatula blinks, recognizing the voice as the brave demon from before who spoke up against the recruiter. Before the cultist can react, they continue on their rant. “I took your stupid extra class in the hopes that it’d get me my Gear back quicker so I could leave this stupid place! Why the hell do you get to keep ours ?!” 

“Please, calm down newcomer..!” The cultist puts their hands out in a surrender position, the smile on their face turning nervous and shaky as they attempt to calm the raging demon down. Just as it looks like they’re about to go on another rant, the cultist interrupts them swiftly, voice hard despite the clear nerves they are displaying. “You aren’t getting your Gear’s back YET!” 

The brave demon calms down at that, anger being replaced with pure curiosity and confusion at those words. Spatula can’t blame them, he’s confused himself, wondering why they’d wait to give them their Gear’s back. It also makes him a tad nervous, considering they didn’t remember the other’s Gear’s… 

His thoughts are interrupted by the cultist clearing their throat again, gathering their nerves before speaking once more. 

“As I was going to say, you three aren’t getting your Gear’s back just yet. We have another class packed day for you guys, and then tomorrow you will be getting them back, as well as the surprise we mentioned before.” 

Spatula glances at the others, feeling a tad helpless seeing the accepting looks in their faces. Looking back at the rest of the assembled demons, he spots his friend giving him a worried look, clutching his Gear tightly as he stares at him. 

Swallowing his spit, mouth suddenly dry as his nerves rear their ugly head again, he focuses back on the group in front of him, just in time to be pushed towards the other two. Grouped with the others, the cultists start shuffling them over towards a nearby wall. 

Glancing back, he’s barely able to get one last glance at Spork, to take in the alarmed look on his face, before he’s pushed into the shadows. It becomes clear quickly that the ‘shadows’ are an elaborate system of tunnels hidden away from the… visiting demons, a door being opened subtly.

Taking in a breath and gripping his arms tight, claws digging into his skin slightly, Spatula goes along with the group, doing his best to push away the dread he feels. 

It feels like they’ve been walking for an hour before they finally stop, the cultist in front of the group ( barely visible under the dimly lit lamps that line the tunnels )  stopping a bit abruptly. He stumbles a bit, not expecting it and stepping on the angry demon's toes, getting a whispered curse in response. He’s barely able to whisper out an apology under his breath before his attention is captured again by the opening of another secret door. 

Squinting at the light invading his eyes, it takes him a bit to actually comprehend what he’s seeing, though once he does he almost takes a step back in surprise. 

Right in front of him, from what he can scrounge up from his patchy memories, is a meeting room, shrines dedicated to the.. Was it Angel they called their idol? Anyways, name aside multiple shrines lined the four walls, one on each wall, with burning incense on the altars. Each shrine had a different painting dedicated to the deity, all different in some way. 

The main focus of them all, however, was the animals, most commonly a deer but others showed up as well. Nature also played a slight role in the paintings, with most of the depictions happening in some sort of nondescript forest where the aforementioned animals would show up. One painting, on the wall directly in front of him, had the deity just staring down, the canvas massive to do a full body shot of the Angel. 

It was.. Scarily detailed, even from where he stood Spatula could almost see the grooves in the Angel’s horns ( which were deer-like ) and the flowing of the golden.. Chiton he thinks it's called. So far he’s just been going along under the assumption this deity is obviously fake. There’s already 7 deities front and center in the Inpherno, any other demon claiming to be one is most likely fake. However, the detail in the painting, one that looks to be done by hand, is making Spatula reconsider. 

With enough talent one could make a scarily real looking painting, that’s to be certain, but to be as consistent as this cult has been? There’s no details lost between each painting, all feature the same concepts and the same design for the Angel. He’ll still hold out on the hope that this ‘angel’ really is fake, but he can’t just overlook the fact that it’s seeming more and more possible that they’re real. 

“Now today's class is, as you may have guessed, focused not on training but instead on our Religion and getting to know you for who you really are.” Spatula is broken out of his thoughts by the voice of one of the cultists, another trainer or leader he’s guessing. 

The leading cultist opens their arms in a sweeping motion, giving the trio a genuine welcoming smile. Their voice is genuine and gentle when they speak, only succeeding in making Spatula regret taking up the extra class offer once again instead of putting him at any sort of ease.

“You may have grown used to working in groups, but for today you must mingle on your own, we want to get to know the you without any barriers or stops!” 

Immediately Spatula’s heart begins racing, the idea of just.. Talking to these crazy people on his own without the relative safety of the group makes him want to bash his head into a wall. Unfortunately for him, the other two don’t have any objections to this, looking reluctant but going along with it anyways. 

Mentally screaming to himself, he very begrudgingly moves away from the group to mingle with the cultists. While he knows exactly how he got in this situation, he still can’t help but think to himself how he got into all of this.

For a few minutes, despite the dread he feels, nothing happens. Spatula just moves from one shrine to another in a path, too nervous and unwilling to approach the cultists himself, but also not wanting to go against their word directly to do anything outrageous or refuse to participate. Despite this, he’s still somehow dragged into a conversation with one of the cult members as he’s just staring blankly at one of the paintings.

“You seem pretty interested in our Angel, newcomer.” Spatula jolts slightly, blinking quickly and glancing to his side where a cult member now stands next to him. Upon noticing him looking, they give him a wide, friendly smile, making him smile back out of habit. “Any reason you feel so drawn towards them?”

“O..Oh.. Well no reason, just.. Admiring the art, y’know?” Spatula flounders for a little bit, brain immediately panicking and thinking that the recruiter he told, told everyone before he reigns it in. 

The cultist politely ignores his floundering and nerves, nodding their head in agreement.

“Truly, the one’s displayed are some of our best work. Though as you might imagine, we only give our best to our Angel!”

“Ahaha.. Yeah..” Spatula turns his attention back onto the painting, wishing he were anywhere else but here, knowing he can’t leave and settling for the alternative of just staring at something. 

A silence blankets the two of them, with no words being exchanged, the cult member perhaps getting the hint that Spatula isn’t one for idle talk. Clutching his forearms tightly to himself, he waits for them to inevitably get bored and finally walk away, leaving Spatula alone again. However, his luck seems to be against him as instead of walking away, they start up another conversation. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, I’ve always wanted to know this but uh…” The cult member stumbles a little bit, the genuine behavior making Spatula cringe and hug himself tighter as it's just another reminder that these are literally just people . “What made you want to improve yourself so much that you’d seek us out?” 

He blinks at the painting he’s staring at, not really expecting that question specifically. Honestly he thought they’d say something like “what made you interested in our Religion?” or “what do you think about the Angel”, something related to the cult in some way. To hear instead a question about why he wanted to improve himself in a place like this? It.. It kind of makes him think that maybe this cult isn’t as one dimensional as he thought, which just makes him more uneasy.

‘ How many layers am I just now seeing..?’ He can’t help but think to himself, before promptly brushing that thought away. He doesn’t have the time, currently and legitimately, to contemplate that OR investigate. 

Focusing back on the conversation, he finally glances back over at the demon, a patient smile on their face as they wait for his answer. Taking a second to remember their question, he gathers his thoughts quickly, debating on whether to lie or to tell the truth, ending up with him deciding to just do a mix of both.

“I wanted to help people, but didn’t think I had it in me or the strength to go out and actually do anything that would really help people, y’know?” Spatula pauses, before deciding to just add a tad more to the lie, just to make it more believable. “I looked around a lot before ending up being offered an opportunity to come here.. Hopefully with my time here I can actually make things better out there for demons just like me.” 

The cult demon is silent for a moment, taking in his answer. Spatula turns his attention back to the painting in the meanwhile, not wanting to really look them in the eye with all his thoughts swirling around in his head like they are. 

‘ ...I think I was a bit too truthful in my first statement.’ He bites his bottom lip, almost drawing blood from how hard he’s clamped down on it. ‘ Its.. Its probably not as serious as the last time I said the truth was.. But I can’t help but worry..’ He lets out a quiet, shaky breath, forcibly relaxing his grip on his forearms. ‘ Get a grip, Spatula, have a crisis or something later, not now.’ 

“...I think that’s the most truthful reason I’ve heard to that question today.” The cult demon muses next to him, breaking him out of his thoughts before launching him back into his spiral once he realizes what they said. Unknowing to Spatula’s worries, they give him a wide, genuine smile and pat him gently on the shoulder. “I’m really glad you decided to join us, Spatula. You might be the most noble member we have to date.”

Spatula blinks in surprise, eyes widening after the cult demon speaks, but unable to get anything out, stunned as he is, before they walk away from him. He watches with baited breath as they join another group of cult members, with the other members seeming to defer to them from what he can see. 

For a moment he doesn’t do anything beside staring silently at the painting, vision swimming due to the fact he isn’t blinking. The eyes of the Angel in the picture look mockingly proud to his vision, before he blinks and they turn static once again. Letting out a shaky, disturbed breath, he resigns himself to his position, doing his best to remind himself he can’t do anything yet .

‘ Just… Just have to be optimistic… Can’t drown in negativity just yet, especially in my position.. Losing hope is the last thing I want to do.’ Spatula is well aware he’s lost all hope of getting out safe and sound that morning, but he clutches to this delusion desperately, unwilling to resign himself completely without putting up SOME sort of fight, even if it's in the comfort of his own mind. 

The rest of the ‘class’ is uneventful, with some other demons coming up to try and talk to him. However, Spatula really isn’t in the headspace to potentially accidentally integrate into the cult anymore then he already has. He’s still polite with them, unable to actually be mean or rude to any that approach him, but he isn’t making any attempts at continuing conversation himself. 

Eventually many get the hint and leave him alone to wander the room on his own, a few sticking by him (more so than the other two) but leaving him alone with his thoughts. After what feels like an eternity, he’s finally gathered up with the other two demons, being led back towards where the secret door is. 

Clapping their hands together, the cult demon gives the trio a grateful smile underneath the shadow of their robe’s hood.

“This was an enlightening class, and we ALL appreciate you guys taking such an interest in our way of life!” 

The angry demon from before rolls their eyes subtly, the gesture going right over the cult demon's head. Ignorant to how much one of them doesn’t care, the cult demon enthusiastically gives the trio quick hugs, pulling away as fast as they go in. 

“We’ll see you guys tomorrow, before the ceremony!” They give them one last enthusiastic grin, before the trio is led away through the tunnel in the wall. 

As they walk along the dimly lit tunnel, Spatula lets out a quiet breath, still tense from what happened and processing the implications thrown in his face, but immeasurably grateful that he’s finally on his way back to people he can trust . Compared to the walk to first get to the room, the walk back to the communal area feels quick, with them arriving there before he knows it. 

Exiting the tunnel, the last black robed demon gives them all a subtle nod before going back inside and closing the door behind them. The group glances at each other, before looking around the area. Time in the cult has been… Dicey to say the least, no windows to tell whether its day or night, and no clocks really around aside from in the Church. However, due to how dim the common room is and how empty it is, it’s easy to say that it's probably about time for them to head to bed themselves. 

Spatula hesitates, uncharacteristically wanting to actually talk to his fellow ‘in deep’ demons. For God’s sake he doesn’t even know their names, he’s just been using descriptors or calling them ‘the demon’ in his mind. It would be good to know at least their name, just to make it easier on him. 

The other two have different ideas, though, sparing one last glance at each other before leaving towards their respective dorm rooms. Frantically glancing between the two, Spatula quickly bolts over to the angry demon, not wanting to be stun locked like he has been.

“W-Wait!” He calls out, stopping the angry demon in their tracks with barely a touch on their shoulder. Before he can continue however, they immediately jerk out of his reach, turning around and giving him a glare. 

“What.” The word is spit out angrily, making Spatula immediately shrivel up on himself and back away from them. For a brief moment he gathers his courage and determination, opening his mouth to say something before being cut off. “Going to peddle this obvious cult to me like your buddies?” 

Spatula blinks, stunned once more, immediately derailed from what he was going to ask ( their name ), instead incredulously asking:

“What the hell gave you the idea I was with this cult?!”

The angry demon just gives him a deadpan stare, rolling their eyes at him. 

“Well so far you’ve gone along with everything they say, not even a hint of cautiousness on yer face. Not to mention the fact they flocked towards you in that weird room today. Sword’s the big boss guy or whatever was even talking you up about how good you are for the cult.” 

“I…” Spatula is torn between astonishment and dread, still trying to comprehend how he even came off as anywhere near as nonchalant as this demon is making him out to be. The angry demon just raises an eyebrow, like his silence is an answer to all of that nonsense. “I’m not a part of the cult, seriously..!”

“That’s something a cultist would say.” They bluntly say in response, rolling their eyes at him again. “Now are you done wasting my time, or can I go inside my dorm room to sleep and forget about all this for a little bit.”

“N..No, you can’t!? I’m seriously not a part of this cult at all, I’m just as new as you are!” He’s almost shaking from rage, trying to get this guy to understand that he had nothing to do with the crazy people here. 

“Yeah, yeah, you aren’t a cultist or whatever. Goodnight.” The angry demon just turns back around to their dorm door, opening it swiftly and slamming it back in Spatula’s face, ignoring his spluttering attempts to convince them. 

He stands outside their door for a minute, before putting his face in his hands and screaming ( very quietly, of course) into them in frustration. 

‘ Not only do I have this cult thinking I’m already basically a part of them, now I have the OTHERS thinking I’m a part of this whole mess.’ 

He grabs the base of one horn, digging his claws into it, wanting to bang his head into the wall out of pure frustration over the entire situation. This morning he thought he couldn’t regret taking the cult invitation anymore, and yet here he is . 

After a few more seconds of moaning about the situation in his head, he straightens up again, realizing that he’s still just standing outside some strangers door. Very quickly, to not make himself look more suspicious then he already APPARENTLY looks, he books it to his dorm room door. 

Opening it up quietly, he lets out a breath, shoulders relaxing for the first time that day. On the other side of the room, Spork snores loudly in his bed, sprawled across it in a cat-like manner. Spatula gives his friend a soft smile, before turning off the small lamp he left on for him, immediately climbing into bed afterwards. 

Not even bothering with changing his clothes or even sleeping properly, he lets his body relax as he lays face down on his pillow. The events of the day flash in his mind, the sense of dread he’d been pushing off immediately making itself known once again and doing its best to make him worry. His claws dig into his blanket below him, making slight tears in the fabric as he closes his eyes, trying to push the feeling back again. 

Unlike the morning however, he has nothing to distract himself with, and the thoughts and worries of the day run free around his head. The minute whittle away like this, with him lying almost ramrod straight as he attempts to get his brain in order, failing at almost every turn. At some point or another, Spatula is uncertain when too focused on pushing it all back, he finally falls into a restless sleep… 

Chapter Text

Waking up that morning was a chore and a half for Spatula, the memories of his revelations and what happened yesterday making him groan quietly to himself. Flinging an arm over his eyes, he lays there for a moment and enjoys the darkness behind his eyelids, the silence of the morning like a soothing balm to his frazzled mind.

He isn’t able to lay there for long though, as in the other bed Spork lets out a loud yawn as he sits up in bed, the sounds of the sheet beneath him rustling. 

Spatula hears his friend let out a satisfied noise as he stretches, before getting up and off his bed. Yawning again, Spork walks over to his bed and begins gently shaking him. 

“Time to get up… Got a big day ahead of us, Spat’.” Despite how tired he sounds, there’s an undeniable note of excitement and anticipation in Spork’s voice. “Our last day here..” 

His friend shakes him some more, with Spatula mentally sighing as what little sleep he managed to get flees him. Not wanting to keep his friend waiting any longer, he lets out a loud yawn  and removes his arm from his face, blinking tiredly at Spork’s smiling face. 

“Cmon, show a little enthusiasm man! You won’t have to worry about those cultists for long.” He moves away from Spatula’s bed as he says this, rummaging around his dresser and taking out a clean pair of clothes. “Just today and then we all get to go home!” 

Spatula lets out a sigh as he sits up in bed, a defeated look on his face as he looks over at his friend. 

“I don’t think they’ll let us go that quickly…” 

Spork scoffs at his comment, a flash of worry in his eyes before it disappears. Turning around to make sure Spatula sees him rolling his eyes, he gives him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Spat’! You’ve made it through basically the whole week dealing with their crap, that’s something to be happy about.” His friend nods to himself self satisfyingly, turning back around to rummage some more in his dresser. Taking out some horn care product, he continues on. “Besides, it’s only one day, how much could they really do today?” 

Spatula lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he gets up out of bed. 

“Don’t you know not to test fate like that, Spork??” 

“Pshh,” He scoffs, shaking his head exaggeratedly and turning back to look at Spatula. “Fate shmate, all that really matters is your actions and what you do, man. Ain’t no mysterious force guiding us, just our own dumb actions.” 

“Sure sure..” He lets out another chuckle, watching his friend gather up his clothing and horn care product in his hands. 

Spork raises an eyebrow pointedly at him, tilting his head slightly towards the door with a questioning look in his eyes. 

“Are you coming with me to the showers??” 

“Ah… I want to gather my stuff, to get ready for tomorrow so..” Spatula turns towards his own dresser in the room, opening a door and getting some clothes out. “Going to change in here.” 

“Alright then, I’ll see you outside then, man.” His friend shrugs his shoulders, Spatula catching a glimpse of the movement out of the corner of his eyes. 

He then hears their door being opened and then closed, making him alone in their dorm now. Finally alone, Spatula lets out another sigh, stopping his rummaging to run a hand down his face as he stares blankly at the floor. 

‘ Spork needs to stop being right all the time..’ He thinks a bit amusedly to himself, the ghost of a smile forming on his face. ‘ Or maybe I need to start being more optimistic.’ Letting out a quiet, self deprecating chuckle Spatula grabs some clean clothes. 

Changing out of his pajamas, he yawns slightly, sleep dogging on his heels like always. Last night certainly didn’t help his already horrid relationship with sleep, but at this point he’s more used to feeling tired then not. Seriously, when he gets a good rest and wakes up not tired it just feels downright weird. 

‘ I do think I should still be wary of what the cultists have in store for me, no matter what Spork said.’ Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he gathers his sluggish thoughts, needing to be as sharp as possible for the day. As he rubs at them, however, he notices something rather strange. 

Blinking his eyes, he brings up a hand to poke at his left eye curiously. The pain that he’d grown used to and kind of forgotten was suddenly gone… Okay well, it still hurts, like he hasn’t blinked in a bit. However it feels way more dull and not as prominent as before. 

It’s strange, as he didn’t do anything to get rid of it.. But then again he also didn’t do anything to his eye that would make it hurt as long as it did. His only going theory was that the dream he had that first night had something to do with it. 

Scrounging around his horrid memory, Spatula can’t really recall any sort of dream he had last night. All he remembers is falling asleep and then all of a sudden waking up, as is normal for his sleep when he’s really tired. 

No weird dreams or nightmares, just the black blankness of unconsciousness. After spending a bit thinking and worrying on it, he forcibly shoves the issue to the back of his head once again. Telling himself he’ll think about it when it’s a problem, and doing his best to stop the guilt at shoving his problems aside once more, Spatula turns towards the dorm door. 

Despite his pessimistic thoughts, he can’t help but feel a swell of hope rise in his chest as he opens the door. If all goes as they’ve said, he’ll only be here for today, and afterwards he’ll be home free. 

‘ I should get Spork’s number.. ’ He thinks idly to himself as he closes the door behind him, walking out into the common room. 

Almost every demon invited and taken in by the cult are out there, cultist robes standing out in the sea of normal clothes. The sight makes him stop, dread clawing its way up his throat as the normally hidden black robed demons are in full view of everyone. 

Quickly, Spatula makes his way towards where Shib and CG are, Spork still getting ready presumably. The two glance at him, Shib giving him a friendly smile, but neither of them speak up. 

He can’t say he blames them for not talking, the room is almost deathly silent, no idle chatter or whispers to be heard. The silence is heavy, a feeling of urgency in the air enforcing it upon them all. The only ones not affected by it are the cultists themselves, with them chattering away with each other in hushed whispers and mutters from where they stand. 

Spatula hugs his arms close to himself, stamping down his anxiety and worries as best he can, not wanting to start spiraling right then and there. The hopeful feeling from before feels so far away to him now, the fact they only have today now feels like too much instead of inspiring hope. 

Seconds tick by, more demons coming out of their dorms and joining the masses. Each and every time they all individually stop for a beat, taken aback like Spatula was when he first left his room. 

It feels like both an eternity and a second have passed by before Spork finally comes out of the communal bathroom and joins their group. He gives the other two a friendly smile, but turns a serious questioning look to Spatula.

He just shakes his head subtly at his friend, caught off guard as much as he is about all of this. As he scours his memories of yesterday for any sign of what is happening, two recruiters step away from the crowd of cultists and in front of the assembled demons. 

‘ W..Wait wasn’t there some talk about a-‘ His thoughts are interrupted as one recruiter loudly clears their throat, unaware of how Spatula’s face pales slightly as he remembers all of a sudden. 

“As it is your final day with us, instead of training we are going to treat you all to a ceremony of ours!” The first recruiter has more enthusiasm packed into their voice then Spatula has ever seen on one of their faces. The sudden intense emotion from them served to make him dread this ‘ceremony’ more than he already was. “You all have worked so hard to get where you are now!

“Our patron Deity, the Angel, has even come to see you all, having been told of how much each and every one of you have improved.” The second recruiter continues on, sounding somehow even more enthused than the other. 

Immediately the other normal demons glance at each other, exchanging wary looks with those they know. Shib and CG do the same, the former more curious while the latter looks almost fearful. Feeling a nudge at his shoulder, Spatula looks over and sees Spork’s rare serious face. 

He immediately understands what his friend is trying to convey, a grimace crossing over his face as he shoots back a sort of helpless look. There’s nowhere for him to really run or hide, especially with these many cultists out and about. 

It’s a given that he’ll be pulled in or involved somehow with this ceremony of theirs.. Especially since apparently everyone but the three he knows just assumes he’s already a part of the cult.. 

Gulping, Spatula’s mouth feels dry as he feels a cold sweat go down his neck. His hands grasp onto his forearms tightly as he feels the urge to just slam his head into the wall until he’s unconscious wash over him. 

‘ Nothing good can come out of this ceremony.. And I’ve put myself in the prime position to be involved with it..’ He wants to laugh, the same helpless feeling from yesterday morning threatening to pull him down into the depths of sadness. 

Thankfully, he’s knocked out of his thoughts.. Unfortunately the thing to knock him out of them isn’t one of his friends. Instead a black robed cult member rests a hand on his shoulder, getting his immediate attention. 

Whipping around to face them, Spatula can only stare in despair as they greet him with a friendly smile from under their hood. They tug him away from his friends subtly, the others focused instead on the recruiter as they begin speaking again. 

“Please come with us to the Church, you’ll be given your phones on the way there so no need to worry about them.” He hears as he’s pulled and bundled away with the other two demons, black robed cultists making sure they can’t be seen. 

They’re shoved into a nearby room rather hurriedly, told to stay before the ones who brought them there leave, almost running. Watching them scurry off, Spatula looks around awkwardly, staunchly ignoring the gazes of the other two.

Knowing that they think he’s in on all of this makes it borderline impossible for him to look even in their general direction. He can practically feel their eyes on him, burning a hole in his head as they stare at him. 

Realistically it’s probably just his imagination.. But he can’t help but remember the anger in the bold demon's voice when he tried talking with them.. He can picture their angry eyes on him clearly, with them glaring like they can set him on fire with just their gaze. 

Tightening the self hug he has going on, Spatula shudders fearfully as he begins looking around a bit frantically for something to distract himself with. The room they’re in is rather plain, nothing special really in it like the others he’s been in so far. 

Really the only semi-interesting thing in the room is the amount of plants in it. Different kinds of herbs, vegetables, and flowers take up all the space next to the walls. He.. Isn’t quite sure how they’re able to keep them as healthy as they are, no sunlight streaming in and the only light being provided is the one buzzing loudly overhead.. And that one wasn’t even on when they first came in. 

‘Maybe there’s some kind of Gear that can keep plants alive like this..?’ Even as he thinks that, he doubts that it actually exists. Such a Gear would be highly specialized and most he’s seen so far are.. Not that. ‘ Besides, if it did exist then it would be widely known.. No way a Gear as potentially powerful as that would be kept a secret.’  

As he’s lost in his thoughts, he is herded towards a basket near one of the Angel’s statues, its eyes almost boring into him as he is forced uncomfortably close to it. The other two demons shove him rather rudely against it, a pointed look in the bold one’s eyes as they grab the basket. Taking out their phones, they carelessly toss Spatula his before pausing.

A frown takes over their angry face, brows furrowed as they pick up some sort of pin from out of the basket, the gold gleaming in the fluorescent light above them. 

“What the hell is this…?” They mumble out, shooting an accusing look at Spatula as if expecting him to know. 

He hunches in on himself further, wishing he could just up and disappear from it all as he nervously flips his phone around in his hands, unable to meet their eyes. The searing feeling of their eyes on him from before rears its ugly head again, making his skin crawl as he does his best to gather his nerves. 

Just as he’s about to open his mouth and finally deny their accusations, said and unsaid, a black robed cultist steps in between them with a hand out stretched for the pin. Sending them a narrow eyed suspicious look, they hand over the pin rather slowly, snatching their hand back quickly as if the cultist has some sort of disease. 

Willfully ignoring their actions, the cultist holds up the pin with two fingers to show them. The design immediately makes Spatula perk up slightly as he recognizes it, it being the same pin they gave to them that first day to board the bus. 

“To congratulate you at the ceremony and properly identify you three, we ask that you guys wear these pins.. I’m sure you must recognize it as the pin given to you by one of our outreach siblings.” They then turn towards Spatula, making him freeze in his nervous standing, and approach him swiftly. 

For some odd reason, instead of just letting him take the pin and put it on himself, the cultist instead very gently and almost reverently pins the pin on the front of his sweater. He’s frozen in shock and anxiety, unable to say anything or stop them from doing so. They pat down the front of his sweater as if they were clearing any dust on it before quickly turning to the others. 

Shuddering to himself in disgust, he immediately hugs himself tightly, knowing that while they most likely meant no harm in what they did, their touch still makes him want to claw some of his skin off. 

Unconsciously he rubs at his sweater, faintly aware subconsciously that he shouldn’t be showing any of his distress outwardly. 

To distract himself, he frantically pulls his thoughts towards something else, observing a bit desperately as the cultist roughly puts the pins on the others. The weird care they had done with Spatula was nowhere to be seen as they pinned the pin onto the other two, doing it rather swiftly and briskly. 

‘That’s…Weird… I get that they think I’m going to be joining them, but they didn’t give off the impression that they’d be rude to other potential joiners…’ He can’t help but muse to himself, mind spinning with new worries as his gaze drifts to the statue next to him. ‘ There isn’t really anything too different between me and the others.. Nor can I recall doing anything that would make them treat me with respect… Unless..’  

His mind flashes back to his words on that very first class day, the way he had said he’d recognized the Angel and how familiar they felt. Face paling, he comes to the very real realization that his thoughts were right, all his worries from before being well founded. 

‘ Oh lord… They really do think I’m something special don’t they??’ His world spins as his breath hitches, anxiety hitting him like a truck as he stares in despair at the statue next to him. New worries threaten to over take him, all the possibilities and scenarios fighting to take shape in his mind at the realization. 

He doesn’t get time to stew on it all, however, as the door to the room is abruptly opened, a white robed recruiter coming in with a genuine smile on their face. Without saying a word, excitement palpable in their actions, they push the three of them into a group again and back out of the room. 

They walk out just as the other assembled demons are making their way towards the Church, the timing deliberate as they are seamlessly shoved back into the crowd once again. As he’s moved with the crowd, Spatula can’t help but hunch in on himself again, the pin on his sweater getting covered by his arms as he does his best to ignore the strangers at his sides, boxing him in. 

His mind is a mess once more, worries and nerves mixing into a cocktail of thoughts that aren’t coherent at all, a weight falling onto his shoulders as they swirl. The only coherent thought he ends up having is that he should have never followed through with the flier, that he should have stayed at home and continued working on himself instead.. 

‘..But if I did that I would have never met Spork, Shib, or CG..’ His mind whispers to himself, the thought making his frenzied thoughts pause for a moment. ‘Plus, still don’t know what will happen here.. Everyone here might be in danger..’

Letting out a soundless sigh to himself, he can’t help but face the facts. He would’ve taken the flier anyways, unable to just let people suffer or even risk it. What kind of person would he be, with all this ( admittedly pathetic) knowledge in his head about the world if he didn’t do anything? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, that’s all he knows for sure. 

Refocusing on the present, he holds in a slight breath as they enter the Church, a heavy feeling blanketing over him all of a sudden. It’s not only him that’s feeling it, as several demons around him shudder and tense up, all having felt it as well. Aside from the place being more clean then it was in the previous days ( a feat, since it’s normally kept sparkling clean by the cultists) there isn’t anything that would make everyone suddenly intensely aware of their surroundings. 

Shuffling his feet nervously, he clutches the sleeves of his sweater as he reluctantly straightens up so he can see over the horns and heads of the demons in front of him. A cultist in gold lined robes, one he hasn’t seen before, stands in front of the Altar, face blank as they watch the demons entering. 

Everyone is motioned to enter the pews and take a seat, black robed demons making sure they’re entering in a neat and orderly manner. Many demons glance at each other as they’re corralled into the pews, exchanging uncertain and confused glances. He watches this anxiously as he moves slowly forward with the crowd, approaching the main area of the church. 

As the demons in front of him are pointed to an empty row, the cultist pauses as soon as they see him. For a beat they stare at him, Spatula uncertain on where exactly they’re staring but feeling their eyes on him nonetheless. Eventually they point him towards the same empty pew, head following him as he hesitantly makes his way in. 

Taking a seat, Spatula immediately hunches in on himself, keeping in his own space and trying not to be super close to the others around him… Even as they’re packed in like sardines. He clasps his hands together on his lap, wringing them anxiously as he reluctantly keeps his head high to stare at the gold robed cultist. 

The silence is almost tangible, the heavy feeling still not leaving and making his already frayed nerves fray even more. It’s almost a fight to keep his breathing steady, the forced proximity with strangers and the foreboding atmosphere threatening to choke him out already. 

‘ Focus… It must be the Angel doing this to us.. But what kind of demon must they be to have this presence when they aren’t even here yet??’ Spatula takes in a sharp breath, composure faltering for a moment before he reigns himself in. Subtly shaking his head he continues just breathing, doing his best not to fall back into the trap of negative thoughts. ‘ It'll be fine, I have to have faith in that…’

Clenching his hands together painfully, claws digging slightly into his skin, he refocuses on the present to see the last demons filed away. As they sit down in their pew, the silence seems to grow more heavy, no longer the ambient sound of footsteps to lighten it up. From the altar the gold robed demon just stares at them all, eyes assessing the crowd, almost like they are looking down at them.. 

Finally they clear their throat, the sound a bit delicate and noble in a way. As soon as they do the other cultists straighten up, going ramrod straight around the edges of the church and giving them their full attention. There’s a wave of movement in the pews as the assembled demons shuffle uncertainly in their seats. 

The gold cultist raises their robed arms, the gold lining it sparkling radiantly in the light, arms spread. They stay like that for a bit, the anticipation ramping up before speaking.

“What a miraculous sight to be seeing, so many outsiders gathered within our halls and experiencing our way of life…” The light seemed to get brighter as they started speaking, the glittering gold burning into Spatula’s eyes and making him squint at them. “And yet I know, not all of you were here to join within our family, seeking a different more tangible type of improvement. Nonetheless it is a wondrous time to have a crowd, fresh eyes and perspectives always welcomed.” 

They briefly pause to take a breath, their words not helping the uncertain glances and tense atmosphere. 

“While I wasn’t here to witness the tremendous growth you’ve all been through this week, I have been told of your feats and given first hand accounts on how much effort each and every one of you has put forth. As such, I couldn’t let you leave today without making sure that you all know that your time was well spent here!” They put their arms down in a sweeping motion, stepping a bit to the side of the altar. 

“I spread words of praise to the one above me, our glorious Angel sent down from Spawn itself to protect us… However don’t take my words themselves, instead hear it from the mouth of the gods!” 

At their final words they take another step, back and away from the Altar putting as much distance between it and them as they can. For a moment only silence rings out throughout the Church, nothing happening despite the excitement and build up in their speech. 

Just as Spatula is going to tear his eyes away from the center of the Church, he notices something.. Odd. He had thought it was just a trick of his eyes, especially because of how his left eye had been acting the entire week. The pain it had been in had made him prone to seeing shapes in his vision, ones he had just always roughly brushed off in his mind to worry about another time. 

However, since the pain had mysteriously disappeared he can’t come up with any sensible reasoning as to why the light in the cave seemed to be bending, almost dancing. It had seemed a bit odd how strong it was already, especially with no windows inside the cave, but to all of a sudden be almost tangibly moving?? 

Before he can contemplate anymore on the sight, the light got unbearable bright, like the sun itself had taken residence inside the Church. He lets out a pained hiss, immediately covering his eyes from the piercing light, hearing the others in the room calling out in pain as well. 

He can feel the heat and weight of the light on his arm, borderline crushing him with its sheer presence… Until all of a sudden it goes away. The heat dissipates slowly, the room almost frigidly cold, an intensely shocking change. At the same time, while the weight doesn’t change quite as intense as the temperature, it does lighten up considerably. 

A weight falls from his shoulders, feeling like he can finally breathe a bit easier for once in the Church today. Taking a grateful, silent breath, Spatula opens his eyes and hesitantly lowers his arm from his face. He has to blink a bit to clear the spots out of his vision, eyes being thrown violently from one light level to another messing them up. 

As his vision clears he hears the flap of wings, the sound jarring as he hadn’t heard it in a couple days. Immediately he swivels his head to the noise, almost getting whiplash from how fast he turns to look back up at the Altar. The breath he took catches in his throat, lungs suddenly feeling like they don’t want to work as he spots the source of the noise. 

A cold sweat breaks out across his body as his vision narrows dangerously, the demons around him fizzing out as he both focuses intently and blocks it all out. Vaguely he is aware of the fact that he’s holding his breath, however he can’t bring himself to really get back on that very important bodily function as his mind is thrown into disarray. 

‘ I… I thought only the Sword’s… Could have wings..’ He thinks distantly to himself, bracing scrambling as it pulls up all his memories on Phighting lore frantically. His brain brings up the information rather quickly, as it ( annoyingly) always does with things related to Phighting. ‘ Yes that’s right… Only the Sword’s and those related are winged… So then… How..’

The light seems to bend in the Angel’s very presence, simultaneously hugging them and bouncing directly off of them. A gentle smile is on their face as their wings flap gently again, gold glittering on their horns and goddamned HALO and sparkling rather brilliantly. They hold  out their arms leisurely in a welcoming moment as their face creases from the smile on it. 

Spatula takes in a strangled breath, their movement reminding him that ‘ yes this is a real Demon (Angel??? Maybe???)’ and knocking him out of his state of shock. He takes in a couple frantic breathes, anxiety and nerves almost boiling over as he is finally able to see what position he and the others are in now exactly. 

‘ This is… This is way over my head, I NEVER thought that some sort of… Deity?? Sword?? WHATEVER is actually the head of this cult.’ He hugs himself tightly, no longer caring if anyone around him sees his panic and nerves… Though as he looks around him he can see the other gathered demons are in a similar state of shock and disbelief as him. 

Many demons are glancing at each other, furious whispers filling the silence. Others are still borderline grasping each other in their seats, looking fearfully at the Angel in front of them. Seeing their reactions mirroring his own calms Spatula down a tiny bit, making him feel a bit validated for his own reaction… 

Before he remembers what exactly this can/could mean for everyone here. The very fact that this thing is leading this cult has suddenly made this whole thing even more dangerous than before. Not only for him and the others the cult is interested in, but the others that didn’t take the opportunity to see more of the cult. The thought of just how uncertain everyone’s fate has suddenly become makes whatever positivity he mustered up immediately die a cruel death. 

“Well, I was informed we had quite a crowd this time.. But I wasn’t expecting to see so many demons gathered here!” The Angel’s voice holds an echo to it, a hint of excitement ( slightly fake sounding? ) in it as they take in everyone gathered. “I do not think I need any introduction, I’m sure my children here have mentioned me before.. However for those who may be unaware, I am known as The Angel of Lost Temple.”

They flare out their wings absently as they let down their arms slowly and regally, holding them in front of themself as they scan the crowd slowly. 

“Even from here I can see just how strong each and every one of you have become, a sense of confidence I can feel in my very feathers that is emanating throughout this sacred place.” Their eyes stop very briefly on the pins Spatula and the other two have, a sort of satisfied look flashing on their face before they continue on. “Everyone here should be proud of themselves for the improvement, as I know my children have a preference for those who are… Unsociable. To see you all here as confident as can be fills my heart with joy to see, knowing that I have single-handedly had a hand in this growth within you all.” 

As the Angel is speaking, Spatula’s attention is stolen by the cultists in the shadows. They move subtly, not trying to make a whole ton of noise or catch anyone’s attention. Ever so slowly they shuffle around, seeming to prepare for something as objects are shuffled around between cultists ( the shadows making it hard for him to see exactly what they are shuffling around. A slightly artificial smell fills his nostrils, only there once he focuses on it. A foreboding feeling fills his gut, making him gulp nervously.)  

He glances between the Angel and the shadows a bit rapidly, not wanting to take his eyes off the former while also not wanting to miss anything that the cultists are doing. As he does so, he spots a cultist coming towards his pew, two others heading to two different pews as well. The black robed cultist stands at the far end of the pew, next to the cave wall, and beckons him forward, ignoring the confused glances being thrown around them. 

Spatula gulps anxiously as he stands up, hunching into himself to appear smaller as he shuffles out of the pew. As he passes by the other demons he can’t help but feel their gazes burning into  the back of his head. Each time he brushes against one on his way out he can’t help but internally cringe and wish to be able to hide himself away. 

Finally he reaches the end of the pew, one form of torture done for another as the cultist immediately puts a hand on his shoulder. They pull him towards the cave wall, into the shadows with the other cultists. From behind, the two other demons with pins on their clothes are pushed into the shadows and over next to him. 

As they stand there, some more shuffling goes along down the line of the cultists, hushed whispers just barely making their way to his ears, the words unintelligible. Spatula can only inch his way a bit away from the angry looking demon next to him, wringing his hands roughly as his anxiety skyrockets to levels he didn’t know were possible. 

The entire room simultaneously feels smaller and larger than it did before, walls too close and too far away all at the same time. His breathing is too loud, and yet he can hardly feel himself breathing. The cold sweat on his body makes him feel unsuitable for the outside world, skin crawling as the feeling of judging eyes on him makes him want to just curl up in a hole and disappear. 

He’s broken out of his spiral by movement down the church hall, the cultists suddenly shuffling something rather important ( or at least he assumes is important, as they treat the items with care ) down the line. As it reaches the others and him, Spatula is able to make it out, his eyes widening and heart speeding up as his shoulders reflexively relax a tad at the sight. 

Wrapped in a silken cloth is his ‘Gear’, with the others Gear being transported in a similar manner behind it. Despite it not being his Gear in the traditional sense, actually seeing it like this after a whole week of not having it makes a part of him relax.

… Actually, he feels.. Weird to put it lightly. It’s hard to describe but as his spatula comes closer and closer it’s as if his whole world is narrowing down to it, a heart beat sounding in his ears very faintly. Normally he’d just chalk it up to his anxiety playing tricks on him, but he feels strangely calm . Like more calm then he’d ever thought he could feel considering his circumstances right now. 

The cultist holding his spatula offers it out to him, holding it rather delicately, like it’s a sacred object of some kind. Spatula stares for a moment, gaze locked onto his Gear, before reaching out absentmindedly and taking it. 

As soon as his hands are around the spatula something just clicks in his mind. A whole slew of information fills his head, the exact dimensions of his spatula, how much it weighs, and the material it’s made of, all the way down to the plastic of its handle. He can’t help but take in a sharp breath as the knowledge slots itself into his brain, as natural as breathing. 

The cave walls swirl in a pattern of delirium in his eyes, the world warping and yet staying the exact same as before as he stares unblinkingly at his spatula. Somewhere deep in his mind he can vaguely hear some mocking laughter, as if his complete shock and fear is one big show someone is having a blast watching. 

“Through the trials of this place you all have garnered immense strength and fortitude, not only of the body but of the mind as well.” The Angel’s voice met his ears, their voice doing nothing to help with his current situation. The light flexed underneath his eyes as if he were able to see the sound waves coming from them as they continued on. The shades of people around him, their faces grinded away with the tides of his mind, seemed to be swaying to every word the Angel said, a nauseating dance of idyllic idiocy.  

“-and through the hours working, the sun beating down upon your backs and sweat upon your brows, you had found it within yourselves to keep going.” Spatula blinks dazedly, the world one huge mess of colors, both incomprehensible and too comprehensible to his eyes, consciousness fading in and out. The robes of the cultists around him blending into their skin ( what little he can see that is ), the two demons next to him a mass of colors and shapes, only their eyes staring directly at him comprehensible.

In his mind he was venturing back inside of it, tuning out the outside world as best he could. As the Angel speaks on, snippets flowing through his ears and pulling him between distant and present, he continues delving deeper into his fractured mind. 

The world was a blur of color, slowly fading as he trudged inwards, the only constant being the weight and picture of the spatula in his hands. Distantly he felt the drumming of his head, brain racketing around as he marched blindly deeper in, as well as a scent he couldn’t identify. 

“The time has come now to be celebrated, for the work you’ve all put into yourselves hasn’t been for nothing.” The world warped as he went deeper in, darkness and a sense of wrong slowly creeping up onto him as his imaginary feet tapped on the void of his mind. Cracks of light pierced his tired eyes, the light coming from it filling his mouth with the tangy taste of copper and sulfur. 

“And yet I hear you wondering…” Spatula’s left eye twinged painfully, the light from the cracks reflected in the split eyeball as he continues deeper in. The prevailing sound of distant sirens and soft sobbing droned on as he followed his mind. “…for we do not discriminate, all are welcome and all are celebrated within these halls, thus I have decreed!” 

Hands reaching out, breath being held, bile clawed its way up his throat in a vengeance he’d yet to feel so far as he stared despondently at the thing. A streak of light slurped out of his eye, making a wet noise as it fell down down down by his feet. His claws wrapped around the spatula, eyeball rolling on the floor as it was warped and twisted around the Gear. 

The light was blinding him, the red dripping in his mind and through his claws, down his nose. Fundamentally something had changed, the world around the weapon twisted and churned, cracks surrounding it in a halo of light. A persistent drip joined the cacophony of sound in his head as his socket wept loudly. 

A hand on his shoulder jolted him, the abrupt touch making him almost recoil and shout out loud. Blinking furiously, his hands curl around his Gear as he focuses past the too bright light and colors. The swirling miasma of shapes in front of him stared despondently, the cultist holding his shoulder tightly as they started bringing him closer to the Altar. 

“…there was a few amongst those we wish to acknowledge properly, for their understanding and curiosity.” The searing of eyes on him made Spatula focus his fraying consciousness past his radiating spatula, the Angel’s eyes watching him as he was led up. A cloying scent of something artificial, cleaner perhaps, reaches his nostrils but he’s quickly distracted.

The cold sweat he had been feeling that entire day made his mind flash back to the blood in his mind, each droplet running down his back reflecting the drops of blood coming from his eye socket. The spatula, his in more way then one now, pulsed with a heart beat, with him swearing he can hear it even over his own thundering one. 

The world tilted around him, swaying as if he were on a boat, and yet his feet remained steady as the spatula in his grip hung by his side, hands clutching it tightly. The rays of light dripped down onto him, slithering over his form and falling over him in a suffocating cage. Each step he was guided to take made him want to throw up whatever he ate yesterday, his battered mind losing hold of his memory as he tried his best to focus on the world he was halfway certain was real.

“Please give all three of them a round of applause in acknowledgement!” The Angel’s voice seemed disturbingly happy, a note of condescension underneath it that he’s only able to hear now, close as he is. The applause starts slow, with only the cultists clapping really.. 

Until eventually the gathered demons start clapping as well, all of a sudden launching into it like what they’ve heard made any sense at all. Some even broke out into jubilant cheers, whistles raining down upon him and the other two up by the Altar. 

He blinks slowly, brain chugging along sluggishly as it pounds fiercely, the smell he’d been pushing up invading his lungs with every breath he takes. A film of static rests over his vision as he mechanically takes in his surroundings. 

The two demons next to him were disturbingly still, wide smiles plastered on their faces even as they stared sightlessly out onto the crowd. The applause got louder and louder, more and more people joining in on the congratulations.

Around the edges of the pews, no longer hidden within the darks, cultists stood like harbingers of death as they all, in sync, reached into their robes and pulled out their Gear’s. Spatula could only stare in a daze, unable to move as he looked slightly to his left.

The glare of light almost blinded him as he looked over at the Angel, a brilliantly golden bow held aloft in their hands. Languidly they manifested an arrow of pure light onto it as they readied to fire. 

Even with his brain as rattled as it was, despite the cloying static in his vision and sweetness in his nose, Spatula could recognize what was about to go down. Without even being consciously aware of what he was doing, he lifted up his spatula…

…And resolutely swung it down onto the Angel’s head, a loud ‘THUNK’ noise echoing throughout the room as his hit connected. They fell down into a heap, knocked into thorough unconsciousness, their bow clattering beside them as the arrow dissipated into air. 

For a moment only silence lingered in the air, the previous cheers having died out long ago as the crowd slowly blinked in disbelief at his actions. The sweet smell in the air slowly petered out, the familiar musty smell of the cave taking over.. With it the demons in the crowd and the two next to him suddenly burst into activity. There was a flurry of motion and slight screaming as it appeared like everyone was rebooted, many attempting to flee the Church as the situation at hand made itself clear. 

The cultists on the edges of the pews made that hard to do, with them encircling the area almost completely. They swiftly started attacking the masses, with the confused and frazzled demons being unable to fight back at first.

As soon as they realized that they were being attacked, however, they quickly responded in kind. An all out brawl started within the ethereal place, Gear’s clashing and blood spilling as cultists fought victims in a gruesome display. Many of the cultists had Gear’s that were clearly tailored for battle, sharp edges and cruelty etched into them as they brought them down upon those who truly only had themselves to fight back with. 

Spatula quickly hopped down from the raised area he was on, the other two next to him having scattered almost immediately while he was observing the entire place. He quickly spots his friends in the chaos, Spork holding his own rather well without his Gear, while CG and Shib fought back to back against cultists a little bit away from him. Gripping his spatula tightly, he charges into the fray, making a battering ram out of himself as he covers his head with his arms and bolts for his friends. 

The mass of bodies and fighting around him blurred together as he ran, pain beginning to radiate throughout his body as he got caught in the crossfire in a couple of brawls. A stray hit here or there when he was rushing through, blood running down his arms as he kept his grip as tight as possible on his spatula. Finally, though, he made his way to his friends, his voice being called out by Spork. 

“Spatula?! Are you okay?!” Despite looking more roughed up than he did, Spork immediately ran to his side and started assessing him for injuries, gently pulling his arms away from his head and inspecting the small marks on them. “Sword’s I have no idea what happened, one moment I was in the crowd listening to their… Whatever, and next thing I know you’re up there and we’re being attacked!”

He gently pulled his arms away, the knuckle white grip he had on his Gear loosening a tad now that he’s with his friend. As he speaks, he looks Spork over, noticing the bruises already forming on his knuckles as well how ruffled he looks. 

“I…I’m fine, seriously, I should be asking you that, y’know? You’re the one who’s been fighting off these guys, I’ve just been running to you..” Spatula’s eyes dart from place to place, watching out for any cultist who might take advantage of the situation, just barely catching Spork’s scoff and shaking of his head. 

“Nah, considering how deep in this whole cult you are compared to me, I think I’m justified for being more worried about you than myself!” He lets out a sigh as he sidles up next to Spatula, acting more like a shield for him than anything. The cultists around them, many wary of approaching Spork, circle slowly as they size the two of them up. 

One of the black robed cultists speaks, which, from how many are just fighting silently, is a surprise. 

“We had hoped you were going to join us, Revered One. You spoke of knowing our Savior and your goals aligned with Theirs.” 

Spatula can’t help but flinch where he stands, grip tightening painfully on his Gear at their words. He had already known the other demons had thought of him as already being part of the cult, as well as the fact that his words have consequences ( surprise surprise ).. But to hear it so brazenly from a cultist member is something else entirely. All his fears and anxieties were well warranted, the past days despairing over it all were not for nothing. 

Next to him, Spork gently jostles his shoulder with his own, giving him a determined look once he looks up at him. Then, he tilts his head towards the cult members, silently asking a question with his eyes. Taking a deep breath and adjusting his grip on his Gear, Spatula gives a subtle nod to his friend before taking the plunge. 

Without dignifying them with an answer, he lunges towards the cultists, a surge of determination and adrenaline filling his veins as he swings powerfully at them. The cultist, clearly not expecting him to have the gall to attack them, can only bring up their Gear too late. His spatula makes a meaty thwack with their head, the cultist immediately falling to the floor, not unconscious but half way there. 

From behind him, he hears a scuffle, the noise just barely making its way to his ears through all the fighting going around him. He turns around just in time to see Spork take out a cultist that was coming at him from behind, fist cracking their nose and making them stumble before he sweeps their legs out from under them. They collapse to the ground with another crack, falling to the floor in a heap and letting out a pained groan before going quiet. 

His friend gives him a bright smile, eyes only slightly betraying it as he looks around seriously. Letting out a shaky breath, Spatula looks around as well, seeing how the other demons are doing, the smell of blood lingering in his nose. Many had gone down in the initial chaos of it all, the sight of their bodies on the floor and being carelessly trampled on seared into the back of his eyes. 

One in particular stared up at the cave ceiling, their glassy, dead eyes staring directly into his soul. Multiple other demons and cultists trample over their body without regard for the life that was once in it, blood pouring out of the gaping wound in their head. Swallowing down the bile threatening to force its way out of his mouth, he tears his gaze away from the dead to focus on the living. 

Surprisingly, despite being outclassed Gear wise, many demons are holding their own against the cultists. The battle actually seems to be in their favor, despite what he was kind of expecting. Now that everyone is aware of what is going on, they’re actually slightly overpowering the cultists and gaining ground away from the center of the Church. 

From a little bit away from him, Spatula can see Shib and CG fighting together, the former forced to battling with her fists again, looking out of her depth as she does her best to cover her friends back. CG, on the other hand, is doing rather well, guitar smashing into several cultists faces repeatedly. He keeps looking back at Shib, a worried look on his face as he attempts to corral her slightly to be safer. 

Seeing the two of them safe, Spatula puts almost all his focus on keeping himself safe now, putting to use the lessons Sword gave him. A swing has a cultist backing again from him, right into Spork’s waiting punch. Another swing has him hitting a cultist in the ribs, a puff of air only audible to him as they double over. 

Muscles burning he swings around to block an attack from another cultist, holding them back with his Gear. For a moment he’s locked in a stalemate with them, his spatula not moving an inch.. Before he lashes out with a kick to their knees and they go down hard. He stumbles, but he quickly corrects his stance and brings his spatula down on their head. 

The adrenaline in his blood makes things seem as if they are going faster, vision blurring as he finds it hard to focus on just one thing. One moment he’s fighting to keep himself safe, still being hit by glancing blows as he’s attacked from both sides, and the next he’s keeping track of Spork and attempting to cover his blind spots. 

It all fades into one huge blur in his mind, the smell of blood and sweat in the air clogging his nose and only making him more frantic with his movements. It’s on the nth cultist he’s put out of commission that something changes, a scream pierces through the air more loud and heart breaking then he’s heard all day. 

Head whipping around, Spatula is only able to see the backside of CG as they fall to the ground with a heavy, fleshy thud. An explosion of blood comes from their head as whatever Gear the attacker used explodes on it, blood and brains being scattered onto the shoes of a shell-shocked Shib. The scream she let out dying almost immediately, the haunted look on her face not abating, even as her eyes scream murder. 

With anger and reckless abandon, Shib lunges at the cultist who killed CG, the bottle of her Gear smacking almost uselessly into the thick cloth robes of them. Even so, under her unwavering assault and anger the cultist is overwhelmed, tripping over CG’s body and falling backwards. Taking advantage of this, Shib kicks them in the gut and begins bashing her bottle over their head. Over and over she brings the bottle down onto them, blood splattering on her face as their head is brutalized. 

Her tears mingle with the blood, sobs going unheard of in all the chaos as her hits get weaker and weaker. Spatula can only watch from afar horrified, rooted to the spot as he is, seeing it all go down. Shib puts her bloody hands to her face, dropping her Gear as she sobs incoherently.. Not noticing the cultist approaching her from behind. Just as he’s about to call out to her, to warn her or something , his voice dies in his throat as he watches her become impaled on the cultists Gear.

Her eyes widen as her hands fall away from her face, blood dribbling down her chin as she looks down at the weapon impaled in her chest. The world slows down around Spatula as her eyes meet his, the shock and fear in them apparent.. Before they go glassy as she is shucked off the Gear, body being treated like a nuisance more than anything.

“Sword’s…” The horrified whisper to the right of him makes Spatula jerk, the whole world coming back into some focus as he looks over at Spork. His friend is staring at the exact scene he had just witnessed, fists clenched painfully at his sides. “Fuck… Shib.. CG…” 

Spatula gulps, the prevailing feeling of nausea not leaving him, in fact only made stronger from it all. His grip on his spatula feels weak, despite the fact that he can feel his claws digging into his skin, the world narrowed down to only Spork and himself. Looking at his friend, he opens his mouth to say something, what he doesn’t exactly know.. 

He just wants to hear his friend talk, to know that he’s okay and with him there, that he’s seen what just happened and is just as horrified as Spatula is, someone to confide in even if right now isn’t exactly the best time to do so. However just as he opens his mouth he feels the warm splash of blood on his face.

His eyes widen, the whole world slowing down into a crawl as he stares at Spork, who lets out a wet cough. The smile that was forming on his face is frozen as blood pours from his lips, the tip of an arrow pointing out from his chest. From behind him, the light intensifies as wings flare out and flap gently. As the arrow slowly dissipates from his body, Spork falls almost face first onto the floor, just barely having enough strength to turn his head even as his eyes go dull. 

Spatula falls to his knees, uncaring of the blood that soaks his sweatpants and the mess of cultists still fighting around him, kneeling down next to his friend. In a daze, he gently shakes Spork, as if to wake him up, spatula clattering to his side as he lets go of it. 

“S…Spork… N..No.. Please…” The words tumble out of his mouth without him consciously saying them, the desperate tone in them undeniable. His hands shake as he gives his friend's body one last shake before falling to his side. 

His brain struggles to comprehend what he’s seeing, it all happening so fast he’s almost certain that he fell asleep and dreamt it all up. The blood underneath Spork keeps pouring out, his face too dull for how extroverted he is. Just a second ago Spork was fighting next to him, shooting him a strained smile despite how many cultists were attacking him. 

The cold smile on his face, drained of any of his enthusiasm and friendliness, is one that Spatula never thought he would see on his friend’s face. At any moment he halfway expects him to suddenly jolt up, wipe the blood from his lips, and crack a joke about how worried Spatula is for him when he’s perfectly fine. 

The rational part of his brain knows this isn’t going to happen, but the ir rational part of his brain can’t help but conjure up excuses for how Spork isn’t dead. 

‘ He…He just got hit really badly, didn’t tell me and needs to rest real quick..! Any moment now he’ll wake up.. Smile at me and tell me there’s nothing to worry about! M..Maybe there was something on that arrow, made it appear like it was piercing him.. ’ The thoughts cloud his mind, doing their best to bury the rational ones. 

An object hitting his limp hands has him slowly, mechanically turn his head to the right. A cylinder of some sorts seemingly rolled by him, sitting innocuously on the ground. Grabbing it in one hand, he uses both to inspect it curiously, brain still numb and slowly churning as he does so. 

He stops turning it after a second, having spotted something strange on it. There was a hole on one end of it… As if something was supposed to be in it but had been pulled out… Leaning in closer to it, his eyes widen as he’s just barely able to put the dots together on what it is. 

The flashbang explodes in his face, the searing WHITE in his vision the last thing he’s able to put together before his whole entire world is submerged in darkness, the pains of the day fading away as his mind goes blank.

Chapter Text

The light beyond his eyelids was really what woke him up, the eerie sight making his gut churn and flip with unease. Opening his eyes (the left one unresponsive), Spatula glanced around at his surroundings, perplexed by where he found himself to be. 

The dark echoes of his mind he thought he’d only imagined made him blink, the glowing pulsating cracks always unpleasant to see (despite him only seeing them today… He had the strangest feeling of recognition with them, one he was unable to dwell on before). The horrific light assaulting his eyes brought him to… Something of consciousness, an unpleasant but needed thing. 

Wobbling to his feet, he clenches and unclenches his hand, inspecting his body. Cracks and indents littered his form, however none of them were of the injuries he’d taken during the fight against the cultist. Even more strange is how he felt no pain of them all, despite several cracks and indents taking body parts (mainly fingers) from him. 

He reaches up to his face, hand shaking as he gently pokes and prods at the left side of his face. The sensation of something wet on his fingers invades his mind, all other senses quiet so far. Despite how much he prods at the area, he can’t seem to find where his eye is. 

Instead the only sensation he gets is the wet one, and the smoothness of his skin there. Frowning slightly to himself, Spatula pulls his hand away to see what is making it wet. The bright blue-red blood on his fingers surprises him, the sight not one he was expecting. Considering the fact he feels absolutely no pain at all, even when he was literally sticking his hand into the wound, to see blood is.. Shocking. 

What’s even more shocking is how it simply disintegrates right before his very eyes, the blood scattering into the void and leaving not even a residue behind on his fingers. Staring for a moment out into the blackness, he can only wonder in slight detachment of what this place really is. 

He previously thought it was part of his mind, a place he imagined to explain the connection he has with his new Gear.. But to end up here, not in control of what he’s seeing and being surprised by what he’s experiencing makes him believe he’s somewhere else entirely. 

How he entered this place is unknown to him, especially the relevance it holds to him. What he does know is that it’s important somehow, a realm or area of great significance that he can just… Come and go in as he pleases. 

A frown crosses his face, hands clenching into fists as he shakes his head slightly in unease. No answers will spontaneously come to him, so there’s no need to ponder on them any longer and make himself more anxious then he already normally is. 

Focusing on his surroundings, Spatula unconsciously begins looking for his Gear, brain seeking out the new connection it’s fond of now. However, as he’s looking around, his eyes catch instead not on his spatula but on a strange mist in a corner(?) of the realm. 

A different, more pleasant, light surrounds the mist as it stays confined to the corner, not moving or expanding simply just being. No sounds come from it, even as he hesitantly begins approaching it. It seems to just… Be, to put it simply, no purpose for it to be in the voided realm as far as he’s aware (which is not a lot, but what he has to work with.).

Approaching mostly cautiously, he nervously looks around, just to make sure nothing is going to suddenly jump out and attack him. Once he’s certain the area is as empty (save for him) as ever, he unconsciously takes in a deep breath and takes a single step into the mist. 

His eye closes as he steps inside of it, the pleasant light almost blinding him as he’s already more used to the blank dark emptiness of the void. However it adjusts rather quickly, and he’s left just blinking out stars as he stands in a brightly lit void, the stark white of it almost causing him to close his eye all over again.  

Yet, even as hard as it is to see in this new area, Spatula finds his shoulders relaxing, the constant assault on his eye from the horrifying light of the void finally gone. A peace of mind he didn’t know he was missing finding him in this place, even if he’s still nervous not knowing where he is exactly. 

Taking in a deep breath, he hugs himself loosely as he inspects his surroundings as best he can, the emptiness of this realm not exactly leaving him with any information. All he really finds is what he already knows, the light is more pleasant and it’s pretty harsh against his eye.

The prevailing silence rings through his mind, at first he found it a tad comforting after the chaos of the… Real World? Waking World? Before, the chaos of before. However as he hesitantly walks around this new realm he can’t help but find it unsettling.

His footsteps make no noise, even though he knows he’s stepping on something and that should produce some sort of noise. His breathing doesn’t make any noise either, no matter how deep a breath he takes and exhales it stays silent. 

The only sound he’s fairly certain is real and happening is his heartbeat, the noise of it pounding furiously in his ears and throughout his body. Even still there’s a seed of doubt in his head, knowing that with his nerves and anxiety it could simply just be his mind playing tricks on him. 

So when a noise does ring out in the silence? It startles him badly, makes him jump where he stands and put his fists in front of him, as if his meager physical strength will help him. 

Frantically looking around the realm, eyes scanning for anything different, he lets himself relax when he doesn’t find anything. Nothing has changed, the noise he’d heard too muffled to really identify but apparently not anything to worry about. 

Letting out a sigh, Spatula rubs his forehead as he turns back around, briefly closing his eyes as he does his best to compose himself. Opening them, though, he’s met with a rather gruesome sight. 

He stumbles where he stands, almost falling over as a sharp gasp escapes him, eye widening as his heart races wildly. All coherent thoughts escape him as he is petrified with fear, horror, and a deep sadness. 

Before him stands CG, headless body standing still and awkwardly as blood and brain drip silently onto the void floor. Bile rises up into his throat as he stares at them, simultaneously wanting to reach out and back away from the zombie. 

For a moment nothing happens, the two locked in a stalemate, both unmoving as they stand there. Eventually, however, the rising sadness inside Spatula wins out over his common sense as he takes a step forward and reaches out to his friend. 

His whole arm shakes as he hesitantly approaches CG, unable to tear his eyes away from him. The body doesn’t move, unaware of him or perhaps just… Dead, considering the fact he can’t see their chest rising and falling. With the type of injury that killed them, he doubts they’re alive…  But also in such a place he can’t exactly rule anything out completely. 

As he touches them, he finds his sense of touch has also been taken from him in this place. He’s aware his hand is on their shoulder, he can SEE it’s on his shoulder… But he can’t feel it at all, no sense of something under it, it’s as if CG really isn’t there. 

Before he can ponder on it anymore, though, the zombie in front of him suddenly moves, hand lashing out and grabbing his wrist harshly. Spatula chokes slightly, unable to pull away as fear overwhelms him. 

The silence is finally completely broken, a disgusting squelching sound coming from CG’s body as it vibrates rapidly, grip still ironclad. Flesh and meat suddenly crawl its way back into the approximate shape of a mouth, nothing but the upper and lower jaws reforming. 

Spatula gags, redoubling his efforts to pull away from what used to be his friend as tears prick at his eye. Yet through it all CG doesn’t move, not counting the weird vibrating he did as part of his neck and head reformed.

“Y…You…” The voice comes out of nowhere, croaky and gurgling, pain almost tangible in it, making him stop his efforts to free himself and blink at CG. Their mouth hangs open awkwardly, bloody drool dribbling out of it as it speaks slowly. “H..ow… C..Could…” 

They’re choked off as blood comes rushing out of their mouth, the flesh practically dissolving as it runs down their face, forming a puddle by their feet. Finally Spatula is able to free himself from their grip, a loud, piercing crack filling the air as he jerks his arm away. 

He was expecting some sort of resistance, considering how hard they held onto him before, however he’s horrified to find that their arm is practically torn off now due to the force at which he jerked away. It hangs on by the tendons and muscles, blood dripping down slowly from it as he stares. 

A sudden, loud footstep behind him has him whirling around quickly, world tilting dangerously and making his already nauseated stomach threaten to leap out of his body. He ignores it as best as he can however, focusing on the other nightmare waiting before his eyes. 

“First you leave us to die.. Now you are hurting CG yourself…” Shib says, blood dribbling from her mouth in a sluggish stream as she walks unsteadily on broken ankles. Her eyes are devoid of both life and light, no emotions despite her accusing words. “At least you aren’t lying to us about your true intentions now.” 

Swallowing down the bile in his throat and blinking tears out of his eye before responding to her…

“S…Shib I…”  Only to find words escaping him, mind reeling from the emotions it’s being put under. What can he say to her? ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t any help to one who’s already dead. ‘I didn’t mean to’ encompasses a lot, but lacks any sort of emotion and sounds like he’s denying accountability. 

He’s also a tad confused on what she means. Leave them to die? He didn’t leave them at all! He was right there in the midst of the battle, fighting with Spork against the cultists. 

As if she can read his mind, Shib emotionlessly responds, shambling her way over to him, her steps loud and echoing. 

“You left us… You saw we were being overwhelmed, and yet you did NOTHING.” Her voice raises at the end, and yet that isn’t what makes Spatula take a step back in fear. No it’s the complete lack of emotion in her voice, so unlike the Shib that he knew that scares him the most. 

Stumbling back a couple of steps more to get away from the slowly approaching Shib, he can’t help the rise of panic that rises within his chest. Seeing his friend like this, blaming him specifically for not doing anything, pushes aside all the excuses and sadness in his mind briefly. 

The fear sits low in his gut, a shameful thing that makes the tears already slowly falling from his eye pick up speed, streaming down his face. His back hits something, making him whip around quickly, heart picking up its beating as panic almost chokes him. 

CG’s body slowly reaches out to him, reminding him that it hadn’t exactly gone away at all. He jerks away from him and Shib, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to make some sort of distance between him and them. His breath comes out shallowly and quickly, eyes darting between the two of them rapidly as his heart races. 

“Why so scared, Spatula. We’re your friends, aren’t we..?” Shib shambles closer, CG following closely by her. Her words make him freeze where he stands briefly, not even daring to breathe as the air feels like it’s been punched from his lungs. 

As bloodied and grotesque as they looked the words rang deep in his mind. They were his friends, and yet here he was cowering away from them and what they had to say. If he couldn’t be there for them in life, what does it say about him that he can’t be there for them in death? 

The tears sliding down his face barely register in his mind anymore, the numbing panic and fear being shoved aside by all consuming guilt. These were demons who he had shared a nerve wracking week getting stronger while enduring the unknown intentions of the cult. 

They had told him a bit about their lives, their stories etched so clearly into his mind, like runes on a stone tablet. Yet when faced with what had happened, the horrifying reality that he’d just barely escaped(?) from, he could only tremble in fear and back away from them. 

For the ones who’d welcomed him into their lives, he certainly was rejecting their afterlives. The sharp sting of guilt bubbled up into his throat, closing it tightly as if a hand were wrapped around it. He wanted to hit himself, to tear away at his skin to maybe find a better demon inside of it. 

A sudden hand on his shoulder had his whole entire being freezing, mind pausing its self torture as it registers the feeling. All of a sudden he remembers just exactly what situation he was in before getting lost in it all, the visages of CG and Shib that were once in front of him gone.

Blinking dumbly, he turns his head ever so slightly to the right, seeing a bloodied hand on his shoulder. Craning his head as far back as he can, he follows the hand and arm to a familiar face, one that makes his already fragile breathing stop completely. 

A thick, sludgy substance leaks out of what was his left eye as the tears streaming from his right ramp up, a veritable flood coming from his eye. It trickles slowly down his face as he stares in disbelief, horror, and indescribable sadness at Spork. 

His friend doesn’t seem to care for his tears, the same friendly smile on his face like always, the blood staining his teeth making it look more menacing then comforting. The hole in his chest certainly doesn’t help that feeling either, however. 

For a moment the two just stand there, neither moving. Spatula due to the whole situation, and Spork seemingly waiting for his reaction, hand still firmly planted on his shoulder as he waits. 

Spatula doesn’t quite know how to react, a thousand words and thoughts flying through his mind all at once. He had barely had any time to truly comprehend that his friend was dead when it happened, it all went down so quickly. 

Between one moment and the next Spork was dead, the arrow in his chest leaving just as quickly as it took his life. Now faced with his bloody friend? He can’t do anything , rooted to the spot and unmoving. 

His friend's voice is what finally breaks through the silence, the sound of it not helping the silent tears and gunk falling from his eyes. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, man!” His voice is as cheerful as always, as if he hadn’t taken an arrow to the chest despite the gaping, bleeding wound. “What are you crying for? Did you miss me already?”

He can’t tell if his friend is being passive aggressive or not, ears ringing and making it hard to decipher his tone. Blinking the static from his vision, he gives his friend a nod anyways. 

“I guess I can’t blame you… Not very pleasant, how you last saw me.” Spork lets out a sigh, taking his hand off of his shoulder and moving to simply stand by him. 

They stand in silence again, Spatula staring a bit blankly at the ground as he processes everything. His brain whirls as he thinks, the accusing tones of Shib and CG along with his previous thoughts echoing throughout his mind. It’s hard to look at his friend, not only because of the painfully fresh memories of his death, but also due to his gnawing feelings of guilt and despair. 

Perhaps… Perhaps if he had been a little bit more aware of his surroundings then Spork wouldn’t be dead. He didn’t have a lot of time to react, but he can’t help but think if he had noticed the Angel sooner… 

His fists clench by his sides painfully, claws digging into his skin as he grits his teeth. He wants to bash his own head in, rip himself piece by piece until nothing remains.. It’d be what he’d deserve for being so careless with his friends' lives . 

The tears and gunk sliding down his face only increase his feelings of self hatred, for what does he have to cry over? He’s not the one dead here, the one who had to lose their life because of another’s thoughtless actions. 

Scrubbing at his face harshly, he can’t help but wonder what all his friends saw in him that made them want to even consider being around him in the first place. He can’t see any redeeming qualities in himself, all he is, is a nervous, self-serving wreck of a demon that’ll just end up forgetting them in the end… Just like how he forgot his own family.

Movement out of the corner of his eye has him jolting slightly, making him remember that it still isn’t just him in this place. Hugging himself tightly, he turns his head to the side to see what Spork is doing, shoving his feelings as far down as he can to ignore them. 

His friend is giving him an assessing look, a slight frown on his face.. Before he notices Spatula staring at him, replacing it with a sad smile. 

“Hey… I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours but…” He pauses, never good with talks regarding emotions or anything. After a beat he continues on, voice gentle as far as Spatula can tell. “You really couldn’t have done anything, man…” 

The words have him taking in a sharp breath, the rest of what his friend is saying not registering to him as they ring in his head. They’re all the confirmation he needs to his thoughts, the guilt that he was just barely keeping at bay immediately swallowing him whole. 

‘ Useless…. I couldn’t do anything, Spork himself said it… It was doomed from the start, everything, because I was never enough.’ He shakes slightly as he tucks his head into his chest, shoulders rising to block out the world as he hugs himself so tightly he feels as if he’s going to break his own brittle bones. The tears continuously fall from his face, the gunk sliding down it splattering onto the ground disgustingly, a physical manifestation of how pathetic he is, he’s sure. 

The world goes fuzzy around him as he continues to stare despondently out at the void, the ringing in his ears crescendoing to an almost painful level. His last thought in the void is that he wishes it was him who had died, that someone more capable was alive instead of him. 

Between one blink and the next he finds himself back in the original void, the light in the cracks assaulting his eye as he sits on the floor. The sudden darkness is a bit jarring, but he can’t bring himself to really care about it. 

He blinks slowly to himself before reluctantly standing up, not wanting to really move but knowing he can’t stay where he is currently. The prevailing anxiety he’s lived with his whole life won’t let him stay still, lay down and die like he wants too. 

Dragging a shaking hand down his face roughly, Spatula looks around the void again, doing his best to ignore the gnawing thoughts in his head and the shaking in his limbs. Nothing has really changed in the empty space, though the cracks of light do pulse stronger, a taste of iron lingering in the back of his throat as he looks at them now. 

The mist from before is also smaller now, and he isn’t exactly feeling up to inspecting it now. As much as some part of him is telling him to walk back in it, to see his friends again despite their harsh words and his building guilt, he can’t force his legs to move over to it. It’s as if some part of him is keeping him away from it for some reason. 

So, instead, he looks for anything else in the emptiness to inspect, hoping a way out of this place will suddenly and magically appear in front of him. He isn’t quite sure he can even exit this place, seeing as he doesn’t even know how he entered it in the first place, but for his declining mental health he chooses to believe he’ll find one eventually. 

With nothing to do in the meantime, however, he reluctantly starts walking in the void, choosing a random direction. He doesn’t really want to be leaving where he was standing, but he can’t see anything new from his position so there isn’t really any reason to be standing there… 

He walks for a while, how long he’s rather uncertain of, time still slipping through his fingers in this place.. All he knows is that he walks for quite a bit, the gunk and tears on his face having long since dried up when he finally finds something new in the void. 

There’s a bright, pulsing light in the distance, millions of cracks extending out from it, the sight causing him to feel violently ill and comforted at the same time. Ever so slowly he starts walking towards it, legs trembling with inexplicable anxiety and excitement at the same time. 

It’s as if his body doesn’t know how to feel, oscillating violently between wanting to full sprint at the light and sprinting away from it. A cold sweat breaks out on his skin, what was left of his left eye twinging painfully, a phantom pain of what it was like during the week with the cult. 

As he reaches the light, he has to squint his eye, noticing a shape within it. There, in all its glory, is his spatula, seemingly the source of some of the cracks. The sight of it makes him left out a sigh of relief, even as some part of him is screaming in anguish and as blood trickles from the left side of his face. 

He reaches out towards it, bending down slightly to do so…

Before the world breaks around him as his spatula is snapped in half, the cracks exploding around him into shards and scrapping the walls and him painfully. Blood pours out of his mouth as the already darkened void goes static in his vision as he passes out…

When he opens his eyes, Spatula is hit with the sensation of nothingness, a hard thing to describe. It’s as if his whole body has been hollowed out, like he’s died somewhere along the way and his soul hasn’t gotten the hint yet. 

He’s vaguely aware he’s in immense pain, the right side of his body on fire and bleeding as he shifts around on the cave floor… Yet he can’t really feel it. He knows he’s injured, it’s hard to overlook or ignore the blood, but he can’t really… Comprehend? The pain. 

His right eye as well is bugging out, the world a smattering of colors and shapes that he can’t make out, like a picture of things that look vaguely familiar yet you can’t identify anything. Normally this would, understandably, make him worried for his vision and his eye. 

Normally .

Right now? He feels nothing, the simple fact he can’t exactly see out of his eye settling in his brain as if it’s not anything worrying. 

In fact, as Spatula gets up off of the ground, he can’t seem to muster up any sort of feeling for his surroundings. The bodies of people he vaguely knew along with those he did know no longer bringing a sort of sadness and guilt in him, nausea not rearing its ugly head. 

He’s aware he should be feeling something, some anger or some sort of sadness maybe, yet he can’t find it within him. He stares down at the bodies and sees them as nothing, bloodied sacks of meat that are simply obstacles to him now as he walks carefully over them. The only feeling he's certain of is the fact his head feels oddly lighter on the right side, as if a weight have been lifted from his head.

Through the persistent ringing in his ears he hears the smug voice of the Angel, the monster of a demon gloating with its back turned towards him in front of the Altar. It seemingly wasn’t left unscathed either, surprisingly, as it has a tight grip on the Altar with one hand even as it gloats. 

Spatula stumbles his way slowly closer to it, its voice feeling as far away as the pain he feels. On the way he spots something on the ground, the gleam of cheap metal in the light emanating from the Angel. 

Ever so slowly he tilts his head and bends down, picking up the two halves of his spatula with muted shock and anger. The sight of his Gear, one he barely had any time with makes him blink, the jagged ends cutting into his already burned and bleeding hands. 

He turns his attention towards the Angel slowly again, feeling the jagged end of one part of his spatula digging into the palm of his hand. Almost mindlessly he continues his walk towards them, positioning the part in his hand so the broken end is facing away from him. 

Staggeringly, he makes his way over to the Angel, the world tilting dangerously in his already nebulous vision. With each wobbly step he gets closer and close to the Angel, going unnoticed and unseen as their back is towards him. 

The words they’re saying are lost to him and the ringing in his ears, a word or two making its way through to his mind only to be discarded, barely a thought dedicated to them. Even without the weird numbness he feels, he wouldn’t care for what it has to say anyways. 

Raising his arm as he finally is within range of the Angel, he reflects on the fact that they’re nothing to him. All this fame and power they have, with fame being used very loosely in his mind here, it all means nothing to him. How fitting then that it’ll be killed by one it saw as nothing. 

Swiftly, quicker then his body would like, he brings down the jagged end of his spatula directly onto their back, ignoring the way their wings flap in his face. The squelching of blood and ichor is a muted sound, vision narrowed in on the Angel’s reaction. 

They turn around quickly, stumbling as their wounds plus this literal backstab catch up to them, a shocked look on their face. They summon their bow but their grip on it is too weak and it goes tumbling towards the ground away from them. 

Silver ichor flows from their wounds, multiple marks and burns on them from whatever fight happened while Spatula was unconscious. The blood sparkles brilliantly in the light they emit, a bit ironic. 

Falling to the ground, back against the Altar they let out a ragged cough as more ichor flies out of their mouth. They glare hatefully up at Spatula as he stares dead eye’d down at them, once again still feeling absolutely nothing. 

No joy or sadness for having bested what is clearly a Deity of some kind, only a cold emptiness that was already present in his body. As he blinks slowly at them, he looks at the bow on the ground, and then to the broken piece of his spatula. 

…He can’t remember any sort of lore in Phighting about Gear’s and how one could acquire one, but something tells him it has something to do with the very being of a demon. What then does it mean if his is broken? 

He shouldn’t be alive right now, that much is becoming clear to him, but his unique circumstances are probably why he’s still here. After all, he didn’t have a Gear before this whole cult nonsense, his body and being was probably used to going solo so to speak.

Yet whatever this cult and the Angel did to him to make his Gear real must’ve done a number on him, as Spatula bets 100 Bux on his broken spatula being why it’s so hard to feel anything. 

… He stares at the bow on the ground, the ichor of blood pooling from the Angel slowly reaching out towards it as they look at him confusedly and with hatred. Reaching out to it, a sort of crazy thought hits him. 

‘ If they were able to give me a Gear… Who’s to say I can’t take one??’ His grip on the bow tightens exponentially as he stares at it with his one eye, his own blood staining the gold of it. 

The idea is insane, he has enough wits about him to admit that, and yet he can’t get the idea out of his head. The looming apathy and emptiness within his entire being slowly whittles away at his more rational thoughts, the subdued alarm he felt when he thought of the idea slowly fading. 

In all of the canon Phighting lore he can remember he can’t recall what happens to those without a Gear, but something tells him that it’s nothing good. Looking at the bow and his broken spatula, he can’t particularly say he wants to die right in this instance. 

It’s not like he particularly cares whether he’s alive or dead right now, considering he has no strong feelings about anything.. But it only makes sense to continue on living, doesn’t it? There’s so much to this world and really, he’s better off alive then dead with all his meta knowledge and the difference he can make in the world. 

Others might call him insane for even thinking the idea in the first place, even more so now that he’s actually contemplating it seriously. Yet the pros really outweigh the cons, he can see that with his emotion-free perspective right now. Perhaps he’ll think differently when he has the bow as his Gear, but for now this is the most logical path for him to take. 

All that thinking aside, he still doesn’t really know how to proceed and make the bow his Gear. He wasn’t exactly present when the cult and Angel made the spatula his, so he has nothing to go off of here. 

Glancing between the bow and the Angel, he tilts his head ever so slightly, their still confused and hateful stare barely registering in his mind. After a beat, Spatula mentally shrugs and decides to just wing it, he doesn't really have anything else left to lose. 

Grabbing the bow, he runs his burnt hands over it, noticing how the ends of it are particularly sharp, sharp enough to cut… 

With that observation, a very rudimentary plan forms in his head. Positioning the sharp end in front of his already broken right eye ( left eye hurt and then his spatula became his Gear, potential connection? Best to sacrifice the right eye since it’s already useless.) 

The sharp end of the bow pierces through his eye, blood immediately pouring out of it as he stabs himself. He doesn’t go too deep, not wanting to injure himself more than necessary while still getting in there. The pain is nothing once again, with him vaguely aware of it in the back end of his mind but not really feeling it still. 

Turning his wobbling vision ( curse bodily reactions to traumatic wounds)  onto the Angel he sees their horrified and disgusted look at his actions. Upon noticing his attention on them, the hate returns, this time much more fearful as he slowly makes his way over to them. 

They flop down from where they are leaning on the Altar, turning away from him and desperately trying to make space between them and him. If he were able to be feeling right now, Spatula would find the sight rather amusing. 

A false Deity, one that actually had power , crawling pathetically away from someone without an actual damaging Gear.  It’s ironic really, that he has them in this position after what they did to his friends and the rest of the poor demons lured here. 

As he raises the bow, he can’t help but let a very faint and cold smirk form on his face as he plunges it directly into their back. They gurgle out nothing, assumably curses if the way their looking back hatefully at him means anything. 

A glint appears in their eye as the fear makes them laugh, their hateful words still not registering to his mind. The ichor drips out from them, mingling with Spatula’s own blood as they slowly stop moving completely. 

Gripping the bow tightly, he jerks it out of their body, staring lifelessly at them. He isn’t quite sure what to do now, unsure of what he did even bonded the bow to him. 

However he doesn’t have to dwell on it for long luckily, as his already dangerously weak vision finally gives up, going black as he falls down onto the ground. Unconsciousness claims him, this time much more peaceful than the last… 

The bright light of the sun is what wakes him, body feeling sluggish as he reluctantly opens his eyes and sits up. The grass underneath him tickles his hands, a feeling he didn’t realize he was missing until this very moment. It's been so long since he simply sat out in the sun on the grass, it's almost nostalgic at this point. 

The birds tweet on the trees in the distance, his little clearing under the sun an idyllic peaceful plateau in the middle of a forest. A gentle breeze blows past him as he sits there in silence, the long forgotten feeling of complete relaxation and comfort washing over him as he takes it all in. 

There’s this nagging feeling he’s missing something, like he’s supposed to be doing something or be somewhere else than this place.. But he can’t remember, nor does he really want to. Alongside that nagging feeling is the feeling that if he explores that thought too much he won’t like the end results, so he leaves it be. 

Spatula breaths in slowly, enjoying the smell of nature as he closes his eyes briefly, simply just being in the moment there. For once his brain is rather quiet, the anxieties that still do nip at his metaphorical heels being pleasantly quiet. Opening his eye (he isn’t quite sure why he can only see out of one, but it doesn’t alarm him.. Feels natural even..), he looks around his clearing, blinking in surprise at what he sees. 

Just a couple feet away from him, having not noticed him yet, are all of his friends hanging out and having a picnic. From where he sits he can see Spork lecturing Chocolate Milk while Shib chats enthusiastically with a slightly overwhelmed looking Punk. Strumming their guitar by themself, CG has an amused smile on their face as they watch Milk stick their tongue out at an exasperated Spork. 

He isn’t left out for long, however, as Punk looks over towards him, a smirk forming on her face as she spots him. She raises a hand, beckoning him over and making the other four look over to him. CG follows in her footsteps, simply raising a hand to motion him to join them before going back to strumming at his guitar. 

Shib lets out an enthusiastic yell and takes a step forward, though her reaction is nothing compared to Spork’s. The cat lover immediately runs out towards him, an excited look on his face as he calls out to him. 

“Spatula!! We’ve been waiting for you to finally get here!” He says as he jogs over to where Spatula sits, slowing his pace a bit as he gets closer. 

Standing up, Spatula sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, unable to keep the smile off of his face as he meets up with Spork. 

“Sorry, did I keep you guys waiting for long..?” 

“Nahhhh, though Chocolate Milk might say differently.” Spatula can’t help but chuckle hearing that, knowing how they get with their friends. Milk can get into danger as much as they want, but will immediately get to worrying as soon as one of them stubs their toes. 

Spork sidles up next to him and leads him towards the picnic, the smile on his face practically splitting it in half. The smell of home baked goods slowly meets Spatula’s nose as they get closer and closer to their friends, desserts carefully made and bought from Slingshot’s Cafe making him quicken his pace. It feels like it's been forever since he’s had a good dessert, especially one from his Phighter friend, despite his last memories being of hanging out there with Milk and Punk… 

Either way he’s looking forward to eating them with his friends, especially since he can’t remember if Shib, CG, or Spork have ever had Slingshot’s desserts before. As they finally reach the picnic, Spatula is immediately manhandled into a hug by Shib, being squished almost painfully from how hard she’s hugging him. 

“Spat!!! I was starting to think you weren’t going to come!!” She says in an exaggeratedly pathetic manner, rubbing her cheek carefully against the top of his head as she stands on her tip toes to be taller than him. Without giving him a chance to respond she pulls away and points at Punk. “Also! How come you never told me you have another friend who’s a girl!?”

“‘Sup Spat..” Punk says, coming up to the trio at a more sedated pace, the soft smirk on her face betraying her nonchalant attitude. 

Another body tackles him in a hug, making both him and Shib let out ‘oofs’ as the air is knocked out of them. Arms wrap around him, just barely making it past Shib to him as Chocolate Milk starts dramatically wailing. 

He isn’t able to quite understand what they’re saying, what with all the actual blubbering and crying they’re doing, but something tells him his friend is happy to see him. Letting out a soft chuckle, he pats Milk on the arm consolingly and lets himself be trapped by his friends for a little bit. 

Stepping up next to Punk, CG waves timidly at him, eyes lit up in happiness. 

“It's good to see you, Spatula.” 

“Sorry I’m late everybody… I was just.. Enjoying nature I suppose.” He can’t really recall why he’s late, exactly, but he isn’t bothered by that. Besides, he really was taking in the grass and sun, the cool breeze on his face, so its not technically a lie. 

An arm hooks around his shoulders and pulls him out of the double embrace he’s currently stuck in, Spork pulling him to his side.

“C’mon guys, give the man some space he just got here!” His friend says amusedly, mock admonishing Milk and Shib, who both just snicker at him. 

CG moves up to stand next to Shib, who smiles brightly at them, before beginning to make light conversation with Milk, who was playfully glaring at Punk who had moved up next to them. Punk rolls her eyes amusedly at Milk, before tilting her head and accepting her fate as Shib begins talking animatedly at her again. 

With Spork’s arm around his shoulders, Spatula can’t help the way his face heats up slightly as a smile can't contain forms on his face. All his friends in one place, virtually all his favorite demons together on a beautiful day enjoying some desserts… It's no wonder his brain was so quiet today, because he could never see himself being sad when they’re concerned.

Chapter Text

[Chocolate Milk]

Chocolate Milk lets out a long suffering sigh as they finally finish up with the last of the dishes for the day, shaking out their hands and body slightly as the pent up energy they have can finally be released. 

For the past week they’ve been back to working as both a rudimentary chef and a full on waiter when needed. They’re used to running back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, it isn’t anything new really. They may be put down as just an intern, but with how long and how much experience they have working at Ranged Royale they’re practically an employee themself at this point. 

Having to fill in for two positions is something they’re used to… Or were used to, before Spatula applied for the chef position. 

They can admit they’ve been a bit spoiled having him around. They didn’t have to worry about getting orders done almost immediately to compensate for being the only ‘cook’, as well as before they’re called out to help Punk out in the dining room. 

With Spatula around they only had to worry about ( attempting to) cook the occasional rib and patty, and help out Punk if she needed it. It was almost like they were a real intern, given the small grunt work with time to sit back and relax. 

…Speaking of their friend, they’re…. A tad worried about him. 

Spatula had been gone for a whole week with absolutely no contact, a total switch up from how he usually acts. Milk’s noticed the guy doesn’t really let go of his phone, having a hand hovering over what pocket it’s in if he doesn’t have it out. 

So for a whole week to pass by with absolutely no messages from the chronically online guy?? Worrying but nothing to cause alarm for… If it was the only suspicious thing. 

Y’see, Spatula just being out there outside of CrossRoad’s is a cause for concern. Milk and Punk had to almost manhandle him into leaving his apartment to spend time with them at first, that’s how much he dreaded communicating. 

Yet all of a sudden he’s going out of the Faction to a whole other one without anyone he knows there?? Milk smells something fishy going on, on top of all the “SOMETHING IS WRONG” flags the whole situation is raising. 

Honestly, they only didn’t force Spatula to take them with him to Lost Temple due to two things: 

Firstly, they didn’t want to force the guy to do anything he didn’t want to do…. Even if it would’ve been objectively and logically better for him to have taken them along with him. The guy has a killer kicked puppy look that they’re fairly certain he doesn’t know he does, one they can’t stand to see. 

So out of the kindness of their heart, and to avoid having that look sent their way, they didn’t stand their ground and ask him to take them along. It’s a decision they’re slightly ( read: majorly!) regretting now to be honest. 

Anyways! The second reason they didn’t make Spatula take them with him is a simple, if silly one. 

They kind of remembered that he’s functionally and legally an adult by the law and society's standards. He isn’t some new spawnling that needs Milk to hold his hand, as much as they’d politely disagree.

For all of how old his body and mind is, the guy has literally no memories. Milk’s asked before, in a very not obvious and casual way of course, about his memories and the amnesia he has. 

Spatula couldn’t answer any of his questions fully, his usual nervous stuttering amped up to a thousand as he’d try to make himself remember an answer to a question Milk would ask. They’d always tell him he didn’t have to force himself to answer them, but his missing memories seemed to frustrate him, 

All that is to say, the guy is basically a new spawn memory wise. He has no one to really fall back on, no one really in his corner like Milk or Punk do, and on top of not remembering basic things the guy is a borderline hermit so he’s kind of bad when doing anything regarding society. 

So do excuse them if they forget sometimes that he isn’t just some tall new spawn stumbling around a new world and is, in fact, a fully functioning adult… Er, well half fully functioning adult.

Refocusing on the world around them, they toss their well worn apron messily onto a chair in the break room, body having worked autopilot as they mused to bring them there. The ill used room is cramped, one lonely chair and desk as well as a… Crusty looking couch squeezed into one corner facing a wall. 

Most of the time, the three never use it. Why eat in some dank, cramped room when you could eat outside or in the dining hall?? Occasionally though, Milk has seen Spatula eat in the break room. 

They never really thought to ask him why , but they mentally note the question down for when they see him again. Just as they’re going to leave the room, they spot the slightly faded post-it note stuck on the old calendar pinned to the back side of the door. 

Usually they kind of ignore/forget the calendar is there, it’s seriously outdated. Like, they’re talking years and years and years outdated, it’s bad… And uselessly really, so there’s no real reason to actually look at the thing. It has one purpose and man it can’t even fulfill that due to the marching of time. 

Mentally shaking their head, tsk-ing at themself for their attention span, they look at the worn out posted note taped to the calendar. The still bright yellow on it is really what caught their eye, but as they read what’s on it they can’t help but reminisce slightly. 

‘ Reminder: New employee, specil circumstnc amnesia. BE PATIENT!!’  

The frantic writing and purposeful misspelling to preserve space on the note always makes Milk crack a grin, imagining the Boss writing it in a hurry and scowling as they’re forced to misspell words. 

Still, the Boss put it in for a good reason. Chocolate Milk isn’t too certain what stuff went down legally, but they know that Spatula had a rather.. Unique interview and ‘application’ when he showed up. 

If they remember correctly, since he had no actual paper work detailing where he came from, not showing up on any registries, the CrossRoad legal team basically had to hold his hand and lift him up. Every normal question asked in an interview that he couldn’t answer was defaulted to ‘Special Circumstance’ with the occasional legal question requiring the Boss to contact the legal team directly. 

After all that trouble and deciding to still hire Spatula in the end, the Boss wrote down a note hoping Chocolate Milk and Punk would read it… Without knowing no one used the actual break room. By the time both of them had seen the post it note on the calendar Spatula had already been there for a week. 

It certainly explained a lot when they finally read the note, how nervous and unsure he was when doing even the most basic of things. They know he gets nervous about things, but that first week he seemed afraid of even his own shadow, worried he’d somehow offend it. 

On top of that the guy would stutter a lot more than he does now, always ending his sentence with an ‘I think..’ or a ‘Maybe..’ due to uncertainty. Once Milk realized the note meant Spatula had amnesia it all started clicking in their head. 

It also made them see him in a new light really. They weren’t quite sure what to think of him when they didn’t know, the guy was as distant as possible when he’s forced to work in close proximity with them. Yet at the same time he was never cold or dismissive of them and their questions. 

Being alone in a whole Faction all by yourself with no memories and barely even some prospects of a job and a place to live really just put Spatula’s past behavior into perspective. 

Of course he’d be distant with Chocolate Milk, the guy doesn’t know who to trust because he, essentially, didn’t start existing until some weeks ago. The whole not shutting them down must’ve also been his real personality shining through the uncertainty. The two mixed together leads to a rather confusing, but understandable, way to act. 

From there, they really just kind of started dedicating themself to getting to know the real Spatula. The one that wasn’t jumping at his own shadow and being unable to speak due to his own confusion and uncertainty. 

It took a bit of working their way into his life in a way that wasn’t too obtrusive (to not scare him off) but also noticeable enough to get his attention (to make him more comfortable around them!). However they eventually wore his walls down and were able to actually talk and hang out with him. 

And wow was there a difference!

From an outside point of view it might not have looked all that different from how he’d act with them at work, but Chocolate Milk could see the differences. He was still a nervous wreck when going out, that was to be expected.

What wasn’t expected was how he actually teased Milk back, their usual coworker banter being a bit… Bland to put it nicely. They can’t blame him, it’s a bit awkward to make conversation at work ( they’d know, before he came it was hard to converse with Punk ). 

So to actually have him tease them back was a pleasant surprise. Along with that he wasn’t as nervous and anxious as Milk was expecting honestly. For a guy who was pretty much a wreck when it came to interacting with people, he didn’t cower away from going places. 

Sure, he was pretty reluctant and nervous still, but he wasn’t shutting down Milk’s ideas nor was he breaking down when they hung out in the skatepark. 

…Though to be fair to Spatula, they don’t know everything about him, mainly just assumptions from observations. They didn’t know he had already gone out to Slingshot's Cafe before, they had just assumed he didn’t really… Go anywhere. 

But can you blame them? When asked about what he does for fun the guy answers ‘Sleep’ and ‘Work’. 

Sleep and work . 

One of those you're unconscious for and the other is literally a job . Is it really so surprising they thought he just stayed at home all day?? 

Letting out a long suffering sigh from just thinking about their friends life, Chocolate Milk shakes their head and refocuses once again on the present. They stare for a second at the post-it note that started all this reminiscing, before opening the break room door. 

They make their way to the back entrance of the restaurant, the one they frequently leave from. Through their time working at the place they’ve found that using the back entrance is easier than trying to enter from the front. 

‘You’d think a mediocre fast food place wouldn’t have people lining up or knocking down the doors for its food, and yet…’ They shake their head at the thought, rolling their eyes. The amount of times they’ve had to literally fight their way into the building is ridiculous at this point. 

As they make their way to the back, they stop Punk waiting by the door, making them blink at her curiously. Unlike them she gets to lock up the place, meaning she can leave and enter by the front door as she pleases. 

They haven’t seen her at the back entrance unless it’s to take out the trash, which is rare in-and-of-itself since they do it normally. The look on her face is serious, a deep concentrated frown as she stares at the floor. 

Frowning slightly to themself, Milk calls out to her, to get her attention. 

“Yooo, Punk! Is everything okay?? You’re looking at the floor like it killed your dog or something!” They can’t help but tease how serious she looks, a grin worming its way onto their face as they sidle up next to her. 

She jolts slightly at their presence, before rolling her eyes at them. 

“Milk, hello to you too..” 

“Pfft, you’re acting like we haven’t been working the entire day together!” They lean against the metal door behind them, almost falling backward as it swings open. 

She rolls her eyes again at them, a small smirk on her face at their antics… Before it’s replaced again by that same deep frown. Milk watches as she crosses her arms tightly, staring down at the floor as she bites her lip. 

A silence descends upon them, the good mood they brought dying as she continues staring at the ground. They can’t help but frown as well, having an idea on what she could be thinking about… 

“You're thinking about him too, yeah?” Their voice is low as they ask, eyes falling to the floor. Their previous reminiscing on their friend leaves a bitter taste in their mouth now, the memories only making Spatula’s current absence even more ominous. 

“Yea… It’s hard not to..” She admits, voice quiet as her leather jacket creaks due to how hard she’s clutching it. 

The two of them fall into another silence, this time much more oppressing and ominous than the other. A million scenarios run through their head on what could be happening to their friend right now, the majority of them being that he’s dead by now. 

They take in a deep, shuddering breath as they reject the idea completely, shoving it as far back in their mind as they can. They refuse to believe Spatula is dead, he just can’t be, they’d know somehow… Right?? 

Punk clears her throat, making them jolt this time around and turn their gaze onto her face. She looks serious and determined, pinning them to the spot as she stares at them. 

“Do you have any idea where he went?” The question comes out of nowhere, making Milk blink at her a bit dumbly. Seeing their look she takes a deep breath in and explains. “I don’t want to sit idly any longer, I want to know if he’s okay and what he’s doing.. So, do you know where he went?” 

They stare at her for a beat, before looking down at the ground. They furrow their eyebrows and bring a hand to their chin as they think of the conversation they had with him before he left CrossRoad’s. A lot of it is lost in the confusion and (admittedly) slight panic they had upon hearing what he said, the whole “I’ll be gone for a week out of CrossRoad’s without you guys”. 

However as they think on the conversation they start to realize that he didn’t say anything about where he was actually going. Aside from saying he was leaving CrossRoad’s for a bit, Spatula didn’t mention any actual places, not even about the place he was staying for a whole week at. It’s.. Strange and only makes the whole situation even more ominous looking. 

Why would he lie to them? And it had to be an intentional lie, because the guy would normally let them know almost everything. He was so painfully honest it almost hurt seeing him interact with people when he finally got more confident. 

Yet when it came to this one trip, the one thing really about himself that he certainly knew in full detail, he didn’t let anything about it slip aside from the bare minimum. Clenching their fists they look up at Punk, not wanting to admit they don’t know but also aware she deserves to know. 

“He…He didn’t say anything about where he was going really.. Not even what he’d do there..” Punk narrows her eyes at their words, turning to look at the floor again as the silence from earlier creeps in on them again. 

They stare at the ground again, minding racing as they look away from Punk and think on it all. It didn’t make sense , nothing about anything in this situation was lining up in their head. 

Everything they thought they knew about Spatula, things that seemed like hard set facts about their friend contradicted with his actions before. It could simply be that they weren’t good at watching people or picking up on the little quirks of their friends… 

…But Milk seriously doubts that. They aren’t known as the mother-hen friend for no good reason. 

They can’t claim to know everything about their friends, but they do their best to stay informed and keep an eye on them. It stands to reason that they’ll pick up on their friends' little habits and quirks since they watch them. 

‘ So what made Spatula lie to us? Why did he just get up and go out like that…?’ They bite their bottom lip as they think on it, still not able to connect any dots. It was all so confusing, his behavior before leaving and while on the phone with them… 

Punk lets out a haggard sigh next to them, getting their attention. They look up to see her rubbing her temples with her eyes scrunched closed, looking rather put out due to it all. 

“…Let’s think more about this in the morning. Maybe get the others opinions on it all.” She finally says after a beat, opening her eyes and frowning slightly. 

“I mean I agree that we should tell the others, but should we really just leave it like this..?” They can’t help but reply back worriedly, mind stuck on what one more day could mean for Spatula. The unknown of their friends present state and what it could be like in the future makes them want to act now . 

“Yeah… Look, Milk, I’m just as worried as you are right now…” She lets out a sigh, grimacing as she turns her gaze towards the floor, giving it a rather pointed glare. “But we aren’t getting anywhere right now. What’s the point in standing around worrying about him like we are?” 

They look away from her, not wanting to admit that she’s right. It just feels wrong to leave it as it is tonight, not getting any closer to finding Spatula or learning if he’s okay… 

Feels a bit like they’re giving up or failing him, to be honest. 

“Besides, the others thinking about it might help us find him faster. More heads better than just us two, yeah?” Punk places a hand on their shoulder, making them glance up at her. She shoots them a strained smile. 

They look away from her, hugging themself tightly, frowning deeply. 

“…Yeah, alright.” 

The next morning was a flurry of colors and motions in Milk’s mind. They got up as early as possible, having, admittedly, been awake for longer than they realistically should’ve been. The thought stuck in their mind, the worry over Spatula and what might and could have happened to him making sleep almost impossible. 

As soon as their alarm jolted them awake they had launched out of bed, getting ready as fast as possible. They were pretty sure at one point they ended up almost eating their toothpaste as they attempted to brush their teeth and eat breakfast at the same time. 

Anyways! Despite their rushing out the door they ended up having to still wait for Punk to get up and get ready, standing outside her apartment door and mentally anguishing over how long she was taking. It felt like she didn’t worry as much as they did, which they know isn’t true but from how almost nonchalant she acted in the morning.. Getting ready and going through her normal routine.. It felt like it. 

When she finally came out of her apartment, they immediately dragged her off to Slingshot’s Cafe. The two of them weren’t as close to the Phighter’s as Spatula was, they just never really had the time to talk to them outside of when Spatula would have the two groups meet up. 

This isn’t to say they weren’t friends, in fact Chocolate Milk dares to say that if given a bit more time they’ll become best friends with BoomBox. His vibes really just matched theirs when they hung out with him.. But still, Spatula was closer to the Phighters then they were, having their phone numbers and spending time talking to them. 

Punk and them don’t have anything like that, never really asking for their phone numbers or going out of their way to seek them out and hang out with them. 

‘ Hey, maybe this’ll make us all closer together… Ironic if it does..’ They can’t help but think bitterly to themself, frowning slightly as they continue speed walking to the Cafe. Punk trails behind them, matching their pace and frowning herself.

They internally shake their head, shoving all those thoughts to the back of their mind for now. They’ll have time to worry about all of that in a minute, considering they’re going to be breaking the bad news to the others.. If they don’t already know. 

Milk pushes open the door to the cafe, feeling both determined and slightly bad to be bringing such a serious situation at hand while Slingshot and the others are working. Still, they can’t delay any longer than they already have, Spatula’s life may literally be in danger if they do so. 

Marching up to the counter, they slam their hand on the counter, ignoring the stares the patrons give them and the way Slingshot who was manning it jolts in shock. They narrow their eyes at Slingshot, face and voice uncharacteristically serious. 

“We need to talk.” Their tone of voice makes Slingshot frown, looking from them to an equally as serious looking Punk behind them. 

Slingshot takes a deep breath, a serious look over taking the usual customer smile he wears. 

“Shuri, would you mind taking over the cashier for a bit?”

Shuriken appears almost out of nowhere, a serious look on his face as well. He grips the broom he’s holding, before shooting Slingshot a concerned and strained smile. 

“Yeah, sure, no problem..” He gives a nod to Punk and Milk, sliding behind the counter where Slingshot was as the cat demon walks out from behind it. 

Milk immediately beckons him to follow, grabbing the sleeve of Punk’s jacket and speed walking to the front door, trusting that he actually is following behind them. Once again he ignores the curious looks the demons in the cafe are giving them, ignores their eyes and how they’re most likely going to be posting this somewhere. 

They have no idea what's going on, they only smell something interesting going on, not really caring as to why they’re pulling Slingshot out of his cafe and talking to him. It makes them irrationally angry for a beat, the anger flaring up in their chest and making them want to yell out at them that this is serious and isn’t some new drama or rumor for them to blow out of proportion. 

They reign themself in however, they don’t need to be yelling at bystanders like a maniac now. Plus they aren’t really angry at them, their nerves are just shot to Banlands and back. If they did end up yelling at someone they’d regret it, they can just tell. 

As they exit the Cafe, they let out an aggravated breath they didn’t know they were holding, letting go of Punk and turning away from Slingshot to gather themself. Dragging a hand down their face they’re kind of at a loss with their emotions, not expecting themself to be this… Volatile to put it nicely. 

They’re excitable, they can admit that, but they have never been this quick to anger. Usually things just glide right over them, little snide comments they hear at work about how they look or their choice in pronouns like water under a bridge. They had always thought they had thick skin because of that, that things couldn’t really anger or get under their skin.

The situation must be affecting them more than they thought, which.. Isn’t anything new to be completely honest. They were always bad at telling when they were overwhelmed or worried, ironic for how vocal they are in their worry about others. When it came to themself they just couldn’t pin down their own worries or feelings, each time struggling to pin down what they were feeling. 

Still, they weren’t expecting Spatula’s absence and current MIA status to be making them want to fight with poor demons who were just curious. Sure it's a stressful situation, but it's still shocking to find themself ready to throw down over a mere look . 

Subtly shaking their head they tune back into the conversation going on behind them, turning back around to face Punk and Slingshot. 

“...so if you’ve heard anything from him or where he went, please tell us. We just want to make sure he’s okay..” Punk sounds both deadly serious and pleading, voice strained as she stares directly at Slingshot without blinking. 

The cat demon just bites his lip, crossing his hands over his chest as he thinks on her words. The grimace on his face, however, tells Milk that whatever he is thinking of isn’t a good sign for their mutual friend. 

“..I don’t know anything, I’m sorry. I thought he was in contact with you guys this entire time..” He admits, looking just as worried as Milk feels now. The Phighter shuffles his feet, before aiming an almost pointed question at the two of them. “You guys didn’t ask for any details from Spatula before he went off on his ‘vacation’??” 

“I tried.” They immediately cut in before Punk can say anything, wanting to both strangle Slingshot for the hidden accusation in his voice and make him understand that they aren’t the kind of demons to drop a friend like that. “He didn’t answer my questions, just gave me the bare minimum that I’m sure he told you two.” 

“The fact he didn’t tell us anything, nor hasn’t contacted all of us.. And how I strongly assumed he was lying almost directly to our faces…” Punk bites her lip, furrowing her brows worriedly as she lays it all out. “I’m worried about what this means for him.. Are you certain he didn’t mention anything at all to you guys? Both before or after he left..?” 

Slingshot thinks on the question, Milk watching as the gears in his head turn in almost real time. His brows furrowed as he shuffled on his feet, a hand going up to his chin as he bites his lip in concentration. 

The silence stretches on as the Phighter continues to think, Milk beginning to tap their foot anxiously as the seconds tick by. Punk has a bit more patience, crossing her arms over her chest and not moving a muscle as she waits for Slingshot to say anything. 

Finally, after what feels like hours does he open his mouth and say something. 

“Well… It wasn’t anything Spatula did himself… But there was a strange demon that got up in his business last I saw him..” He reluctantly admits, looking like he’s both realized something and almost embarrassed, His words make Punk and Milk tense up, glancing at each other in concern. 

Slingshot tilts his head slightly as he recalls what he remembers, a note of shame in his voice. 

“They would get up in his business, all touchy with him and trying to keep him by their side.. Spatula said he knew them but he seemed rather uncomfortable when they were around..”

Punk cuts in rather sharply, her voice piercing cold as she narrows her eyes at Slingshot. 

“And you didn’t think that strange ? Didn’t assume something more might be going on??” 

Milk narrows their eyes at Slingshot as well, hands clenched into fists as they grit their teeth. They wanted to assume the best of the Phighter, but considering that strange demon may have very well killed their friend is enough for them to want to sock Slingshot in the jaw right then and there. 

“Well, I…” Slingshot splutters for a moment, looking like he’s been punched in the face ironically enough, before he composes himself. “Spatula doesn’t really lie, and he looks nervous and uncomfortable around people anyways so… I didn’t want to cause trouble for him if it really was nothing..” 

Milk scoffs and rolls their eyes, stepping closer to Slingshot, ready to tear into him. It’s a flimsy excuse in their mind, if he noticed Spatula was that uncomfortable then obviously something was up! 

A hand on their chest stops them, Punk shooting them a slightly concerned look before she looks back  at Slingshot. 

“I see… I suppose I can’t blame you, I didn’t know Spatula could lie to us like he has…” She lets out a sigh, lowering her arm and hugging herself tightly. “This… This doesn’t make me feel any better about what could’ve happened to him however..” 

Slingshot looks away, ducking his head down. He genuinely looks remorseful and embarrassed to have not stepped in back then. Milk is still boiling with anger, but they shove it back for the moment, seeing his look. 

They’ll give him a talking to after they find Spatula… If they ever do … 

All of a sudden the rage they were feeling leaves them, their whole body almost deflating as the thought hits them that they truly may never see their friend ever again. They weren’t uber close with him, but they liked and cared for the guy… They wanted to get to know him, to be uber close to them. Now they might never have the chance to do so.

Against their wishes tears well up in their eyes, mind flashing to what could’ve happened to Spatula.. Almost cruelly their mind wanders, makes them imagine what he might’ve been feeling if he is dead.. Did he feel betrayed that his friends didn’t try hard enough? Did he die alone wishing he had someone with him? 

Furiously they scrub at their eyes, willing the tears and images to leave their mind. They refuse to fall into the mindset that he’s dead, he just can’t be. 

Forcefully putting the topic out of their mind, they firmly look at both Punk and Slingshot, both of whom look as grim as they feel. They clench their fists, claws digging into the flesh of their palms. Teeth almost cracking from how hard they’re gritting them, they break the tense silence that had fallen over the trio. 

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this all, we owe it to Spatula as his friends to actually put forth effort into this.” They flex their hands, clenching and unclenching them as they look between the two. Punk raises an eyebrow at their words, while Slingshot sets a determined frown on his face. 

“Not that I don’t agree with you, but how do you propose we go about actually getting information? We don’t know where he is at all, so we can’t exactly go up to him and question him..” Her voice has a hint of hopelessness in it, her eyes staring them down with a sort of deathly calm amidst the worry. 

“W..Well…” They scramble a tad, having not, admittedly, thought it out really. It was more just a spur of the moment, not wanting to give up on their friend decision. They don’t regret saying something though, but they do slightly wish they had put a bit more thought into it before throwing it out there so confidently. 

“We could ask around, tell people to notify us if they see him..?” Slingshot cuts in, sounding not fully confident in his suggestion. Punk raises a brow at him as well, but Milk immediately backs him up, grabbing the one suggestion and running with it. 

“Yeah! That way if he turns up somewhere we’ll be the first ones to know!” They put their hands on their hips, putting forth an air of confidence and determination. Deep down they aren’t too sure themself if this will be a good idea, it still feels like they’re doing nothing to actually help Spatula.. But Punk had made a good point, there isn’t anything they can really do considering they don’t know where the guy is in the first place. 

Punk sighs, her shoulders sagging as she shakes her head slightly. 

“It's… Better than nothing I suppose. We’ll go put the word out, sorry to have put this upon you during your work hours, Slingshot.” 

“It's okay, I’ve… Been wondering myself if Spatula is okay…” The cat demon waves off her apology, looking a tad sheepish despite the persistent gleam of worry in his eyes. “Here, take my phone number, I won’t be able to join you guys in getting the word out but I want to be there for him when he’s found.” 

He sounds so sure Spatula will be found, not even a stutter when he says when Spatula will be found . It makes Milk feel slightly shameful, all their thoughts worrying about whether or not he’s dead instead of staying strong and having faith that he’s still alive. They internally shake their head, not wanting to go down that path for the third time this morning, and instead give Slingshot a thumbs up and a smile. 

“Can do, you deserve to know anyways! You’re his friend as well after all.” Their words make a small smile appear on Slingshot’s face, brief and fleeting. 

The Phighter gives the two of them his phone number, before reluctantly heading back into his cafe, giving one last wave towards them and a final reminder to hand out his phone number as well. Punk lets out a sigh as the cafe door closes behind Slingshot, glancing down at her phone and staring at it for a moment. 

“So… Do you happen to have a photo of Spat’ we can give to people..?” They ask her after a beat, almost a tad sheepishly. She lets out another sigh in response, this one more fond sounding than the last, and shakes her head at their words. 

“This is going to be.. Interesting..” She smirks at them faintly, mood lifting as they finally have a plan and are going to do something aside from sitting around. 

The two spend the rest of the day handing out their phone numbers at a couple of places, mainly hospitals and shelters as its the most likely place for Spatula to end up if not at his own apartment. Along with their phone numbers they spend a good amount of time getting photos printed out of the one picture Punk had on her phone of Spatula. 

…They really need to take more group photos. 

Anyways! Aside from that however, no new information presented itself. No one suddenly recognized their friend or said they had seen him in the past week. It was about what they had expected, really, but it was still disheartening spending all day wandering around just to virtually get no new information on where their friend might be. 

Plopping themself down on a bench, the moon already peeking over the horizon, they can’t help but let out a long sigh. Their shoulders slump as the worry and guilt creeps up over them, the thoughts they had consistently pushed away now having a chance to spread throughout their conscious mind. 

Punk plops down on the bench next to them, looking similarly depressed. Her head hangs a bit low, a frown almost permanently etched onto her face as she stares down at the concrete below her feet. Her shoulders sag, as if a heavy weight is resting upon them as she sits there. 

The silence washes over them, quiet and melancholic. A cold, gentle breeze makes them shiver slightly, the night quickly approaching. Stars slowly begin popping up in the sky, twinkling without a care in the world, unknowing of the troubles that lay just below them. 

As they stare up at the sky, they can’t help but wonder if Spatula is looking up at it as well. They might even be looking at the same stars right now, watching them twinkle carefree as the moon creeps up over the dark blue clouds. It doesn’t help their already complicated ( mainly negative ) feelings on how Spatula is missing… But it doesn’t make them worse. 

Like a cold cloth being laid over a raw, open wound. It soothes a bit, sure, but it doesn’t actually help heal the wound. It's still bleeding and exposed to the world, just now it’s not as burning painful as it was before the cloth. 

…Look at them, getting all poetic about the night sky. This whole situation must have messed them up even more if they’re stopping to lament over things like this. 

Letting out another sigh, they stretch out and get up from the bench, making Punk look up at them blearily. They shoot her an only slightly forced smile, pointing a finger in the direction towards their house. 

“I’m gonna get going before it gets any later… I’ll cya tomorrow, Punk..” Their voice is softer and more raw sounding then they’d like, the emotions boiling just beneath the surface. She doesn’t point it out though, an understanding look in her eyes as she gives them a nod. 

When she doesn’t say anything after a beat they reluctantly turn on their heel, walking towards their house. They almost drag their feet, a veritable grey cloud of sadness hanging over their head as they slowly trudge along. The streetlights burn their vision as they continue on their way, eyes kept to the ground. 

After a couple of minutes almost mindlessly walking to their house they finally arrive, almost walking right into the door of it before they blink and refocus on the present. 

Unlocking their door they don’t bother to turn on any lights, closing the door behind them and locking it before flopping over onto their couch and laying there. Eyes half-lidded they slowly fall asleep, mind racing even as they lay there unmoving. 

Two days after they had given out their phone numbers, they had almost given up all hope of anything coming out of it. There hadn’t been any calls or texts about Spatula showing up somewhere, which… They can’t say they had been expecting much to come out of it, but they had hoped something would have come out of it. 

Finally, though… Finally they had gotten a call. 

It was during their shift at Ranged Royale, thankfully in the down time between shifts. They had just been messing around on their phone, idly eating their lunch. On their fifth refresh of their homepage on Roblr their screen had suddenly flashed as an incoming call came in. 

It had no ID, just a set of numbers, ones they didn’t recognize. They were just about to hit decline or let it go to voicemail before they remembered what they had done two days ago. 

Immediately they sat up straight in their chair, almost dropping their phone in their haste to answer the call.

“Chocolate Milk speaking.” They heard some shuffling on the other end, before a voice hesitantly responded back to them. 

“Hi, I’m with CrossRoads General Hospital, we have a patient here that you and another demon had been asking about last weekend..?” 

Their grip tightens on their phone, knuckles going white as they hurriedly respond back. 

“Spatula? Is he okay? Is he alive? Can I come see him??” 

 “Ah, yes we have a Mr. Spatula here… He came in yesterday, we were hoping to contact some sort of family but…” The demon on the other end trails off before clearing their throat. “He’s in critical condition, massive burns all over his body, but he’s stable now. You can come see him, but you can’t come into his room just yet, we don’t want to risk infection with him..” 

“I… I see..” They go quiet for a beat, left at a sort of loss for words. All that build up, all that worry and concern over their friend, yet now that they knew his condition they weren’t sure how to feel. 

Happy he’s found?? His condition doesn’t exactly sound pleasant so happiness doesn’t feel correct. Sad/worried about him and what happened?? That feels right, but at the same time they finally know he’s alive . 

Letting out a shaky sigh they focus back onto the present, specifically the phone call they had left hanging in silence for a bit. 

“I’ll be there in a bit…”

Chapter Text

[Chocolate Milk]

The sharp, chemical smell of the hospital assaulted their nose as they strode through its hallways. Their shoulders were raised almost to their ears, gut twisted into knots as they kept an eye out for the room Spatula was put in. 

They were finally able to leave work for a moment, letting the Boss know they’d be out for longer than usual on their lunch break. As much as they’d love to actually just clock out for the day and stay with their friend, they know that wouldn’t happen if they asked. 

With how short staffed they are at Ranged Royal, unless they themself are actively bleeding out and dying they can’t get out of a work day. Sometimes even then they’ll be asked to come in wounded, the Boss unable to cover for them in the kitchen. 

Thankfully, however, today the Boss was able to spare a couple of seconds for them to be out long enough with Spatula. It also helps that they like Spatula as well, for how hard working he is ( he never takes a sick day, always says yes to more time… Of course the Boss likes him.) . 

When they had arrived at the hospital, winded due to having run from the bus stop to it, they had already wasted a lot of time talking to the demon at the counter. It was a whole lot of legal jargon they had to go through, reiterating that since Milk, Punk, and Slingshot were the only ones to ask after him they were allowed to visit and know about his condition. 

They had to sign some stuff as well, honestly nothing they really paid too much attention to if they’re honest. They didn’t care about any of that, just wanting to finally get to see Spatula and the state he was in when they found him. 

After what felt like ages they were finally told his room number and allowed to go off and see him… After a brief reiteration again of how they need to sanitize themself and leave any items outside of his room, so they don’t bring any contaminants. 

It’s probably normal procedure for how the burn unit of the hospital works, but it only made them more anxious and worried about how badly burned Spatula was. They can’t remember too much of the conversation on the phone they had with the hospital, so they’re basically going into this blind. 

Clenching their fists by their side, Milk bites their bottom lip as the chemical smell of the hospital once again wafts over them. It doesn’t help their nerves at all, really, just makes them uncomfortably aware that they don’t know how badly hurt Spatula is. 

Focusing on the doors they’re passing by as they speed up their pace, they finally spot the room number they were looking for: 674.

They almost barge into the room right then and there, but they force themself to slow down and take a deep breath. As they approach the door, they start taking off their jacket and bag, folding their jacket around it. 

Posted on Spatula’s door is a note for visitors, listing stuff they have been told about five times today. Place stuff in a designated area, wash hands as soon as you enter, take some gloves and a face mask provided by the door before you enter the room, and wash hands once you are ready to leave. 

Stuffing their jacket bundle under one arm, Milk stops in front of the door and grabs a pair of gloves and a face mask, the latter of which they put on immediately. 

Finally they can enter the room… 

..Yet they find themself hesitating, staring at the handle of the door as their breath makes the mask on their face warm. All the worries from before roll around in their mind, a veritable typhoon of thoughts bashing up against the walls of their brain. 

Their hands tremble ever so slightly, the slightest prickle of tears at the corner of their eyes making them blink harshly to get rid of them. 

It’s admittedly frustrating to all of a sudden be hit with this intense, paralyzing wave of worry and emotions. They were so frantic coming here, and now that they’re standing in front of Spatula’s hospital room door they can’t move?? 

You’d think it would be the opposite, the anxiety and concern for their friend boiling  over and making them burst in quickly… 

Shaking their head, they narrow their eyes and do their best to ignore the trembling in their hands. Grabbing the door handle a tad more tightly than they intended, Chocolate Milk swings open the door before they have a chance to think any more. 

Taking in a deep breath, they let it out quietly and shakily as their eyes widened. Standing in the threshold of the door they can’t exactly see how bad it truly is, but from the sight of bandages wrapped tightly around Spatula’s body akin to that of a mummy’s? 

They don’t need to be super close to tell it’s bad. 

Walking into the room, they gently close the door behind them, noting that while Spatula seems to be awake he’s just staring out the window in his room.  Gulping, they put their items on the chair next to the door, before walking over to the sink in the room. 

Quickly they wash their hands, unable to keep themself from glancing over at Spatula worriedly as he continues to not say anything. They don’t know if he simply just didn’t realize it was them just yet, or if he’s so far in his head he isn’t even aware someone is in his room. 

Milk hopes it’s the former… But they know it’s probably the latter, whatever trauma Spatula went through making him turtle in on himself in his mind. 

Scrubbing their hands harshly to dry them, they quickly slide on the gloves, before finally making their way closer to their friend. 

As they get closer the smell of antibiotics and antiseptic seeps heavily into their face mask, making them unconsciously wrinkle their nose in disgust under it. It’s such a cloying smell, they feel bad for Spatula for having no escape from it. 

Though they know it’s for a good reason. If every bandage is covering a burn wound, then half of his entire body is burned. An infection would quite literally kill him, he wouldn’t have a chance. 

They can’t see under the bandages, but just the sight of so many of them piled over each other gives them confidence that they're right in assuming it’s all burn wounds. 

However, they can’t help but notice how.. Well, deliberate one of his wounds is. Fire doesn’t really aim for a specific place, it goes all over to consume as much as it, but one wound was very much done intentionally . 

Spatula’s right horn is broken off, the tall antenna-like horns a striking part of his appearance. It’s hard not to notice how one of them has been halved . 

Fire can’t break off a horn, it can scorch one if intense enough, sure.. But it can’t break one in half, not like what’s been done here. 

The sight of the broken horn simultaneously makes Milk grimace in sympathy and want to absolutely kill whoever did that to their friend. They’ve effectively disabled Spatula with it, his whole balance will be off along with the stares he’ll get… 

He can’t exactly hide his horn, not like some can. It’s too noticeable with the way it sticks straight into the air. 

This isn’t even taking into account the fact Spatula might already be disabled. Milk has been slightly ignoring the glaring wound on his friend, they don’t want to think about what it could mean for him. 

His right eye is completely covered in bandages, and considering the other one isn’t? Milk doesn’t know what happened, but they just hope it’s fine under the bandages. 

Taking in a silent, deep breath they plaster a smile under their mask ( more for themself than Spatula, since he can’t see it ) and announce their presence finally. 

“Hey, Spatula! Man I wasn’t expecting this…” They trail off at the end, the forced cheer in their voice faltering at the look on their friends face. 

Eyes haunted, face emotionless, Spatula just stares at them with his one eye. For a beat nothing happens, he just continues staring through them, not even comprehending they’re there. 

However their presence seems to register after a minute, as he blinks and his brow raises ever so slightly in muted surprise. 

“Oh… Milk..?” His voice is raspy and strained, a completely drained tone to it. He blinks again, looking a tad more alive as he speaks again. “You're here…” 

“Well, yeah. I wasn’t going to leave one of my friends alone in the hospital…” They sit down on one of the chairs by Spatula’s bed, wanting to hug their friend but restraining themself. 

The sight of him so devoid of emotion and detached from reality.. It makes them want to cry and scream, to rage at whoever did that to their friend and then bundle him away so he’ll never be hurt again. 

Something serious happened in the week he was away. Spatula was seriously hurt, more than just physically but mentally. 

Their friend has a look in his eye, one like his spirit has been broken beyond repair, that whatever he went through did something so horrible he might never recover. 

For all of his nerves Spatula had a fire in his eyes, one Milk could easily see. It’s what made them continue on genuinely trying to be his friend, they wanted to see what he was passionate about underneath all the worry and anxiety. 

Yet now it’s gone, no flame burning brightly in his eyes. The look of something broken has taken its place instead, not even any embers left burning in the wake of his passion and spirit. 

It’s scary to see. 

“Why…” Spatula’s quiet voice jolts them out of their thoughts, his face still blank as he stares at them. “Why… are you… here??”

“W-whaddya mean why am I here??” Their smile under their mask is strained and brittle, a cold sweat  going down the back of their neck. “I wanted to see you, Spat’! It’s been so long, and you ended up in the hospital…” 

Spatula stares at them some more, barely even blinking. His dead gaze makes them shiver, makes them want to get up and leave, beat up whoever just to make him show some shred of emotion right now. 

He blinks very slowly at them, before leaning back more onto his hospital bed and staring up at the ceiling. 

“…You shouldn’t be here.” The words are whispered out, barely even audible through the droning ambience of the hospital. Milk takes in a sharp breath, opening their mouth to say something before he continues on. 

“Please… I don’t want you… to get hurt either..” They blink, a bit stunned if they’re honest. Looking at their friend they’re shocked to see tears streaming down his face. 

For all his voice held none of the emotion he was obviously feeling, the tears continued to pour out of his eye. He stared at the ceiling still, seemingly unable to look their way as they sat there in the silence. 

They bite their lower lip, the tears brimming in their own eyes threatening to boil over and spill out. 

“Spatula…” They croak out, tears falling from their eyes as they trail off. They aren’t quite sure what they were going to say, but they know they want to say something to their friend. “I.. You..-“ 

A sudden buzzing from their phone in their pocket gets their attention, the vibration catching them

off guard. Taking out their phone quickly they see it’s a text from the Boss, telling them to return soon to work. 

Their grip on it tightens, their teeth digging into their lower lip as they glance back and forth between their phone and Spatula. Opening their mouth, they can’t find any words to tell their friend, no words of comfort or useless apologies for not being there… 

“Just… go..” His voice cracks at the last word, his gaze firmly planted on the ceiling as he continues to cry silently. 

Chocolate Milk squeezes their eyes shut, suddenly drained as they slowly nod their head. 

“Okay…” 

With that whispered assent they shove their phone in their pocket again, getting up off of their seat and heading over to the sink. As the water runs in the silence of the room, Milk can’t help but feel like a wall has been put up between them and Spatula. 

‘ He just needs some time to himself, that’s all..’ They reason to themself, a foreboding sense of dread coiling in their gut as they finish washing their hands and head out the door. 

The click of it closing behind them feels final in a way, like something has ended without them knowing. They stand out in front the door for a beat, wanting to turn around and tell the Boss to fuck off. 

Another buzz of a text from their phone has them letting out a drained sigh. Rubbing their eyes fiercely they walk away from Spatula’s hospital door feeling like they’ve lost a friend. 

[Spatula]

The closing of the hospital room door barely registered to him as he continued staring at the ceiling. The world was awash in colors of greys and whites.. Not literally, it just felt dreary and dull to him. 

Like all the life had been sucked out of it when the others- 

The tears streaming out of his eye causes his right eye to twinge painfully, his other eye trying to produce tears and failing. He’s grateful for the distraction though, he doesn’t need to be thinking about it right now. 

The doctors told him he was very lucky to have been able to keep his eye. The damage that was done to it from the flashbang and then his stabbing was almost enough for him to have lost it completely. 

However he was transported to the hospital just in time, they were able to save the eye itself , but not his vision of course. He kind of expected that, when he finally went over his very hazy memories and remembered how blurry his vision was in that eye before the stabbing. 

So far they’ve got it covered up, the surgery they did to keep it one that’ll take time to heal fully. Once the bandages come off he won’t ever be able to fully see out of it again, but it won’t be completely useless. 

They theorized that he’ll probably still be able to make out colors and maybe shapes with it.. Though they’re unable to say for certain of course, so who knows what he’ll be able to see with it. 

The only thing that’s for sure is that he won’t have full vision with it. Honestly at this point he wouldn’t mind them just taking it out of his head. What good is an eye like they described anyways?

As if it can hear his thoughts his eye twinges again painfully, making him blink slowly. The eyelid behind the bandages doesn’t move. 

That’s another thing, the burns and fire.. He doesn’t remember a whole ton of fire being around in the… Well back there . 

A flashbang can’t do as much damage as his body is in, no matter how close he had it to him. No, something tells him his condition is partly intentional. 

The fraud of an angel probably had something to do with it. He was unconscious for a good portion of the fighting, perfect for them to beat up his body to their heart's content. 

He already knows in his heart they are the reason his horn is broken. Probably went right up to him as he was laying there and stomped on it until it broke. He can’t prove anything, but the very thought seems like something a monster like them would do. 

…

His thoughts peeter out, the droning ambience of the hospital creating a sort of white noise and making it easier for him to just… Slip out of existence. 

It’s not the first time he’s done so since waking up, and if he were more bold he’d confront himself about it. He knows it’s not exactly a healthy coping mechanism, but he can’t bring himself to really care right now. 

Every thought seems to be painful, leading back around to the Week. Even just before, when he was thinking about his condition, he couldn’t escape its influence. 

It’s not as bad as it could’ve been, he didn’t venture into any… Undesirable territory.. ( His mind conjures Shib and CG’s faces smiling at him, Spork drawing his attention, just about to ask him something when-)  

A sharp breath in, his eye stinging like crazy as he pulls himself out of his thoughts. Clenching and unclenching his fists, the right one tugging painfully on his burn wounds, he forces himself to be back in the present. 

Staring at the ceiling, he feels his mind begin to drift again, seemingly drawn to the painful memories. Savagely he stamps down on it, forces it away from them and instead on counting the cracks in the ceiling. 

He already knows how many are up there ( 1,865 cracks) but so far it’s been the only cure to his wandering mind. The repetitive counting, forcing all of his attention on the smallest ones. 

‘ Does this one count as a crack?’ ‘ This one is so small, should I count it?’ Lovely, useless, filler thoughts he stuffs into his brain, filling it up with cotton. 

If there’s so much cotton he can’t think, then that’s all the better. Thoughts are overrated, honestly.

Finally, once he’s counted all the cracks in the ceiling again he lets himself think. Thoughts drift across his mind, the floaty feeling he’s cultivated with his useless counting keeps them from being anything painful. 

Chocolate Milk visiting him wasn’t anything he was expecting, if he’s honest. It hurts to think, but he had forgotten almost entirely about them and the others in CrossRoad’s during the entire week. 

Seeing them again, though.. It was hard to look at them fully. He had to keep himself both grounded enough in reality to speak back to them and far away from it to not want to rip out his eyes and jump out his hospital window right then and there because he should be dead, he shouldn’t be alive why is he alive why him why not- 

A sharp breath in. The ceiling has 1,865 cracks in it, but it doesn’t hurt to check again. 1, 2, 3, 4…

The seconds tick by as he finishes another go around of the ceiling cracks. Still the same number, still able to help him keep his composure and not fall back into those thoughts again. 

Blinking slowly to himself, he lets out a shaky sigh as his consciousness floats in his mind. The fact he can’t exactly get out of bed probably isn’t helping his mental state, he’s vaguely sure of that. 

It’s hard to be 100% sure when he’s doing his best to not be present and thinking, but he’s kind of sure that laying in a hospital bed looking at the same ceiling  and walls isn’t a good thing. Then again, he denied any sort of entertainment when asked so he’s done it to himself… 

The clock on the wall ticked silently, the sound one he’d normally tune out. 

‘ Tick. Tick. Tick.’ The world slowed to a crawl around him, the cracks in the ceiling melding together, shadows danced in the corner of his eyes. 

His mind drifted, obsessively recollecting the days before he was brought back to CrossRoad’s. Flashes of colors and sounds as his mind analyzed everything, as if able to think up a solution now like it would help. 

His emotions were a mess, the clawing apathy, much more sinister and deeper than his own self imposed one clung to him when he was more aware of himself. 

The light of that place had dimmed dramatically, darkness different from the one creeping into his vision draped over everything. An ominous blanket pulled over the scene, like the world itself knew of what had happened, understood the gravity and the lives lost. 

Eyes had bored into him, wide and reverent. There was a smattering of survivors, those who had lived and been irrevocably changed like him. There was also some cult members, gazes distant as they almost stared through him. 

The two groups only had one thing in common: The way they looked at him. 

The stares picked at the flaying edges of his brain, his mental state collapsing in on itself as he tried to process everything at once. They looked like there was something to see, like he was something worthy of reverence and admiration. 

He didn’t understand, where was the yelling? The justified finger pointing as he was the one who started this all? 

Why were they all looking at him like that?

His memories grow fuzzy there, the blood loss and trauma done to his body uncaring for his demands to stay awake, to feel the pain and consequences of what he’s done. 

Snapshots of what they were doing with him, when he’d open his eyes even briefly, were seared into his brain. The same stares as before, a gentle touch feeling much less like they cared for his state but more reverent in how they lifted him. 

A procession out into the bus, the survivors and former(?) cultists barely even filling it halfway. Yet he felt so crowded, demons hovering over him always, their eyes the only thing he could see clearly. 

An argument when he was dropped off at the hospital, screeching and harsh whispers as they clung to his body. A concerned look from the doctors as he continued staring into nothing, the yelling sounding less like words and more like a prayer hymn to his name in his mind. 

He wanted to slam his brain into a wall, yell at them that he wasn’t anything special, he did nothing in the face of everything . But the tide of unconsciousness pulled him down, his voice unreachable even if he tried. 

The frantic day after, the sparse Gear’s able to heal, finding it borderline impossible to before they gave up. The old fashioned way was needed, and he was repeatedly talked over about the infection and risks he would be in. 

A concerned doctor talking to him, “I know of a great counselor, doesn’t judge and actually understands problems. They’d be happy to help I’m sure.” the door closing behind them at his continued silence. 

‘ Tick. Tick. Tick.’  

He blinks slowly, takes in a deep breath, lungs and eye screaming at him as he remembers that he’s alive. 

There’s a deep desire within him, one he’s simultaneously scared to confront and uncomfortably familiar with. The thought of those that died because of his actions, demons better than him paying for something he did. 

He can’t remember his death from Before, if he even died at all. Yet he can’t find it in himself at this moment to be scared of the idea. 

It’s not something he wants , Spatula is too much of a coward, too anxious and nervous about the ‘what-ifs’ of the afterlife even now to want to do anything. However he had found a work around that in his past life, something comforting and cold, like steel against your throat or a barrel against your head. 

Perhaps he doesn’t want to die, even now, but he doesn’t want to be here. Not even mentally, he wants to physically scrub himself off the face of the Inpherno. 

Wipe away any memories containing him, any of his influence gone with his body. To stop existing completely and utterly, give in to nonexistence and float in the nothingness. 

‘ Tick. Tick. Ti-‘ 

His eye flutters shut, the day not even over yet as he forces himself to sleep. His consciousness drifts as he basks in the silence, his idea of himself being scrubbed clean in his mind for this moment, before he knows no more. 

A week had passed in slow motion, the world frigid and cold as it glided along like an iceberg. A stream of doctors was constantly in his room, always watching over to make sure he wasn’t being consumed with infection.

An eye doctor had seen him halfway during the week, and had confirmed their suspicions. He had lost full vision in it essentially, colors and blobs all he will see out of the useless thing now. Fitting, is what he had thought as the bandages were re-wrapped around his head. 

They had commented on its strange healing, and inspected his working eye. They wouldn’t tell him much, the empty look on his face, the haunted stare he can’t get rid of, making them turn him away when he asked. 

He didn’t push, couldn’t muster up the energy to ask even as his brain worried along in the background. 

His friends were almost constantly visiting, soft looks on their faces as they treated him like glass. No one seemed to know what to do with him, glancing at each other awkwardly when they’d come together, stare at him with concern when they’d visit alone.

Milk had seemed to become the most awkward one now, their actions borderline mechanical every time they’d visit. A pain in their eyes, a desperation Spatula couldn’t understand as they would crack forced jokes to make him laugh. 

Punk and Slingshot had pulled them aside once, when the whole group visited him. There was whispered shouting outside his door for a moment, voices too muffled to understand. 

Vinestaff and Shuriken had tried to keep his attention off of it, but he had stared at the two until they stopped. They all sat in silence as the whisper-shouting continued, before abruptly stopping. 

Punk had walked in, face red and a slight frown on her face that she couldn’t wipe away before he’d seen. She didn’t say anything, brushed past it with her usual nonchalance, but the absence of Slingshot and Milk spoke volumes. 

That had been the last he’d seen of the two, the others when visiting always looking more pained than before when they’d talk to him. He never pushed or pried, just added it to his growing list of things he caused, guilt piling up on his chest. 

In the back of his mind he wanted to reach out, to respond with as much emotion as he felt he could feel without getting burned by them. He wanted to talk to them, to embrace their understanding and openness completely. 

Each and every time however, when he’d think ‘ this is it, I’m going to tell them’ his nerves would falter. In the face of his friends all he could see was those three again, how they used to be his friends until… 

Until…  

…

..He wouldn’t allow himself to open up like that. No, he physically and mentally couldn’t let them in like that, the gaping wound in his heart too raw as it beat. 

None of them had been able to get him to say what happened, the thought of telling them combined with his ‘ trauma’ ( as if he deserved to use that word.. ) made the very idea seem like his life would end with it. 

He wanted so badly to tell someone, don’t get him wrong. The thoughts and memories were killing him, he could feel it in his very soul the way they sucked at his emotions and mental state. 

The closest he had gotten was talking with the doctors, giving them sparse details to shed some light on his injuries.

As well as Katana, of all demons. 

He had visited Spatula once, on his own… Though Spatula could hear the hushed voices of Shuriken, Vinestaff, and Slingshot behind the door. 

The two of them had sat in silence for a moment. Spatula was pretty sure it was his imagination but he felt like he was being watched intently, even though Katana had his head turned away from him. 

The tenseness in his shoulders, a constant ache since he woke up, only got worse as they sat in his room in silence. As the seconds ticked by his shoulders had grown more and more tense, almost unbearably painful. 

Finally Katana had broken the silence, turning and facing Spatula, his eye barely visible in his mask’s eyehole. 

“…What became of them?” The open ended question was exactly what Spatula was dreading, Katana’s voice both gentle and deadly serious.

He knew the Phighter was going to ask something regarding the cult, he was the only one who probably even had a clue what Spatula had gotten himself into. 

It didn’t make the question any easier, didn’t soften the blow and the wave of painful memories washing over him. 

Hunching in on himself, clenching the scratchy hospital sheets below him, he answered with the most honest answer he had given since arriving back in CrossRoad’s. 

“Gone… I ended it..” There was no triumph to his voice, even as he declared it out for the Inpherno to hear. Only a dull ache in his chest, the memories stabbing into his brain as he’s forced to focus on the present. 

Katana closes his eye beneath his mask, Spatula can see him take a deep breath in and reopen his eye as he exhaled deeply. 

“I see.” 

They hadn’t talked after that, and yet… Spatula oddly felt the most comforted by someone ever since he woke up. 

He still felt the tenseness in his shoulders, as if the weight of both the world and his guilt were resting on them, but it felt lighter somehow. The state of Katana no longer felt so oppressive even as he felt it in the back of his mind. 

Instead it felt comforting, to know he had been seen by someone he vaguely knew to have been in a similar situation to him. It didn’t ease his pain any, the wounds were too deep for the comfort to really make any difference… But it helped him ignore the tears stinging at the corner of his eye and the way the memories creeped up on him again. 

Of course all good things can’t last and Katana had to leave eventually. The hospital wouldn’t let him stay overnight, plus Spatula bets the guy had better things to do other than sitting in silence by his hospital bed. 

Before he left, though, he had put a hand on Spatula’s uninjured shoulder. He rested it there for a bit, before giving him an understanding nod and pulling away. 

Ignoring the way Spatula began crying quietly, the way his shoulders shook, how the haunted look in his eyes lifted briefly to give way to absolute heart break. 

Even as the door closed behind Katana, the world growing a tad dimmer now that he had left, Spatula couldn’t help but feel immensely grateful to the Phighter. He couldn’t understand why, but somehow the sparse words they shared and the brief comfort meant more than he could articulate. 

All he knew was that when he closed his eyes that night after that visit, his dreams weren’t plagued with nightmares for once. 

Instead he dreamt of the field again, laughter ringing through the air as he was surrounded by his friends. A new figure in the mix, red horns and a mask sitting silently at the picnic table as he watched him. 

The feeling of eyes on him in the dream, a near constant since his awakening in the hospital,  now a more tender and gentle feeling. 

For that night only, Spatula felt at peace.

Chapter Text

The days had crawled onwards despite his mental stagnation. His friends were a steady stream, coming and going from his room. Overtime the awkwardness seemed to melt away a tad, the others still looking at him worriedly but seeming to accept that he had changed. 

Katana visited twice more, always alone and never really talking with him. Sometimes they’d start a quiet conversation, but it was nothing like the full blown ones his friends would try to drag him in. 

They’d be contemplative and understanding, even if neither of them brought up the obvious. He appreciated that from the Phighter, the topic never being poked but always addressed subtly. 

However, while he wasn’t expecting to get visited again by Katana, he can say he wasn’t surprised by the absence of Slingshot and Milk. Drowning in guilt yes, but not surprised that they didn’t show up. 

He doesn’t know what the two argued about exactly, slightly regretting his apathy making him not care to ask when it happened. That doesn’t mean he’s blind , he could infer it was about him. 

So it makes sense the two would avoid his room like the plague. They can’t bear to see him, even if they supposedly still care. The others always say they are wishing him a fast recovery, that they miss him… 

But he doubts that, really. Probably just them wanting him to not feel like it’s his fault, when it is. 

Aside from that, he hasn’t done much. Half his body being burned does that to a guy. He can’t leave his bed without supervision, though he has started some physical therapy so his muscles don’t atrophy. 

Really all he has done is stew in his thoughts, the memories still plaguing him. Like a rabid dog that has latched onto its first meal in decades, the memories can’t seem to let him go. 

The lack of entertainment or anything to distract himself doesn’t help, only fuels the maelstrom of guilt and all consuming sadness inside of him. He’s fairly certain his shoulders are permanently stuck tensed up, as he always seems to be in pain with them. 

Additionally… 

Spatula is pretty sure he’s being watched. He can’t prove anything, but by GOD does he feel eyes on him. Everywhere he goes ( which is just his room, the bathroom, and the physical therapy room) he feels a pair of eyes on him, watching his every move. 

At first he thought it was just due to the doctors and nurses watching over him. He is a high risk patient after all, it makes sense they’d want to keep an eye on him. 

However that theory broke rather quickly, simply due to the fact he felt it in the bathroom and late at night when he couldn’t sleep. There were no doctors or nurses in his room then, no one but him and his thoughts. 

So who could be watching him?? If not the doctors, who else would want to watch him??

It unnerved him, made him worry and think thoughts that, logically, he knows aren’t true. The reactions of the survivors and former cult members, the reverence in their eyes… 

His brain has half way convinced itself that they started a cult in his honor. That the eyes he feels on himself are them, watching their new ‘savior’.

Again, logically he knows that isn’t the case. In fact it’s probably so low on the list of things the feeling could be, no one else would’ve thought it up in his position. 

Yet he can’t help but look over his shoulder and stare at people in a paranoid manner. Watching them to see if they slip up, have that same reverent look in their eyes when they see him. Any demon could be a cultist in disguise. and even if they would worship him he would still feel highly uncomfortable with them watching him. 

The feeling persisted, the eyes never leaving him, even as he’d do his best to avoid their gaze. It was easy as you’d imagine, ‘hiding’ away in his room and not leaving it unless needed. He’d decline when they’d ask him if he wanted to go on a walk around the hospital, if he’d want to eat with other patients, etc. etc. 

Along with it not helping the feeling of the eyes on him, it also didn’t help his mental health. He was always aware shutting himself away wasn’t good for him, had been actively hindering him in life, but that had never stopped him from falling back into squirreling himself away. He’s found himself seeing things in the corner of his eye, a dark shadow that darts out of vision as soon as he looks over towards it. 

A whispering in his ears, sometimes no words and sometimes words he can hear, a mumbling of a curse being placed or something like that. It hasn’t helped his burgeoning paranoia, the persistent feeling of eyes on him and it all working to make him want to scream and bury himself alive, just to be sure no one was around him ( would be able to hurt him ). 

Spatula’s gotten into the habit of just… Well distracting himself with the smallest of things. At first he had tried disassociating, becoming distant from reality as it had helped before. However that didn’t help at all, just made it worse when the shadow would sit at the edge of his vision. 

He’s now started just inspecting things around his room, no matter if nothing has really changed since he’s gotten there. Each and every thing in his room was a good enough distraction in his mind. The machine monitoring his vitals? A good distraction, making up words from some of the acronyms. The counter holding syringes and other essentials for the doctors and nurses? He wonders how many things are stored away inside of it. 

It’s gotten to such a point he’s grateful for when his friends come over, even with his brain still screaming at them to leave before his presence inevitably gets them killed. They provide a great distraction, one of the best as the feeling of eyes on him is ( ironically )  immensely diminished. 

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Spatula ever so slowly clenches his unburnt fist. His mind is a mess of thoughts and feelings, all scraping deep wounds into it as he lays there. He’s not sure if he wants to scream until his voice gives out, hurt himself until he tears open his wounds, or cry. 

It’s all so conflicting, the trauma from it all mixing with the new problems now. He didn’t expect things to be like this, didn’t really expect anything after coming back. If he’s completely honest with himself, he never had planned to live past it all. 

It hadn’t occurred to him, really, what living after all this would entail. All he had thought of was the future and the present, in a very rushed manner. He’d thought of the cult , of what they might’ve been like, as much as he’d thought of what was going to happen to him that day… But he hadn’t stopped to think what there would be afterwards, how he’d continue on with life with whatever happened. 

He had been thinking of this all wrong, thinking of it all in events like a story. ‘This happens as the climax and then it’s happily ever after! ’ Essentially what he had been operating under, even subconsciously. What a joke. 

A burning sensation builds behind his eye, tears pricking at the very edge of his vision yet never falling. Letting out a strangled sigh, he clamps his eye shut and does his best to push it all to the side of his mind. Very distantly he humorlessly thinks to himself that if he counted how many times today he’s sighed already he’d be in the hundreds by now. 

‘ What I wouldn’t give to be gone right now..’ The ever present thought washes over him again as he does his best to un-tense his body, the thoughts from before making him unconsciously stiffen up. 

It’s not the first time he’d thought that before, wanting to just be gone from this realm of existence, and yet he can’t help but yearn for it all the same. He’s resigned to it not happening, in fact he has the sneaking suspicion he’d be scared if he ever actually did stop existing suddenly.. However he can’t stop himself from imagining how relieving it would be, to be lost in a void floating aimlessly with no expectations or ghosts haunting him. 

He can see it now in his mind, his limbs splayed out as he floats along… The void soundless, but not in a bad way. The cold of it washing over him pleasantly as his consciousness fades in and out, worries and his very being being slowly washed away through the ebb of time. 

Perhaps in that void he’d meet them all again. His friends from this life, his family from the Before ( the one he still occasionally tries desperately to remember.) , and the people he knew Before. 

The sudden sensation of eyes upon him intensifying knocks him out of his wistful daydreaming, his eye darting open as he feels a rage and malice directed towards him. His gaze darts around the room frantically, the part of him that clings desperately to life blaring warning signals in his brain. He can barely move as is, if whatever is looking at him hatefully chooses to act on that hate he won’t be able to defend himself. 

However as he continues to glance around frantically, panic clawing at his throat, he finds nothing but an empty room, the only sound his harsh breathing. 

Taking in a deep breath to calm himself, he stares at the door to his room, half expecting someone to come bursting in. All his adrenaline, the feeling of hatred pointed at him, couldn’t have been for nothing… Could it?? 

The shadows in the corner of his eye cling tightly to his vision, squirming in a way that basically forces him to focus on it. Which is rather hard, considering the fact it only lives in the corners of his eye, any attempt he makes to stare directly at it failing. 

After a moment of nothing but the shadow in the corner of his eye appearing, Spatula finally lets go of the breath he had been unconsciously holding. His shoulders ache something fierce as he forces himself to relax again, the rapid tensing and untensing probably making them sore. Rolling one carefully, he bites his bottom lip as the pain spikes a bit dramatically before dimming a bit. 

His energy for the day is almost completely sapped out of him at this point. The constant, dulled pain he was under on top of his shoulders and now his mind running around in circles… 

He feels like he’s run a marathon, body heavy with fatigue even as he just lies there in the hospital bed. Eye half-lidded, even with the knowledge of how wounded he is he can’t help but feel like the day was a waste. He hadn’t actually done anything, and yet here he was, acting and feeling like he'd been run ragged by the day's activities. 

Still, even with his looming self hatred, he isn’t going to ignore the siren call of sleep. Most of his dreams are filled with nightmares, but being asleep is better than being awake in his opinion. 

Easily giving into his exhaustion, Spatula closes his eye for the day, the ever present whispers picking up in volume as he does. 

“…and make absolutely sure to not get the bandages wet. While you’re cleared to go home with them, they are still vulnerable to infection. Make sure you're cleaning the burns daily, twice a day if you need to.” The nurse lectures, eyes piercing as they stare intently at him, making sure he’s paying attention. They mess with some of the papers on their desk before continuing on. “Your eye and horn bandages can be removed in relaxed settings, where there’s no intense stimuli- like flashing lights or fast moving objects- otherwise you should leave the bandages on them. We’ll have to change them here in the hospital, you’re already scheduled for a check up two days from now.”

Spatula nods along slowly, careful with his head. He can feel the prickle of his skin as he moves, which had been unpleasant when he’d first started moving due to physical therapy. The burnt skin under his bandages itched fiercely, and a dull ache would radiate from them when he’d move too quickly, the pain dulled due to his pain killers thankfully. 

Through his physical therapy sessions he’d gotten more used to, and more confident in walking on his own two feet with one eye now. That still didn’t change how weird it was, to be upright and walking around while still feeling the burns and seeing only out of one eye.

He kept misjudging the distance of things and where they were placed, nothing bad but noticeable all the same. Also, he’s pretty sure he’s had an almost constant headache since standing up, due to the fact the eye behind the bandage is open but not being used. It’s… disorientating to say the least. 

The nurse at the front desk sighs, getting his wandering attention, as they make one final click on the computer in front of them. Next to them a printer spits out some papers, which they barely look at before picking up and handing to him. 

“These are your discharge forms and requests for medication. You had no listed pharmacy or anything on your file, so unfortunately you’ll have to deal with that yourself.” They run a hand down their face briefly, the eyebags under their eyes seeming to get bigger the longer they look at him. “The medication the hospital gave you should last you until the end of the month, enough time for a refill to get in. However if you still don’t get a prescription for your medication in time, you get one emergency free refill from the hospital.” 

They cross their arms and lean back in their chair as Spatula frantically nods, doing his best to cement all the knowledge they spewed over the course of the discharge into his head. A brief, concerned frown crosses their face as they stare at him for a moment, however they say nothing and the expression is wiped off their face. 

“Alright, well if you don’t have any questions then you’re hereby formally discharged from the hospital.” 

Immediately a tentative smile blooms across his face at their words, the yearning for ( home-) his apartment suddenly rearing its head. He clutches the papers in his hands tightly, a swell of excitement overtaking him. 

The hospital was nice, and he had barely even thought of his apartment since getting admitted.. Though to be fair, he had plenty more pressing things to consider with all his free time laying around, waiting to get better. 

Sparing the already busy at work a grateful nod and smile, Spatula swiftly makes his way out of the hospital. He doesn’t rush out of it like he wants to, his body is still a bit too fragile for that right now, but he also doesn’t just simply meander his way out. The sudden excitement and happiness at finally being let out gave him a surge of energy he had forgotten himself capable of. 

As the hospital doors close behind him and the sun shines on him for the first time in a long time, he can’t help the awed breath he lets out, nor the way his eye briefly closes as he basks in the sunlight for a second. He doesn’t have long to enjoy it where he’s standing, but even that small second soothes some part of his mind, the one that had been slowly eaten away by both the dorm rooms of the cult and the hospital room. 

Hurriedly stepping out of the way of the doors, farther away from the hospital, Spatula lets himself slow down. For all that he wants to just hide away from society again, to get to his apartment after having been gone for so long, he also just wants to take a slow walk in the sunlight. To enjoy it in its full capacity, feel the warmth of it on his skin and his burns.

Additionally it was nice to actually smell the outdoors again, in a less stressful environment. He had spent so long in a musty cave and then in a stuffy hospital, he had halfway forgotten what fresh air had smelled like. Taking in a deep breath, his body relaxed a tad, shoulders and burns still aching faintly in the back of his mind as he slowed to basically a crawl. 

Even with the pain incessantly present in his mind, he can’t help but feel a sense of peace and calm briefly as he basks in the outside world…

Which is of course shattered once he remembers that there are other demons watching him do so. Eye flicking frantically around him, face heating up in embarrassment, he picks up the pace. 

Even when he realizes no one really cared about what he was doing, Spatula still feels mortified at the fact they had seen him like that. Horribly on schedule his anxiety had reared its ugly head again, barely any time to relax and take in the world before it appeared again. It was inevitable, but he can’t help but feel disappointed at having his moment ruined because of it. 

Taking in a ground breath, he lets it out in one ‘whoosh’ as he picks up the pace again. Now walking at a normal speed again, he absent mindedly scratches at his bandages as he looks around. 

Seeing so many people walking around outside, while still anxiety inducing, is something of a relief if he’s honest. If anything were to happen to him, if the cult were really lurking and stalking him, at least he’d might have some help in the form of bystanders. That is if they’d decide to attack or make a move in broad daylight against him. 

‘ Ah. I’m so quick to assume the worst..’ He can’t help but idly think to himself, blinking slowly as he mulls over his previous thoughts. 

It makes sense he’d be so cautious after it all, yet he can’t help but feel ridiculous when he thinks it all over. Maybe his time in the hospital had made him more paranoid, because he can’t recall being so quick to assume people were out to get him to the point he was grateful for being out and about because there would be witnesses. Seriously, that’s a leap even past him hadn’t made. 

Worriedly thinking about his mental health, he’s pulled out of it by his phone ringing in his pocket. The feeling of it makes him jolt slightly, not having expected it. Quickly shoving his bandaged hand into his pocket and taking it out, he blinks at the contact on the screen. 

‘ Slingshot..? Why’s he calling me?’ He tilts his head curiously at his phone, before mentally shrugging and accepting the call. Putting the phone to his ear, he hesitantly answers. 

“Ah… Uhm… Hello..?” Inwardly screaming at himself for how awkward and uncertain he sounds, his face heats up as he debates just hanging up out of embarrassment.

“Spatula?! Oh thank the Sword’s you answered! Where the hell are you?!?” Slingshot sounds hurried, on the edge of a panic attack as his voice shakes. From the other end he can briefly hear people talking furiously before going quiet after he speaks. 

“S..Slingshot?! What’s wrong??” He blinks to himself in surprise, a bit confused as to why Slingshot sounds so worried. “D-Did something happen?!” 

A million thoughts immediately flash through his mind, all of them having the same theme of the cult. Did it make a reappearance, except targeting his friends this time?? Did they find out somehow what happened to him and were disgusted by his actions?? Did someone get hurt, the cult coming after them?? 

All those thoughts are shattered by Slingshot's next words, the concern and exasperation in his voice palpable. 

“Yeah, we went to the hospital only to find you not there…”

“Ah…” His face flushes in embarrassment again, guilt blossoming in his gut. He hadn’t told anyone he was being discharged, didn’t wanna bother anyone.. However he didn’t expect them to visit him today either, especially Slingshot. 

“Where are you, Spat’??” There’s still a concerned note in the Phighter’s voice, though it’s not as frantic now knowing he’s just been discharged.

“Oh, well… Uhm..” He looks around quickly, not sure how to really explain his surroundings. After not finding any words to describe where he is, he just gives up. “I’m just on my way to my apartment.”

There’s some shuffling from the other end as Slingshot and whoever was with him talk, the words muffled and indescribable. After a beat he speaks up again, a hesitant note in his voice. 

“Would you mind if we came over..?” The real, unspoken question immediately flashes into Spatula’s mind. ‘Would you mind if I came over?’ is really what he’s asking. 

Just as quickly as he realizes that, he has an easy answer for his friend. 

“Oh, not at all really! T..Though I was planning on taking a shower once I got home… So maybe don’t come immediately..?” He tugs on the loose t-shirt he was wearing, feeling inordinately dirty after having been in the hospital for so long. 

He had taken baths and showers during his stay, but he never had felt fully clean afterwards. Some weird part of his brain crowing that he’d only be clean once he’d taken a shower at his apartment. It’s weird but he doesn’t mind the idea if he’s honest. 

There’s some movement on the other end, Spatula getting the mental image of Slingshot shuffling his feet from the noise. 

“Alright then.. Yeah that works with us, just let us know when we can come over!” He starts out uncertain, before gaining confidence by the end of the sentence. 

Spatula hums out an acknowledgement, before saying goodbye as they hang up. Letting his bandaged hand finally fall from his face, he briefly grimaces as his wounds and shoulder ache something fierce. Shoving his phone back into his pocket he continues on his way home, picking up the pace now that he technically has plans for the day. 

The sun hangs high in the sky, the earliest he’s been out and about. It’s kind of nice being out so early in the morning, even if it was completely involuntary. Though to be honest, he’s probably going to take a nap after his friends visit. He didn’t get a good amount of sleep the night before. 

Then again, he never really gets a good night's rest. Insomnia and anxiety don't make a good combination for restful sleep. Still, a nap would be nice now that he’s thinking about it…

Shaking his head to himself, he focuses back on the real world. He can see his apartment building now, the sight of it making him unconsciously pick up the pace. Even knowing nothing would’ve changed since he left, he can’t help but see his apartment and be back in it. Sparsely decorated it may be, it’ll be amazing to see. 

Speed walking into the building, he makes his way up the stairs ( immediately regretting it as his injured leg starts hurting) and to his apartment door. Unlocking it, he can’t help the smile that blooms on his face upon entering. 

The door closes behind him (with him absently locking it) as he steps further into his apartment. The whole place smells of dust, but he doesn’t mind one bit. Almost reflexively he goes to throw his spatula onto his only chair, only to freeze halfway through the motion. 

Immediately his good mood falters as he stares at his empty, outstretched hand. With everything going on, he had forgotten about his spatula… And what had happened with it. 

Logically he never truly forgot what happened to it, his right eye a constant reminder of that. However it hadn’t fully registered to him apparently, as he finds himself surprised and swamped with sadness and a longing for it as he stares at his hand. 

Clenching his hand into a fist, he furrows his brows to himself. The topic of his spatula… he doesn’t know what to think if he’s honest. It’s all so murky, seeped in delirium and a film, like he’s seeing the memories from a screen. One part of him is burnt, a wound he knows will never heal as it makes his very heart hurt painfully. 

The other half of him is the conflicted half, a sense of longing for the comfort it provided him, and yet he can’t help but feel fear and horror towards it as well. It is, after all, the thing that he used to blind himself in one eye and kill someone with. No matter how deserving their death was, killing another being like that leaves an awful taste in his mouth. 

Yet the topic also brings another to his mind, the reason why he’s still staring at his fist. If his memory is correct, he remembers that Inphernals should be able to summon their Gear’s.

He doesn’t know how it works exactly, seeing as he only had a Gear for a couple minutes at most, but he wonders… If he tried to summon his Gear, would it summon the broken spatula or the bow??

‘ Well… There’s no harm in trying.. No one is around to see anyways..’ Closing his eyes, he opens his outstretched hand and does his best to imagine his Gear in it, not imagining the bow or the spatula. 

Of course that doesn’t work, though he can feel some part of his soul reaching out. It’s a weird sensation, like he’s stretching his arms or legs. Tentatively he imagines reaching out and grasping at the bow first, deciding to just bite the bullet and not beat around it. 

A sudden weight in his hand has him opening his eyes, blinking as the golden bow glimmers in the sunlight streaming in from his kitchen window. Curling his fingers around it, he can’t help but stare at it for a moment in awe. 

It’s truly something up close, the intricate carvings on it and the shimmering gold it’s made of. It’s absolutely breathtaking if he’s honest, though it’s been tainted by what it was originally used for. It’s cool to the touch as well, and while it’s quite heavy he had expected it to be much heavier, seeing as what it’s made of. 

Walking over to his only chair, he tentatively places it down on the cushion, taking a step back and staring at it. Honestly he wasn’t quite expecting it to appear like that, considering he had absolutely no idea what he was doing when he tried ‘tying his soul’ to it. Seriously, he doesn’t know what to do with it now, past him not exactly thinking too deeply on it when he stabbed himself in the eye. 

Frowning slightly to himself, he stares at it for a second longer before shaking his head. He closes his eyes again and outstretches an arm, hand open with his palm up. If he can summon the bow, then surely he can summon what remains of his spatula, right..? 

He reaches out again, a twinge of pain shooting through his body as he does so. Imagining himself reaching out and grabbing his spatula, he can’t help but cry out in agony even as he feels the two pieces of it in his hand. 

Blood begins streaming from his nose as he drops the two pieces and clamps his hand over his mouth. Stabbing pain laces all over his body, like he’s being stabbed with needles over his entire body over and over again. A migraine immediately forms as well, the already dim lighting of his apartment digging into his brain. 

Tears spring to his eye as he vaguely feels blood trickling out of his bandages. All of his burns feel like they’re fresh, the searing pain from them not helping at all. The pain is so intense and all consuming he’s frozen to the spot as he stands there, unable to move due to it. 

It lasts for a couple seconds, though it feels like minutes to him. Finally the all consuming pain relents and fades away. The migraine dulls a bit, still there but not as intense as before, as his wounds feel raw under the bandages. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he glances down slowly at the two pieces of his spatula a tad warily. 

They rest innocently on the ground, the sight of them not causing the pain to come back luckily. Everything seems to be fine now, though he can guess that whatever binds him to the broken Gear didn’t exactly like when he summoned it. 

Very carefully he leans down and picks them up, body tensing as he does so. As he grips the two pieces tightly, he slowly relaxes as no new pain suddenly assaults him. Straightening up, he inspects the two halves of the spatula with a clear head. It was broken in the exact middle of it, one half completely the handle and the other the head of the spatula. 

It was broken rather jaggedly, the ends of both pieces sharp and, as he knows, capable of hurting someone if they aren’t careful. As he holds both halves it also slightly seems like the material of it changed. No longer such a cheap plastic of a mass produced spatula, it’s now closer to metal in feeling. Guess being an actual Gear made it more unique… 

Shaking his head slightly, he throws the two halves onto the chair with the bow. Letting out a quiet sigh, he carefully shuffles and makes his way over to his bathroom, being careful as his body still is recovering from the pain. 

Entering his bathroom, he closes and locks the door behind him, well aware it’s only him in his apartment right now ( though… the shadow in the corner of his eye and the feeling of eyes on him would say otherwise.) . Looking at himself in his bathroom mirror, he tilts his head ever so slightly, watching his reflection do so as well. 

He hadn’t had a chance to really take in his appearance at the hospital. Not only due to his er… Interesting mental state, but also because any time he was in the bathroom bathing or showering he was sort of watched over by the staff, making sure his bandages were put on correctly afterwards. There weren't a lot of opportunities for him to stare at himself with and without the bandages on. 

Now in the comfort of his own apartment, he can afford to gawk at himself in the mirror. Seeing the extent of his bandages makes him shocked he was even discharged. It looks as if he’s just covered in bandages, which isn’t quite off honestly. 

Shucking off his t-shirt first, the bandages wrapping around his body really complete the look of a vulnerable demon. Seriously, he’s surprised he was let home like this, though he knows his wounds aren’t as bad as the bandages would make one think. 

With careful fingers, he carefully begins undoing the bandages on his head, closing his eyes as he does so. He always found it easier when undoing his facial bandages to close his eyes and then opening them together, helped keep him from getting a huge headache due to the difference in vision. 

As the bandages unwind, he ever so slowly peeks his eyes open, halfway expecting some sort of extra pain from his eye. His vision is majorly blurry in his right eye, both just in general and due to it being wrapped up for so long. Blinking a bit, a wave of vertigo and nausea washes over him as he stares at himself in the mirror. 

His right eye, it’s completely changed. The doctors and nurses had commented before on how it looked, little things about how it actually looks rather cool.. However he had thought they were just trying to lift his spirits by telling him that. Yet as he stares at it in the mirror, he can’t help but concede that it is pretty cool. 

Instead of what anime and shows would have him believe, his eye isn’t blanked out and white to show he’s blind in it. No, instead it reminds him of a bird's eye, the bright yellow piercing. It, ironically, makes him look like he can actually see better out of it, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

He shakes his head slowly at himself, letting out a puff of air amusedly. As much as he wasn’t expecting it to look like that, he assumes it’s probably due to his new Gear. Probably a physical showing of his binding with it. 

Instead he focuses on the burnt skin around it, grimacing at how nasty it looks. It’s certainly healing, but it’s not exactly a pleasant sight to see. The doctors had reapplied medicine onto his wounds, so all he really has to do now is let them breathe for a bit while he showers. 

He throws away the used bandages, getting out a roll from under his sink that he had impulsively bought the first week he spent in this new world. Placing the roll on the counter, he finishes undressing, sitting down on his toilet and keeping his injured foot elevated as he carefully pulls back his shower curtains. This was always the most annoying part, having to basically manhandle the shower head as he can’t exactly go standing or walking on his exposed burns. 

Then again he can’t complain too much, the burns don’t wrap all the way around his foot, just the heel of it. It could’ve been way worse. 

Shaking his head at himself, he finagles his shower head from where he sits, slightly regretting the fact he didn’t just turn it on while he was up and standing. Hindsight and all that, not exactly his strong suit. 

Finally though he gets it turned on, and he’s able to pull it away from the wall. For a moment he just holds it there, staring as the cold water slowly streams out of it, the intensity low. He laments how wet this is going to make his bathroom, and curses the fact it’s not built around those who need to sit down to shower. He’s absolutely looking online for some sort of bathtub seat or something after all this. 

Accepting his fate, he points the shower head at the uninjured parts of his body. The cool water makes him simultaneously shiver and let out a pleased sigh, his burns still making him feel uncomfortably hot all over. Since he can’t use his injured hand to help wet his entire body, he just sort of carefully points the shower head at every part he can reach with his one arm. 

It makes his already tense shoulder tense up even more, an ache slowly building as he quickly wets himself. Desperately he wants to just bask in the cool water, but he knows if he sits there for as long as he wants not only will his bathroom be flooded, but his shoulder would surely give out. So instead he hurries to wet himself, clean himself ( 15-in-1 soap coming in handy) , and wash it off. 

Quickly, yet carefully, he fumbles and puts the shower head back on the wall, turning it off as soon as he does so. The floor is wet under his feet, the puddle of water that had gathered beneath his toilet making him grimace. He reaches over to the towels on the rack next to his shower, throwing them down and watching hopelessly as they almost get soaked through. 

Somehow he gets the feeling someone is laughing at his misfortune, the still-persistent feeling of eyes on him not helping that. 

Letting out a bedraggled sigh, he sits there for a moment as the towels ever so slowly suck up the rest of the water on the floor. After a moment he carefully leans down and wipes off his uninjured hand on one. Once it’s dry, he quickly gets to work in unrolling the roll of bandages he put on the counter. 

Since he wasn’t able to dry his hair off, he leaves his facial wounds exposed as he carefully bandages what he can. The same applies to his chest wounds, the uninjured side very much so still wet. He’s able to bandage his arm and leg however, which he counts as a win. 

Staggering up, bracing himself against the wall with his uninjured hand, he carefully hobbles over the wet floor on one leg, making sure to not get the other one wet. He hobbles over to the bathroom door, which he immediately opens and hobbles out of. The closet with his towels is to the left of the door luckily, not too far away, so he makes his way towards it as fast as he can, which is much easier since the floor is dry outside the bathroom. 

He gathers as many towels out of the closet as he can, before throwing them down onto the bathroom floor. By the time he feels like he doesn’t need any more towels to soak up the water, you can barely see the floor from how many are piled up. 

Huffing to himself about a job ( sort of) well done, he takes out one last towel and walks back into his bathroom. Drying the rest of his body off carefully, he finishes bandaging himself. For a moment he debates re-bandaging his face, before deciding it might be a good idea to get used to looking out of his right eye as well and leaving it alone. 

From there he takes a while drying up the rest of his floor, wielding the towels he took out like a sword and shield. Some parts he was unable to reach with his initial assault of throwing towels in the room, behind the toilet being the most prominent. 

He manages, though, to actually dry everything off sufficiently. A lot of towels actually got soaked through as he applied pressure to them, making him grimace with both regret and annoyance. He throws those ones into a pile next to the bathroom door, to be hung up or wrung out. The rest are only mildly wet, he hangs those ones up on the shower curtain, too many to just hang on the towel rack. 

Very quickly he steps out of his bathroom and bee-lines it into his bedroom to find a fresh pair of clothes. As he looks through his dresser for something comfy to wear, he swears he can almost hear laughter in his ears. 

He narrows his eyes, glancing briefly at the shadow in the corner of them that he’d been stubbornly ignoring…

Only to almost jump out of his skin due to how it looks in his right eye. He wasn’t even aware he could see it with that eye, considering all he can really see with it are the vaguest of shapes and colors. Still he wasn’t expecting to see an actual face where the shadow is. 

The eyes are bleeding out of the being’s skull, a scorn filled frown full of sharp teeth directly at him. Blood is trickling out the side of its mouth, a steady stream of black . 

One blink, however, and suddenly it’s gone, like it was never there in the first place. 

Spatula’s heart races, breath speeding up as his eyes dart across his room. He can't see the shadow in his vision again, and his right eye is back to being virtually useless once more. The feeling of eyes on him persists however, and he can’t help but wonder ( not for the first time) if he was actually going crazy. 

He had thought it a trick of the light or his vision, the shadow in the corner of his eye. It had never been like… That . God he’s seeing things now isn’t he?? Something in him must’ve been broken and now he’s seeing something along with his paranoia. 

His whole body shakes, not only from the fright but also with his nerves as his mind races anxiously. He can’t help the way his eyes continuously dart around, unable to focus on anything as he desperately tries to prove to himself that he isn’t hallucinating, that he’s mentally sound. 

Shucking on a loose t-shirt and sweats, he almost runs out of his bedroom and to his bathroom, seeking out the nearest distraction. He scoops up the wet towels by the door and begins wringing them out, doing his best to just focus on the repetitive motion and the sound of the water being wrung out. 

He’s not sure how successful he is in distracting himself, his mind going a bit quiet yet his eyes still unable to sit still and focus on something. It doesn’t help with the baseline nausea of having his right eye uncovered. For a couple seconds he has to stop as he throws up a little in his mouth, before he forces himself to wring out the remaining towels again. 

As the last of the towels are wrung out, he sits there for a moment staring at them all, body swaying slightly. Blinking to himself harshly and standing up, he finally leaves his bathroom for the moment, not having the mental energy to actually put away the towels properly. He trudges out into his living room, picking up his phone from where he had haphazardly thrown it. Once he has it, he painstakingly makes his way into his bedroom, brain all fuzzy. 

Whether it's due to the scare he had or his anxiety, he can’t help but feel completely off… Or maybe he’s more shaken up over the idea of going insane than he wants to believe. 

The thought of going insane from it all, seeing things in the corners of his eyes and whispers in his mind, the persistent staring of eyes from nowhere staring at him. It scares him, he’s afraid of what will become of him if he actually is going insane. Would it invalidate what he experienced in the cult?? Oh God, worse, what if he actually seeks out  the cultists in his insanity and encourages them to worship him?! 

His breath picks up as he makes his way into his bedroom. The eyes on him, he gets the strangest feeling that they’re amused by his reaction, though he quickly dismisses that sensation. That only feeds into the insanity, he tells himself as he flops down onto his bed. Staring up at his ceiling and doing his best to ignore what his racing thoughts are telling him as well as the eyes, he turns on his phone and opens his messaging app. 

Spatula

“ Sorry for taking so long

Would you guys mind coming a bit later? 

I’m going to try and take a nap.”

Slingshot

“ oh! 

no worries dude, you rest up we can wait to come over :)” 

With that taken care of, he turns off his phone and lets out a heavy sigh. To be honest, he really isn’t going to actually sleep now. The idea was nice before, but the scare still sits heavily in his mind, plus his wounded face and horn are still unbandaged right now. It wouldn’t exactly be good if he turned over on his sleep and slept on it. 

No, right now his goal is to instead just lay there and calm his mind… Or disassociate if you wanna use fancy terms. 

His gaze goes fuzzy as he zones out, the monotone color of his ceiling the only thing he can see clearly as he lets his mind wander. His body relaxes, the tension he had been carrying from it all seeping slowly out of him. The only thing left is the ache in his shoulders and wounds, the dull sting of his burns registering now that he’s doing nothing. 

The shadow in the corner of his eye sits there, the gaze on him turning from amused to scornful as he loses track of time.

The new appearance of Spatula

Chapter Text

A hiss escaped his lips as he stretched in bed, muscles tired and screaming at him to just stay laying down, to sleep for another 8 hours. However the blaring sound of multiple notifications from his phone has him prying open his eyes and rising from his bed. Gravity weighs heavily on him as he does so, bandages ruffled from sleep, the burn wounds under them pulsing with pain. 

Fatigue weighed on him, his shoulders slouching as he blinked for a moment at his blanket, brain booting up slowly. When he felt relatively awake enough to comprehend things more he shuffled out of bed carefully. Rubbing his face, he stumbles over to his dresser and grabs his still-buzzing phone. 

Multiple text messages from different people, all coming in in a flurry. He blinks at them a bit dumbly, brain still waking up, before he actually registers what he’s seeing. A fond smile makes its way onto his face as he unlocks his phone, a breath escaping him as the messages keep pouring in. 

He taps on the first chat on his list, reading idly at all the messages that were sent. Almost 100 messages at this point, Chocolate Milk not sparing any time to start messaging him. Seemingly from when they first woke up to now, his friend hasn’t stopped messaging him. 

It makes him roll his eyes, fondly exasperated with their antics. They’ve been like this since he got back to CrossRoad’s so he isn’t surprised, but he can still be amused seeing their mother-henning. 

However as his phone continues to buzz with notifications from the others, he decides to read through the other messages before he responds to anyone else. He taps off of Milk’s dm’s, moving onto the next one. 

It’s an ill-used chat, one he’s surprised had any activity today considering the last time he talked to Katana was in person days ago. He was halfway certain the Phighter didn’t even have a phone, it would fit his whole vibe he’s got going on. For him to be messaging him, Katana must have something important to say. 

Opening his chat with the masked Phighter, he reads over the words, eyebrows raised. He had prepared himself for something serious, maybe they needed his help or something happened with the other Phighters that Katana was telling him about. Instead he’s just asking after him, very formally and grammatically correct, as well as offering an ear to listen to any of his woes. 

It’s strange, but also he appreciates the effort Katana is putting in to actually ask about him. The guy was all about subtly caring, at least as far as he was aware and remembered, so going out of his way to actually ask him how he was doing and offering to listen to him was something else. Might’ve been Vinestaff’s suggestion or influence, to be honest. Either way he appreciates it. 

Closing out of those messages, he goes through and checks his other messages for anything interesting or of note. There’s a message from Punk telling him that the Boss is expecting him back next week, one from CG asking him if he’s still up to hang out today, and one from a group chat he’s in with Slingshot, Shuriken, Vinestaff, and Boombox.

The only two other messages to get his eye are from Spork and Shib. The latter is kind of ranting in their dms, regaling him with what happened after she went back to her old group. Apparently not a lot of them had any empathy for her escaping a cult relatively unscathed, which doesn’t surprise him but still makes him frown. 

They bullied her before, he knows, due to her preference for a partner. However this seems like a new low for them, not even caring that she came back from an actual, dangerous situation and used to be their friend. Shib told him enough how long she used to be with them, the rare talks he’d stumble into by accident with her revealing that. 

Which, side note, he’s honestly so baffled how much he was able to learn about three demons in just one week. He knows about CG, Shib, and Spork’s individual er… Trauma, just from being around them. He was always the friend people vented too in his past life, it seems like it carried over into this new one of his. 

Shaking his head at himself, he moves onto his last unread messages of the morning, before he starts answering anyone else’s. 

Tapping onto Spork’s dms, he isn’t surprised to see how many messages he sent him. A lot of them were just cat photos from the morning, when his two cats woke up and were looking especially cute. Then it transitioned into him asking after him, before realizing he would still be asleep by now. From there Spork just started talking about his day, sending him updates on what he was doing. 

It’s not anything special or serious, however he finds himself going over each and every message, truly taking in the words. 

Between the three demons he got to know over his week with the cult, Spork was the one he both got the closest with and feels the closest with. Maybe it was due to the fact he sought him out at the bus stop specifically, or maybe it was due to Spork’s charisma. Either way, he feels a connection with Spork, one deeper and more… Tangible than with CG and Shib, more than just his bond with Milk and Punk as well. 

Then again, that could just be all him, in his head. He hasn’t actually talked to Spork about any of this, hasn’t really gotten the impression that he feels the same. Though he also doesn’t know how he would be able to tell that in the first place… 

Just as he’s thinking to himself, mind drifting as he stares at the messages Spork sent him, his phone suddenly buzzes with an incoming call. The sound and sensation of his phone vibrating in his hands almost has him throwing the darn thing, before he gets his wits about him. 

Letting out a sigh, he looks at the caller Id, before accepting the call. 

“Spatula! I saw you read my messages and knew you were up hehe… Still coming to the hangout today?” Spork’s energetic voice simultaneously has Spatula feeling more tired and more relaxed. 

He doesn’t know how the cat lover has this much energy in the morning, but he can’t say he’s against it. A chuckle escapes him, unbidden.

“Ah… I was just gonna respond to some messages before getting ready. I’m still up to hang with everyone if it’s still on.” As he says that he opens up his dresser and takes out some fresh clothes for the day. 

There’s some shuffling on the other end of the phone, a loud meow making its way to Spatula, along with a quiet shush from Spork. 

“Ah-Yeah it’s still on! We were just waiting for confirmation from you, man.” There’s some more rustling and some cooing from Spork as he, assumedly, pets one of his cats. 

Spatula snickers again, keeping the phone up to his ear as he makes his way into his bathroom with his clean clothes.

“Yea, I’m still up for it. More importantly, who’s on the other end with you?” 

“Oh you could hear that?” Spork sounds surprised, but not embarrassed, to be caught talking to his cat. The sound of food hitting a bowl echoes over the line as he continues. “It’s Muffins here, they saw the food bowl empty and just couldn’t stand it.” 

There’s a satisfied sounding meow on the other end of the line, and then some exasperated-but-fond chuckling from Spork. 

“Yet they never stay to actually eat any of it..” 

“You're starving them, Spork, they just gotta make sure you're doing your job.” He teases back, roughly taking off his pajama pants and putting on a clean pair of pants. It’s much harder to do with one arm than he thought it would be. “Poor little guy is probably sooo skinny due to how little they eat…” 

Spork snorts on the other side, a smile audible in his voice.

“If you call being a big baby skinny now, then sure. Muffins is soooo skinny.” 

“Hey, they’re skinny in spirit!!” He says mock seriously, only to immediately break down into snickers at himself. On the phone, Spork joins him in his laughter, spurred on by the sounds of his wheezing. 

The two continue talking back and forth, with Spatula taking a backseat happily while Spork rambles on. He responds every now and then, still engaged with the conversation, but honestly he’s more than content to just continue listening as his friend moves from topic to topic with no real goal. The minutes fly by as they continue talking, with both none-the-wiser, the phones not leaving the side of their faces. 

Spatula’s on his fifth aimless walk around his apartment, idly inspecting one of the many plants in his living room when he looks up at the clock on the wall. The pixel numbers on the clock make him blink in shock, the hand he was using to look at a leaf falling to his side. 

“Oh crap, Spork we’ve been talking for over an hour… Again.” He interrupts Spork unintentionally, basically blurting out the words and making his friend trail off a bit. 

Spork lets out an embarrassed laugh on the other end of the line, some muffled noises coming from it.

“Ah, yeahhh…. I was wondering when you were going to notice, to be honest.”

“Pfft? Dude, you know I’m so oblivious. Would’ve taken me ages to notice if not for the clock on my wall.” He walks away from his plants, looking idly at the snowglobes lined up on shelves on his wall. “Shoulda said something sooner, we still have to go and meet up with everyone to hang out, y'know?" 

“Oh shoot….” Spork sounds sheepish, which makes Spatula smirk. 

“You forgot didn’t you?” His tone is smug as he teases his friend, making his way over to his kitchen and eyeing the succulents hanging in front of the window. “Karmaaaa~”

“Oh shush you.” His friend chuckles, a meow and a very faint ‘mrrp?’ coming from the other end. “Alright, but we should really get going now… Didn’t you say you had some messages to respond to?” 

Spatula blinks, having genuinely forgotten about all of the messages that woke him up this morning with how long he and Spork talked. 

“….I’m just gonna hang up now before I forget to respond to them again… Or you distract me, heh.” He hears Spork break out into laughter, managing to say a breathless ‘okay’. He can’t help but start chuckling again before he makes good on his word and finally hangs up. 

As he puts his phone away, the light coming into his kitchen seems to be brighter. Spork has that effect on him though, making the world seem just that much brighter. A stubborn smile refuses to leave his face as he makes himself a quick meal and responds to his other friends. 

There’s a fluttery feeling in his chest as he does so, one he absentmindedly brushes off. Clicking on to his dm’s with Chocolate Milk, he forgets the feeling altogether. 

It takes him a while before he finally stops responding to his friends, most conversations fizzling out or one of his friends stops replying. Putting his phone down on his kitchen counter, he lets out a quiet breath and stretches. He puts some bread in his toaster and takes this moment to look around his apartment. 

It’s not super decorated, he always got stumped on what to decorate his rooms with when he was a human. If it wasn’t his current interests or collections filling his room, he had no idea what else to buy. The fact he was always worried about spending too much money, even now, didn’t help at all. 

When he got his apartment, after managing to cobble together a believable backstory for himself, he didn’t know what to do with all the room he suddenly had. He only had his room in his past life, so suddenly having all these different rooms to fill was daunting. 

He eventually did fill the place up, but lord did it take a while before he got to where he was. The first thing he did to brighten up his place and make it more lively was get plants, which also was how he met Vinestaff. 

Most of the fics he read in his past life about isekai-ing into the Inpherno all had the SI going to Slingshot’s, so he was kind of surprised and wasn’t really expecting to run into Vinestaff first. It really just helped hammer home the fact that this whole world is real, not a fanfic or a game. 

He was kind of surprised with himself, he had always thought it weird that self inserts had such a hard time thinking of their new reality as… Well, reality. That moment, when he met Vinestaff for the first time, really just highlighted how easy it was to unconsciously fall into that mindset. 

Vinestaff will never know she helped him with that, but he was and still is eternally grateful to her for giving him that wake up call. He knew there was a reason she was his favorite Phighter, aside from just his preference for plants. 

A sudden ‘ding!’ startles him out of his thoughts, making him blink harshly. His toast peeks out of his toaster, steaming slightly from the heat it took to cook it. Carefully he takes the two pieces of toast and quickly places them on a plate, buttering them swiftly before they can cool down. 

Grabbing his plate he turns around and sits down at his small kitchen table, the orchid on it blooming brilliantly. It makes his quick dinner seem more grandiose than it actually is, though the sight of it blooming has another smile spreading over his face. 

He scarfs down the toast, savoring the simplicity of it. Different world, but toast always stays the same. 

As he finishes his quick breakfast, Spatula puts his plate into his sink and picks up his phone from the counter. He stuffs it into his pants pocket and gets ready for the hangout. Putting on his shoes, lacing them up, he checks his phone one last time to make sure he remembers where the group is meeting up. 

Slingshot’s cafe, of course he’d never forget it but he’s always gotta double check just in case. Hopefully the others haven’t been waiting too long, while there was a time frame thrown around nothing concrete was said. When he arrives he’ll be within the timeframe, but who knows how long the others have been there. 

Shaking his head at himself and rolling his eyes at his own antics, he grabs his keys from next to his door and finally leaves his apartment. Locking the door behind him and shoving his keys into his pocket, Spatula makes the short walk over to the cafe. 

The sun shines down on him, warming his cool skin not covered in bandages. His burns pulse slightly with pain, warming to an uncomfortable degree with the heat from the sun. Still it’s easy to ignore, the burns don’t wrap around his whole body luckily. 

Really he had just gotten entirely luckily just overall with the entire situation and what happened, when he thinks about it. Following a sketchy flier to an even sketchier place was not his brightest moment, all things considered. 

Things could’ve gone so much worse than they actually did, the whole thing a much more serious thing than he took it. For all the good that came out of it, his new friends and new Gear, he could’ve gone about it more smartly. Just going after vaguely telling his friends in CrossRoad’s what he was going to do isn’t the most well thought out plan. 

The cult was much more developed than he thought, and his ‘plan’ of just going there and investigating quickly turned sour. The amount of demons convinced to join the cult, or to give it a try was honestly staggering to see. He was honestly impressed so many had decided to give it a chance, considering how obvious the flier was. They must’ve been curious like him as well. 

Anyways, point is, he’s lucky to have only gotten away with some burns on his torso and on his right hand. He knows CG was stabbed pretty good for a moment before he was able to swoop in and help, leading to them needing to be careful with how they move. His burns are nothing in comparison. 

Though if he’s really going to attribute what happened to anything, he really should be thanking Ghostwalker… 

Spatula lets out a hum as he contemplates it, before blinking as he spots the cafe ahead of him. Destination in view, he picks up the pace with a small smile on his face. 

The bell above the door jingles as he opens it, a small smattering of just normal customers milling around and enjoying what they got. Gathered in a corner by the windows are Spatula's friends, the energetic voice of Chocolate Milk easily heard throughout the cafe. 

Before he goes over to them, however, he spares a smile and a nod to the still working Slingshot, who shoots one back at him. Looks like the ranged Phighter took one for the team and is working today while the others hang out. 

With that he makes his way to his friends, the smile on his face growing a bit as he starts to hear more of their conversation as he approaches. As he comes closer, Punk raises an eyebrow and tilts her head ever so slightly in greeting to him, far too amused with the current conversation to interrupt it. Vinestaff next to her shoots him a smile in greeting, looking fondly exasperated as Shuriken passionately speaks with Milk. 

“…and then they had the balls to blame it on me! Like I wanted for their whole stand to get randomly demolished by someone!” He throws up his hands, looking genuinely peeved as his sister rolls her eyes at him, clearly having heard this story before already. 

Milk shakes their head, eyes closed with an exaggerated frown on their face. 

“That’s ridiculous. I can get wanting to find something to blame, but someone just standing near them?? At least find something more believable…” 

“EXACTLY! It doesn’t make any sense! I hadn’t even stolen anything before it got destroyed!” Shuriken crosses his arms across his chest, nodding at his own words and seemingly ignoring or simply not seeing the surprised look on Milk’s face. 

“Wait, wha-“ Their question is immediately cut off, as Shuriken had turned around and caught sight of Spatula standing near the group. 

“Oh shoot! Spatula you're here!!” A wide, toothy smile blooms across his face as he excitedly waves Spatula closer. “Come sit down dude!”

Spatula lets out an amused huff, internally shaking his head fondly at Shuriken’s actions. It’s just like him to casually drop something shocking in a conversation, only to then act like he hadn’t said anything all that weird and move on. Seeing the slightly gobsmacked look on Milk’s face, however, he can’t help but play along and help Shuriken move along the conversation. 

He moves closer, sliding into an unoccupied seat by Vinestaff (shooting her another smile).

“Just got here, sorry for the wait guys.” 

“You're all good, Spat’! We gotta wait for Katana and our Playground friends anyways.” Almost as if in reflex, Milk immediately reassures him, momentarily forgetting their surprise… Only to immediately remember it, spinning around and facing Shuriken abruptly. “But wait, what was that-“ 

“Katana said he’ll join us later, that he had some personal business to attend to beforehand.” Vinestaff interjects next to Spatula, swirling around her glass of water absent-mindedly. 

“Sounds about right, I thought he might have something else going on.” Shuriken nods to himself as Milk sputters next to him. 

“H-Hold on, guys..! Is no one else going to-!”

“It probably has something to do with Ghostwalker honestly.” Punk suddenly chimes in, taking a brief sip of her chai tea before continuing on. “He doesn’t want to run the risk of meeting old Ghosty if he shows up.”

Spatula blinks a bit at her words, looking over at Punk from across Vinestaff, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Wait, did you guys invite Ghostwalker too..?” 

Vinestaff and Shuriken glance at each other as the group ignores the still sputtering Milk. The former gives Spatula a strained but genuine smile, while Punk answers him. 

“Oh these two didn’t..” She takes a long sip of her chai tea, the only sound other than her sipping the protests of Milk to address what Shuriken said. “I invited him. Myself.” 

Spatula blinks a couple of times, genuinely at a loss for words due to how surprised he is. He knew Punk could be just as, if not more, spontaneous and chaotic as Chocolate Milk, but he hadn’t expected this. Generally her and the others tended to shy away from his connection with Ghostwalker, not wanting to really bring it up or mention it. 

For her to actually go out of her way to invite him, speak to him herself.. He doesn’t know what to say to that, just completely lost for words. The group descends into silence for a moment, with even Chocolate Milk not speaking. 

As the silence drags on, no one is certain of how to move past the landmine that always is Ghostwalker. Just as it looks like Punk is about to speak again, Milk lets out a huge sigh. 

“Oh Punk….” There’s a fond note to their voice, even as they shake their head at her…. Before they suddenly got a serious expression on their face, sobering up the group slightly. “But…”

They close their eyes, a hand clenched into a fist next to their side as they let the silence sit for a moment. When they open their eyes again, their serious gaze is focused on one demon: Shuriken. 

“Okay what did you mean by that last-?!” 

The chime of the bell above the cafe door interrupts them, making Milk throw their hands above their head in exaggerated frustration. As Vinestaff and Punk snicker at their antics, Spatula looks past them to the door, to see who entered. 

Immediately he perks up, snapping upwards out of the slouch he had unconsciously fallen into as a wide grin stretches across his face. Excitedly waving an arm at them, he beckons the trio that came in over. 

“Shib, CG, Spork! Over here!” He doesn’t even attempt to hide how excited he is, his voice getting louder until he’s almost yelling by the end of his sentence. 

It gets their attention quickly, though, so he can’t find it in himself to actually be embarrassed by how loud he’s being. The trio make their way to the group, Spork speed walking ahead of Shib and CG with a smile on his face that matches Spatula’s. As he sits down next to him, Spatula sees some looks being thrown around between his friends. 

He can’t exactly decipher what those looks mean, so he just shrugs them off and turns his full attention to his best friend, the smile on his face unconsciously growing. 

“Surprised you made it on time considering how long we were talking!” He bumps his shoulder against Spork’s, getting a nudge back as his friend playfully rolls his eyes. 

“I could say the same to you, Spat’. Especially with how forgetful you are, I’m shocked you didn’t forget the hangout entirely.” A mischievous smile spreads over Spork’s face as he says this, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as Spatula huffs dramatically.

“Wow, can you guys see this? This is grade-A bullying right here!” He dramatically points at Spork’s unrepentant face, giving his other friends a pitiful look as he does so. 

“You’ll live.” Is Punk’s cold response, a smile on her face as Vinestaff giggles into her hand next to her. 

Spatula clutches his chest as if he’d been wounded, putting a hand on his forehead and fake swooning. 

“Betrayal!! Complete and utter betrayal, how could you guys do this to me, my friends…” The group breaks out into snickers and chuckles at his performance, making him huff out a breath of laughter at himself. 

There’s amused looks thrown the groups way from the customers sitting at their tables, their looks making him stop joking around. His face flushes a bit in embarrassment as he remembers they’re out in public. He had briefly forgotten there were others aside from his friends here with Spork’s appearance. 

Sliding down in his seat, face still a bright red, he clears his throat and does his best to get the attention off of him. 

“A-Anyways… How are Muffins and Cupcake, Spork?” At his question, Spork perks up immediately, pulling out his wallet that’s overflowing with cat pictures. 

“I’m so glad you asked, man. I got some absolutely adorable photos to show you from Penguin over the week!” He starts rolling out the photos, sifting through the veritable mount of cat pics he has to find the ones he wants to show Spatula. 

As he does so, Shuriken leans over and watches him, a curious look on his face. 

“How do you have this many photos of just two cats??”

“I make sure to keep a camera on me, so I can snap a picture anytime the two of them are being cute!” Spork puffs his chest out in pride, not at all embarrassed for his love of his cats. 

His confidence makes Spatula sigh, a fond smile on his face. Spork’s confidence in what he loved was something he had always admired and appreciated. The guy had no problem just rambling on to any who asked about what he liked, seemingly uncaring if the other person actually cared or was listening. 

A nudge to his side has him blinking out of his thoughts, making him realize he had been staring at Spork. With a slight blush on his face, he turns to see who nudged him. Vinestaff shoots him a smile, amusement etched onto her face for some reason. He raises an eyebrow at her in confusion, getting a shake of her head and some chuckles out of her. 

“Have you been taking care of your plants, Spatula?” 

The time flies by, the sky turning a light blue as the sun hangs high up in it. Before he knew it, they had been sitting there for a couple of hours, just chatting and idly ordering drinks and sweets. Occasionally Slingshot would come over when the shop was slow, chatting mainly with Shuriken and Vinestaff. 

He wasn’t really friends with the larger group, another difference between his reality and the fanfics. Though it’s not that Spatula didn’t try to become friends with the Phighter, wanting to just get to actually know the demon outside of the game. It always fell through, however, the vibes never really clicked between the two of them. It’s a shame, he really would’ve liked to actually get to know Slingshot. 

You can’t force friendship, though, so Spatula stopped trying after Slingshot shot down another attempt to hang out. He still hung out with the group, mainly on the outskirts, as he was always welcomed to join. 

Anyways, by the time the group had realized how much time had passed by, the sun would be soon to set. Exchanging goodbyes with Slingshot, the group finally left the cafe and started walking around CrossRoad’s. Along with not having a set time, there wasn’t a set reason why the group had decided to hangout. 

There wasn’t any place they were walking towards, the group just aimlessly and slowly walking through the commercial areas of CrossRoad’s. They were just out to enjoy each other's company, enjoying and basking in the fact that everyone was there and okay. 

It wasn’t long now that Spork, Shib, CG, and himself, Spatula, had been let out of the hospital and from questioning by the Sword’s and police. It’s only been a couple of weeks of freedom, enough to get their bearings but still short enough it still felt novel to be out and away from it all. How chaotic it was and how it went down didn’t help that feeling, making the one week they spent in that cult feel more like one month instead. 

As the group continues to aimlessly walk around talking, Spatula can’t help but stare at the ground and absently follow behind as his mind is pulled away from the present. Like a siren song, he can’t help but return to the memories of what happened and just how close he was to losing so much.

The cult had exposed its true intentions rather quickly, all things considered. Midway through the week, on Wednesday, they started really selling their agenda and trying to get the recruits to be interested in it. Only two demons took the offer, looking both actually curious and suspicious of it all. 

Spatula didn’t take the bait, he was tempted to go with them and get an inside look at how it operated but…. 

He remembered what Spork said at that moment, and he figured he’d be better off sneaking around while the cultists were focused on the class. It was still pretty dangerous, especially since he went off on his own without Spork, but he found a lot of interesting things. 

For one, the whole cult was absolutely Greek, one focused on a specific goddess. It was hard to actually make out which goddess they were worshipping, with changes made to them fit within the Inpherno. Especially since each demon is agender, it took him a bit to actually realize it was a goddess they were worshipping. 

His best guess? Artemis, goddess of the hunt. It follows the whole deer motif the cult had subtly going on. 

Once he realized he was dealing with an actual living goddess, Spatula knew he was far over his head. The fact that the Greek gods and goddess were real was surprising to him, though thinking further on it, it made sense. He’s no historian, especially for the Inpherno, but a lot of people from Before speculated and thought humans came before the Inphernals. 

If humans came before, then wouldn’t it just make sense so did a lot of their religions, cultures, and history? 

Perhaps in this world the various human religions were much more tangible than in his previous one. Really makes one wonder: What good is a god or goddess with no followers? 

Internally shaking his head at himself, Spatula focuses on what happened at the end of the week instead, fists unconsciously clenching at his sides. Just as he had thought, the whole group was in over their heads with a real goddess heading the cult. Luckily for the others, his presence there was actually a good thing for once. 

Maybe it was due to the shock of having a real Gear, or maybe it was just because he’s inherently different from other Inphernals, Spatula was able to resist whatever mind controlling the Deity had. He was able to knock everyone out of it, stealing the Gear of the demon next to him to temporarily make some noise and startle everyone. The loud noise startled and broke what spell they had been put under. 

From there, chaos had ensued, with the demons quickly realizing that they were about to be sacrificed like lambs to the slaughter. They fought back against the cultists, Inphernals never one to just lie down and die without putting up a fight. It was looking a bit bleak, even with the poor unfortunate souls actually being able to gain ground and push back. Spatula knew, however, that if the Deity were to actually hop into the fight then no one would be safe. 

Just as he had thought, when the Deity decided they had enough of just sitting back and watching their followers fall it was a blood bath. Their arrows rained down at the gathered demons, piercing through a good majority of them and killing a chunk of them. One almost killed Spork, the very first arrow the Deity had shot heading straight towards him. 

Whether through good luck or just pure coincidence, Spatula had been about to drag him away after helping CG and Shib. The arrow missed his heart by an inch, still doing major damage and putting Spork definitely out of the fight… But he was alive, that was all that mattered.

The rain of arrows didn’t last too long, thankfully. Not through anything that the cultists or unfortunate demons dragged into it all did, no. Spatula’s presence, him just being there actually did a lot more help than just him snapping everyone out of it. 

You see, before he had left CrossRoad’s, Spatula had a series of interactions with a certain ghostly Sword. He didn’t seek the guy out, but due to his unique circumstances he was sought out instead. 

Ghostwalker, Sword of Souls to get all poetic. It only makes sense they’d be in tune or recognize when something with an interesting soul entered the Inpherno. He had seen Spatula’s soul, citing that he had felt something was off within CrossRoad’s ever since Spatula had entered it. Apparently his soul was in… Rough shape to put it very nicely. 

Cracks had littered it, nothing bad but easily recognizable considering just how impossible it is to actually harm a soul permanently. The normal Inphernal’s soul, naturally, had absolutely no cracks or scratches, just making his soul stand out even more. 

Ghostwalker had cornered and questioned Spatula, both out of concern for Spatula and concern for what his presence could mean in the Inpherno. However once the Sword realized he had absolutely no real idea why his soul was cracked Ghostwalker backed off… Not completely, however. 

He still watched over Spatula, lurking around and keeping an eye on him. Just to make sure he didn’t spontaneously fall down and die as his soul shattered into a thousand pieces. Having pieces of a soul just scattered around unknowingly is, in Ghostwalker’s words: “Annoying and tedious, like searching for one grain of sand in the desert.”

Honestly he had taken into account that the Sword was just kind of shadowing him now, following him around. Yet it didn’t actually register that that would extend to when he left for the cult, which is why when Ghostwalker burst into the scene and started fighting the Angel he was similarly shocked as everyone else. 

The battle was hard to follow, yet no less intense. Sparks flew as Ghostwalker’s Sword clashed with the Angel’s Bow as they blocked. Arrows flew with reckless abandon from them, doing anything to stop their inevitable defeat. Ghostwalker was much too strong for them, though it was by no means an easy fight. 

A couple arrows hit their mark, the Sword turning into a glowing pin cushion from all the arrows that had managed to pierce his skin. For the longest time it seemed as if it would end in a stalemate, the Angel holding their own surprisingly well even with how many hits Ghostwalker had gotten on them. 

A couple of the cultists had even tried helping their god, attempting to hit Ghostwalker to either do damage or get his attention off of the Angel. Spatula had interfered with those attempts, along with some of the other demons. In the midst of all the chaos, Ghostwalker was able to disarm the Angel. 

Their bow flew in an arc of blood as some of their fingers were sliced off by the Sword. Their agonized scream barely registered as suddenly the cultists dove for their bow, gleams of greed and devotion shining in their eyes. 

In an effort to make sure the cultists wouldn’t be able to toss the Angel their bow back, Spatula had dove into the fray as well. It was madness in that scramble, the cultists uncaring of who they hit as they attempted to get their hands on the holy weapon of their god. A hit to the back of his head and fire across his body makes the already chaotic scene hard to remember. 

Somehow, through all of that chaos, he was able to get his hands on the bow. His blood flowed into the cracks on it, gold digging into his already battered hands as he gripped it tightly. Through the haze of pain and the fuzziness in his vision, he saw Ghostwalker’s surprised face as he stared at him, the Angel a lump by his feet. 

From there things got fuzzy, his concussion and injuries pulling him into unconsciousness and making time seem loose. All he knows for sure is that he woke up in CrossRoad’s hospital, surrounded by his friends both new and old. Ghostwalker and Katana were also there, standing on opposite sides of his room but there for him nonetheless. 

He’s not quite sure the logistics of it all, but the bow had been bonded to his soul as well. Ghostwalker described it to him, in hushed tones, like the previous cracks were filled in with gold. A patch job essentially, making it much more stable. The Sword had never seen anything quite like it, he was similarly at a loss for words. One doesn’t just patch up their soul like that, but then again one doesn’t crack it as bad as his was. 

‘Y’know this really reminds me of something… Filling in cracks with gold..’ He muses to himself, eyes still trained on the ground and his friends shoes as they walk in front of him. ‘A practice? An art form? Whatever it can be described as, but I’m pretty sure it was called kintsugi, melding broken pieces of the same pot together with something and dusting it gold.’ 

He listened to the sounds of his friends talking, their steps as they walked around him, not leaving him behind but not exactly right beside him either. The sun was slowly beginning to set, the orange glow of it washing over the world in hues of gold. Raising his head slightly, focusing instead on the backs of his friends, Spatula can’t help the faint smile on his face as he muses.

‘I suppose one now could call my soul a work of art, huh? Though I don’t know who else besides me would want the darned thing.’ He snickers internally at himself, finding the idea of any part of him being considered art a bit laughable. 

His whole life has basically been him just clawing at things that interest him, following the whims of his heart both good and bad. Oftentimes it led him to care for others, wanting to be there for them as his heart almost physically would ache at what he would hear and see happening. Nothing of his has been considered art, everything he’s ever had indented with his fingerprints from how tightly he’d held on. 

No art has been made as roughly as his life had, certainly nothing like the delicate art of kintsugi. Spatula bets if he ever were to attempt such art he’d end up shattering the pots accidentally, gripping just a bit too hard, a bit too cautious, just like in his life. 

‘But… that’s okay. This life is my own, and I’ve got friends here with me to help smooth things over.’ He cringes at his own thoughts, a light flush gracing his cheeks due to how embarrassing what he just thought was. To not stray any further into cliche anime protagonist territory, he shakes his head subtly and picks up the pace, to walk right beside Spork and his other friends. 

The hang out ended quietly. It wasn’t anything grand, just a simple dispersal over time as it got later and later into the afternoon. Despite not really doing much aside from walking around and talking, everyone seemed to have smiles on their faces as they broke off from the group. There were already talks of another hangout sometime soon, with everyone involved, including Katana and Ghostwalker. 

As Spatula waved goodbye to Chocolate Milk, he couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted back towards Spork. The two of them were the only ones left, the others having already been on their way home. The sun was almost fully hidden behind the horizon, streetlights flickering on around them as it progressively got darker and darker. 

Yet, it didn’t seem like Spork had anywhere he wanted to be. He kept pace with Spatula as the two just walked slowly around. There were no words exchanged between the two of them, but it was far from awkward or uncomfortable. No, it was actually rather refreshing just walking in silence with Spork, he found. No pressure to talk, as much as he loved to talk to his friends, and no pressure to put up a smile or crack a joke. 

Spatula could just… Be, in his presence. 

It was… Well, it wasn’t something he had ever really felt with his other friends, both Before and now. It was strange, hard to identify or put a name too, but it wasn’t bad. Quite the opposite actually.

He loved just being able to just relax in Spork’s presence, to just exist and be himself. He sought out that feeling, it was why he sought out Spork himself a lot of the time. Though… 

He can’t deny the fact that he also just, really liked Spork as a friend. Every time the two of them hung out, whether it be in person or through talking for hours on end online, Spatula found himself uncontrollably and unconsciously smiling. A feeling akin to bubbles would form in his chest, an unshakeable excitement and warmth that only Spork could bring out rising up within him. 

Sometimes, when the feeling became too much to bear, he would break down into giggles for absolutely no reason. Spork could be talking about the most mundane thing ever, and yet Spatula would be giggling like a schoolgirl to himself because he just felt so warm listening to him. 

Oftentimes he found himself wondering why Spork made him feel this way, especially considering how many other friends they both had. None of the others made him feel as warm as Spork does, and he’s honestly confused on why that may be. However, he knows it's doing the opposite of harm here, so he’s never seriously sought out an answer. 

Spork makes him feel different than his other friends, and that's just that. Maybe one day he’ll figure out why, but for now all he needs to know is that. Some things don’t need to have an explanation attached or some hidden secret to dig up.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts, the demon of his thoughts stopping him suddenly. Turning his curious gaze onto him, Spatula can’t help but tilt his head ever so slightly, a smile already unconsciously growing on his face. 

Spork returns his smile immediately, face lighting up before falling ever so slightly. He struggles to meet Spatula’s eyes, a complicated look in his eyes. Finally, he takes a deep breath in and looks up.

“...Man, I don’t know how to word this so I’m just gonna say it outright.” He takes in another breath, looking nervous.. And then slightly confused as to why he’s nervous. “I don’t know about you, Spat’, but I just… really like it when we are alone like this, having a moment to ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely like hanging out with our other friends, however it’s just.. Different when it's just us two, y’know?” 

Spatula blinks, the words slowly turning in his head as he blankly processes them. As soon as he gets what Spork is saying he inwardly cheers in excitement. It hadn’t exactly occurred to him that Spork might feel the same about him, feel that connection the two have that's just different than the one they have with their friends. 

To hear him basically admit to it right now? Swords, Spatula has to fight to keep the excited grin off his face and the giggles contained in his chest. 

Clearing his throat, trying to hide just how excited Spork’s words made him, he gently bumps his shoulder before responding. 

“Nah, I get it completely. I feel the same way honestly. No offense to our other friends, but I honestly really prefer the times us two spend together.”

Spork blinks at him, the golden light of the sunset making his blue eyes sparkle as they widen ever so slightly at Spatula’s words. A bright, toothy grin spreads over his face and all of a sudden Spatula is being hugged so tightly he can almost feel the air being expelled out of his lungs. 

Despite the tight, almost painful hold Spork has on him, he can’t help the giggles that escape him. He doesn’t even attempt to wiggle free, instead going almost completely limp as he winds his arms around Spork, returning the hug. The scent of cat food and paper fills his nose, a scent he knows is uniquely just Spork. 

A couple more giggles escape him, much stronger and louder than before as he tightens his hold ever-so-slightly on his friend. His chest feels so full in a good way, Spatula couldn’t fight the grin on his face and the giggles that still occasionally leave him if he wanted. Even as the sunsets and the world is bathed in darkness, as Spork and him are forced to part ways before the former misses the last bus to Playground.. 

The warm feeling in his chest doesn’t fade, doesn’t diminish at all. Spatula knows Spork will be there for him as soon as he gets home, texting about his cats or something new that has caught his attention. 

As he makes his way into his apartment, closing and locking the door behind him, his phone buzzes with a new notification from Spork, just like he had thought. The smile on his face widens and stays there, even as he’s getting ready for bed. 

When he’s laying down in bed, the warm feeling spreads through his body as he opens his phone and clicks onto Spork’s contact, minutes turning to hours as the two chat the night away…

Chapter Text

The world fizzed into focus as he returned to reality, blinking slowly. The sight of his bedroom ceiling was a comforting one, some part of his mind expecting to see that dark figure in his vision again. Ignoring the eyes on him, he slowly sits up as his body starts warming up gradually. 

Even though he wasn’t actually asleep, his body would still feel weighed down and sluggish when he’d come back to reality, as if he had actually been resting instead of staring sightlessly forward. Shaking his head at himself and standing, Spatula wobbles his way over to his bedroom door, balance briefly shot after having been laying down for a while. 

A ghostly chuckle barely reaches his ears, and while he tries his best to not acknowledge it he can’t help the way his shoulders tense. Swallowing harshly to himself, the shadows in his apartment suddenly seeming much more menacing than before, he picks up the pace ever so slightly. Speedwalking into his bathroom and getting out his bandages. 

He contemplates just wrapping his face in the bathroom right then and there, before he remembers he has to actually properly dress his wounds before he does so. Running a careful hand down his face, he shoots his reflection with an unimpressed look.. 

Only to watch as its eyes suddenly widen and it leans forward with a toothy grin on its face.

His entire body jolts, breath hitching as he almost hits his head on the wall behind him from how hard he backs away from the mirror. As he stares at his reflection, paralyzed, it doesn’t move. In fact it looks just like he does right now, the Spatula in the mirror as terrified and startled as he feels. 

Ever so carefully he approaches his counter again, leaning on it as he stares intently at his reflection. Seconds pass by and it stays unmoving, just showing his uneasy frown and narrowed eyes. 

After a minute more of just staring at his reflection, daring it to move, does he finally lean away from the mirror. He shakes his head to himself, telling himself that he must have just imagined it. He feels weirdly weighed down and tired, must just be his bad sleeping habits making him see things. He ignores the creeping sensation of eyes still on him, the shadow in the corner of his eye and the amused chattering whispers he can hear. 

Clutching the roll of bandages in his hands tightly, he leaves the bathroom swiftly and makes his way into his kitchen. He spares a quick glance at his Gears sitting in his living room, mentally noting that he has to put them away before anyone comes over. However he ignores them for now, shuffling into his kitchen and setting the roll of bandages in his hand on his table. 

Now that his hands are free, he opens up his refrigerator door and stares at the empty shelves. He blinks slowly at it, before remembering not only how he lived but what he did before he left. Part of his preparation for leaving was throwing out all food that could spoil, which was a majority of food inside of his fridge. A smart move on his part as he doesn’t have to deal with moldy and expired food now, but also… He has nothing to eat. 

Spurred on by that thought, his stomach gurgles a bit pathetically as he stands there for a moment just staring. Closing the fridge door and letting out a tired sigh, he turns around and plops himself onto his kitchen chair. He wanted to eat something before re-bandaging his face, but it looks like he’ll be going to bed hungry tonight. 

He carefully unrolls the bandages and begins bandaging up his face again, grimacing to himself as he does so. This is his first time doing it by himself, without any help from any nurses or doctors. It’s bizarre and uncomfortable, his shoulders tensing up painfully due to frustration as he does his best. 

Eventually he decides they’re good enough and he gives up, putting the roll down on his table and taking out his phone to see how he did. Turning it on and opening the camera app, flipping the camera to himself, he can’t help the snort that comes out of his mouth. 

Not only are the bandages no longer so neat and tidy looking, he managed to make himself look even more like a mummy. Being heavy handed with the bandages as he was, unsure if he had enough to cover his wounds or not, he’s covered up a good portion of his face. At least he isn’t at risk of getting anything in his wounds..? 

Shaking his head, he ignores how a shadow darts in the camera behind him, a dark mass clearly displayed on his phone. Instead he unlocks it and resolutely doesn’t think about the figure, opening up his chat with Slingshot. 

Spatula

“Sorry for the wait

If you guys want to come over now you can”

Slingshot

“:0

give us a bit

gotta let everybody know!”

“Who all is coming?”

“shuri, vine, katana, punk, and me ofc

those are the ones i know at least, idk if anyone else wants to tag along

that’s okay right? 

not too many people so soon?”

“Oh nono it’s fine!

I’m grateful you all care about me so much

You all really don’t have to come over and check on me.”

“we want too spat

your our friend who’s clearly been through smthing

we should care about you this much

it’s the least we could do as ur friend” 

Spatula doesn’t know how to answer that, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he bites his lip and thinks. He doesn’t really understand or see why Slingshot and the others would care so much about him, to wanna seek him out and come over.. But he also doesn’t know how to convince Slingshot that its okay if he doesn’t come, seriously. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want his friends to come over, or that he doesn’t appreciate their care! He just… Can’t see why it’s all directed at him. 

Sighing heavily he just reacts to Slingshot’s last text with a heart before swiftly turning off his phone and stuffing it inside of his pocket. He runs a hand down his face, mindful of the bandages, and feels his entire body sag as he sits there in his kitchen alone. 

His shoulders still ache, but so does his body for some reason. It’s a bone deep ache, literally like his bones are in pain and pulsing. A wave of fatigue crashes down on him, more consuming than the mental fatigue he’s been battling the entire day. 

He shoves them all aside, forces his body up and out of his chair, into his living room. Carefully, he scoops up the two pieces of his spatula. He walks into his bedroom, a forlorn feeling in his heart as he shoves them into his top dresser drawer. Hiding them away, for all the complicated emotions he has regarding them, feels like hiding a piece of himself away. 

Outside of how they are literally a part of him, it feels more deeper. More personal. He can’t find the words, his tired brain already moving sluggishly as he mentally prepares for socializing in his condition. Closing the dresser drawer, he shakes his head at himself and walks back out into his living room. 

Grabbing the bow next, he closes his eyes and imagines it disappearing. He barely even thinks it before the weight disappears from his hands, a feeling like sand slipping through his fingers as it does so. Unbidden, a relieved breath escapes him, some of his bodily ache disappearing ever so slightly. 

He has the urge to stretch, feeling strangely rejuvenated now that the bow is gone. By no means is he jumping with energy now, he’s still bogged down with fatigue and faint pain, however it’s easier to hold open his eyes now. It’s no longer such a fight, his gaze still half-lidded but steady, instead of the drooping it was doing before. 

With those two things now taken care of, Spatula lets out another sigh and sits down in his chair, simply being for a little bit. 

As his gaze drifts idly around his apartment, a faint sense of embarrassment and shame starts to slowly build in his throat. There’s barely any decorating going on, none if he’s honest with himself. He has the essentials and that’s literally it, no hint of his own presence or personal touches from him. 

God it’s embarrassing, his friends are gonna come over and see this. Just imagining their faces as they walk through his door and see his apartment makes him want to go out and buy as many useless decorations as possible before they get there. Honestly he would bolt right out his door and do just that, however he doesn’t know when they’ll actually get here. 

So, instead, his eyes fall to the floor in shame. The floorboards mock him, a shadow falling over the top half of his vision as he hides his face in his hands. It doesn’t stop the reality of just how.. Impersonal his very living space is, but he doesn’t have to look at it and have it right in front of him. 

He doesn’t know how it slipped past him, actually making it look like someone was permanently living in his apartment instead of just renting… No not even renting, a renter would have more furniture or more personal items than he does. Lord now that he’s actually looking at it all from an outside point of view, his entire living space is just pathetic and sad. 

No personal items, bare minimum, not even the best of the bare minimum at that. He got a lot of his furniture at a thrift store, the only thing new he bought was the mattress on his bed. The only personal thing he had was his plant, and he killed that when he left. 

He doesn’t want his friends to enter his apartment like this, but he can’t do anything to change it. He’s made his bed as minimal as possible and now it’s time to lie in it. 

As the seconds tick by into minutes, his friends don’t  suddenly burst into his apartment and react to his living space. Their arrival is inevitable, though he doesn’t know if their arrival is worse than the wait for them to arrive. At least he has some time to himself, to get his mind off of it as best he can before it all comes rushing to him again. 

Finally taking his face out of his hands, Spatula takes his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. He closes the message app on it, grimacing to himself as he does so. Instead he clicks onto one of his social media apps, scrolling through his feed. Scrolling for a bit, he can’t help frown to himself as he notices a pattern. 

A lot of the videos he’s seeing now are about those questioning the Sword’s, rises in new religions not related to them all and demons asking why they should worship Deities who don’t do much to help them. It’s not just the algorithm working to shove these in Spatula’s face, either. 

There’s a lot of personal posts for and against it all pushed to him of course, but also news stations are covering the topic as well. It seems as he was away for a week things took a rather… Unexpected turn in the outside world. 

He can’t remember there being any other religion in the Inpherno aside from the True Eye cult, which was part of the whole reason he went to investigate his cult. Spatula isn’t surprised that actually living in the world is different from the game version of his last life, however he IS surprised at how sudden this surge in new religions is.

Before he had been off the grid for a week, he hadn’t ever heard of many other religions that had nothing to do with Gear’s or the Sword’s. There seemed to be a fine line the Inpherno walked, whether subconsciously or consciously. A focus was put on Gear’s, about their origins and relevance in an Inphernal’s life, as well as getting stronger and not being weak. 

Yet as he digs a bit further into the new religions mentioned in various posts, he can’t actually find a lot of that in many of them. There’s some mention of Gear’s, but it’s more like an afterthought for some of the religions, like it was tacked on at the very end. Instead the focus is on what the ‘god’ could do for its followers, how it could help them in various different ways. 

It’s completely different from all the other religions in the Inpherno, a surge of seemingly self-serving religions. It…

It reminds him… 

What did the cult say about the Angel, exactly…? 

His grip on his phone tightens, his breath speeding up as his eyes go wide. Dots are connecting in his mind, even as he tries to disprove the theory growing in strength in it. 

A lot of the ‘gods’ weren’t seen, but there was evidence of their existence. Tales of prayers being answered pretty swiftly, from multiple, unrelated, demons. Glimpses of icons that the ‘gods’ had revealed, whether as a sign when asked or to show the way for the follower. 

The icons were interesting too, all focused on rather mundane things or living beings. Unlike the Sword’s, most ‘gods’ tended to actually favor animals and abstract concepts. While some of the Sword’s had domains (like Windforce and Icedagger), these new wave of gods favored less tangible things. For example, one ‘god’ reportedly favors music of all things.

It doesn’t make any sense, these new gods. There’s nothing rooted in anything to actually support why they came to be and why they are here. They’re seemingly just answering prayers out of the goodness of their hearts, which Spatula just knows has to be false. There’s gotta be some ulterior motive to them, whether that be why they’re gathering followers or where they came from…

Because they couldn’t have come from the Inpherno. He just doesn’t believe it. 

All Gear mentions are tacked on like an afterthought, a very integral part of an Inphernal’s existence treated like an extra. There’s no focus on violence, which while that isn’t a hugely important thing to being an Inphernal, it’s still a large part of the culture. A culture that would influence the rise of any new religions, yet somehow didn’t influence these?

Unbidden, Spatula’s mind flashes back to the cult again. A lot of their paintings and statues… They didn’t exactly scream the Inphernal culture or way did they? 

His grip on his phone is bordering on dangerous now, his knuckles white as his claws scratch the screen. The painful thought he had come to before, one he had tried so hard to dig up only to shove aside in the whirlwind catastrophe that was the end of the cult. It comes to him now, claws its way painfully back to the forefront of his mind as he feels himself disconnecting from reality. 

The Greeks weren’t ever a part of the Inpherno. There was never any mention of them or connection to them both Before and Now, if there was he wouldn’t have had to dig up the thought before. 

However if that’s the case, then how did the cult find out about the Greek deity they were worshipping? It wasn’t like they pulled it out of nowhere, there was serious time and effort put into their worship of them, what with all the paintings and statues they created. 

He hadn’t had enough time to think on it further, focused as he was on the pressing reality check of actually being in a cult. Yet now as he sits there, the cult far away and hopefully dead and buried by now, he is finally coming to an almost horrifying realization. 

The Deity the cult had worshipped, it was real. He had seen its power and influence himself, experienced and been changed by it himself. There’s no denying what the cultists were worshipping was a being of power, but that only gives credence to the growing theory in his mind. 

While his mind was scattered and broken, his memories something like fading paint on an aged canvas, there was still one detail that had always been readily available to him. Where the important bits of his life from Before had been washed away, the paint on the canvas of his memory sliding through his fingertips every time he tried to make sense of it all. He had often been fearful of it happening again, a hidden worry stalking through this mind that would taint every aspect of his life, one he’s realizing has been affecting him more than he imagined. 

How else does one forget to be a person? To show signs of living aside from basic bodily functions? 

Through it all, all the grief and worry it has caused him, his failing mind had been frustratingly clear with one thing, and one thing only: Phighting and all that’s related to it. This includes any fanfiction he had read Before about the game. One thing common amongst some of them, specifically the isekai ones? 

Humanity, and how it had come before the Inphernals before some tragedy had befallen it and wiped them from the face of the Inpherno. 

Spatula can’t claim to know this version of humanity, whether it was exactly the same or if it was completely different. Maybe in this version his whole life played out as well, another him living life without having to worry about what the violent future would hold. Or maybe he never existed here, not even a thought in his mothers mind as she went along living life, with or without children. 

The religions and cultures could’ve been exactly the same or vastly different between this humanity and the one he vaguely remembers from before. Yet there’s a sinking feeling in his gut, with all the information he’s gathered and seen, that the two may be more similar than he could have imagined. 

Whatever the case was, the theory boiling in his mind is one he can’t deny. If he were anymore confident of a demon he would even declare it reality, his experience in the cult and others around the Inpherno certainly makes him believe it to be true. 

The Greek gods and goddesses, the deity the cult had worshiped despite the Greeks having never been mentioned before and being long since dead before they ever came around… 

They’re real, alive and gathering followers for some purpose Spatula still is uncertain about. 

Painfully, almost as if he’s prying it out from between the folds of his brain, he remembers vague stories about them. What tales and epics the Greeks had talked about in regards to the gods and goddesses, their temperament and power… If he wasn’t already skeptical of their seeming selflessness before he certainly is now. The Greek gods and goddesses aren’t exactly known for giving out things for free, after all. 

Not to mention how they used to curse humans left and right, sometimes deservedly and sometimes for no true reason. What then will they do with a race more violent and unhinged than humans were?

The shadow in the corner of his eye flexes, before he’s face to face with a piercing gaze. Blood oozes from the dead eyes, their appearance morphing into indescribable shapes as it sits in the front of his vision, unmoving. He can’t help the startled breath he holds in, the way his entire body freezes as he stares down the specter of his own mind. 

The corners of his vision darken unnaturally, the walls of his apartment creaking ominously. There is only pure hatred and malice in those eyes, the hint of amusement in them only for the visible fear on his face. As he continues to stare at it, he slowly comes to a realization, his face going pale and eyes widening a bit more. 

The look on his face has the specter smiling, a wide, bloody grin of too-blunt teeth. It’s human-like, and that scares Spatula more, used to seeing the sharp teeth of the Inphernals. Its mouth parts, the phantom smell of decay and rot flooding his senses and making him nauseous. 

Just as it's about to say something, a ghostly wail building in its chest, it suddenly disperses as a loud knock rings through his apartment. 

The breath he was holding leaves him in a ‘whoosh’, the pain of his tense shoulders and the abject shock he was in making it hard for him to gather his thoughts for a moment. There’s a crack in one of his shoulders as he rolls them, a sharp pain lancing through his spine and making him grimace in pain. Almost mechanically he stands up and shoves his phone into his pants pocket. 

His hands shake, adrenaline fading out of him as his mind whirs. With all of his theorizing and pondering, along with the appearance of the specter, he has completely forgotten about his friends coming over. Doing his best to pull himself completely together, he quickly makes his way to his apartment door. 

Pulling it open a crack, he peeks out nervously. Shuriken’s friendly smile meets his gaze, the smile turning a tad forced as concern flashing his eyes as he looks at Spatula. Not giving his friend any time to think on how he looks, his still-pale face and wide eye, he fully opens his door as he plasters a smile on his face. 

“S-Sorry to keep you guys waiting… Please c-come in!” He steps aside hiding the shaking of his hands by shoving the one not holding the door open into his pocket. 

Shuriken throws him a concerned glance, a small frown on his face, before he’s pushed into the apartment by his sister. Vinestaff sends a bright smile Spatula’s way as she enters, Katana following closely behind her and nodding politely at him. 

Punk is next, her eyes scanning the living room and a snort escaping her as she shakes her head. She pulls Slingshot with her, almost quite literally if her white knuckled grip on his jacket sleeve is anything to go by. The Phighter avoids Spatula’s face, looking down guiltily as he enters his apartment. 

Closing his door behind them all, turning to face it for a moment, he takes a deep breath to himself. The majority of his trembling and shaking has dissipated by now, so hopefully they won’t be able to tell that something was wrong. He doesn’t want to worry his friends, he just has to weather through it all himself. 

Especially after what happened.. 

The thought of them involving themselves in his business makes him want to bite his tongue off, to choke on his own blood so they won’t be bothered by him and his meddling anymore. He’s better off facing whatever is happening with him alone. No one of importance will be put in danger.

Shaking his head to himself, he turns back around, hoping he hadn’t been in his head as long enough for them to notice. There’s nothing really to do in his apartment, the small tv he nervously bought to keep up with the news (that he never actually uses…) literally the only thing interesting in his living room. However with the sparse amount of furniture and lack of decorations its.. Well it's rather depressing looking to be honest. 

His friends don’t seem to know what to do with themselves, just standing around and looking between him and each other. Their stares burn into his skin, the well of embarrassment over his apartment bubbling up again as he scratches idly at the bandages on his face. 

“U-Uhm… S..Sorry for how it looks.. H-Haven’t been able to get a moment to buy some stuff, haha…” The lie tastes like ash on his tongue, the flat chuckle making it more than obvious to his friends that he’s lying to them. Thankfully they seem to pity him, for they mercifully don’t bring it up. 

“Oh it's.. Perfectly fine, Spatula!” Vinestaff claps her hands, the smile on her face not able to hide the concern in her eyes. She moves on, giving him a once over and frowning concernedly at all the bandages on him. “They weren’t able to heal you up any better than this..?” 

He picks at the edge of one of his bandages for a moment, a slight frown on his face as he glances away from Vinestaff.

“Ah.. No.. They didn’t want to risk healing over the scars with healing Gears. It just has to heal naturally..”

She hums, looking unsatisfied with his answer, though before she can speak further on the matter Shuriken speaks up. His eyes still hold a hint of concern, though it fades as he gives Spatula a friendly smile. 

“Now that you're out of the hospital, we have so much hanging out to catch up on! You missed so many things, Sling and me gotta catch you up.” He walks over, poking playfully at Spatula’s uninjured shoulder. His attitude makes some of the tension Spatula was holding dissipate. 

“Give him some time to heal before you drag him around, Shuri’.” Vinestaff walks over as well, pushing her brother aside to make him stop poking Spatula, making Shuriken stick his tongue out at her. She ignores him as she turns her playful smile towards Spatula, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Though he was right, you have a lot of catching up to do… And owe us a lot of your time. I’m thinking… Makeover night?”

Spatula splutters at her last words, coughing loudly as she giggles mischievously in front of him. He glances over at Shuriken, only to get an innocent expression and the Phighter looking away, metaphorically throwing him to the wolves. Luckily Punk comes to his rescue, though it's certainly not intentional. 

“Spatula.” Her voice is nerve-wrackingly serious, making his aching shoulders tense up painfully as he whips his head over to face her. Her face is eerily blank as she tilts her head slightly at him, eyes narrowing imperceptibly. 

At her words Vinestaff and Shuriken back off, the playful air fading away with them. Turning his attention back to Punk she tilts her head towards his kitchen purposefully. She then turns on her heel and walks into it, the click of her shoes loud in the silence of the room. He gulps, nerves acting up and making him think of the worst before he shakes those thoughts away. 

Clenching his hands into fists, he looks over towards his other friends, meeting the steady gaze of Katana. His eyes are hidden behind his mask, the darkness of it making it impossible to actually see his eyes. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, and yet Spatula gets the impression he wants to talk to him for some reason. 

He stares at the Phighter for a little while longer, before Katana’s attention is stolen by Shuriken as he pulls him into a conversation with Vinestaff. Looking away from him, Spatula briefly looks at Slingshot, before looking away as a sense of shame wells up inside of him. The cat demon still won’t look at him in the face, the sight of his wounds may be too much for him. 

Yet Spatula can’t help but feel like there’s something about him that's making Slingshot look away, instead of the awkwardness and gap that had grown between them. He can’t help but think that his refusal to look him in the eye was because Spatula was unclean, broken in a way that Slingshot can’t look at without disgust in his eyes.

Again, he’s aware that's more than likely not the case… And yet his mind whirs incessantly away, coming up with a myriad of faults within him that could also be the reason. Still, he clears his thoughts as best he can, forcing himself to move into his kitchen and focus instead on what Punk will say. 

As he enters his kitchen he sees Punk staring out of his kitchen window, a deep, contemplative frown on her face. There’s a heavy disappointment in her eyes, her hands clenched tightly into fists at her sides. The sight makes him freeze up, barely past the threshold between his kitchen and his living room. A nervous sweat breaks out across his body, the shake in his hands returning as he swallows loudly. 

Stepping in almost timidly, he clears his throat to get her attention, seeing as she’s deep in thought. The disappointment in her eyes clears, the frown on her face lightening as she turns around and faces him. She musters up a small smile for him, easily seeing how nervous he is. 

“Didn’t mean to worry you, Spat’. Just have something important to talk to you about.” She moves over to his kitchen table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. He sits down across from her, watching as the frown from earlier reappears on her face. 

They sit in silence for a beat, her eyes searching his as he stews in his anxiety and self hatred. His mind is halfway through coming up with the fifth reason why she probably is disappointed in him and hates him when she clears her throat. She folds her hands together, her claws digging into her skin ever so slightly as she gazes at him intensely. 

“...I want to start by saying you haven’t done anything wrong, Spat’.” He blinks up at her as she drops her gaze to the table, the frown on her face deepening. “I know what you may think, it's written all over your face. You're blaming yourself for something you don’t even know about, simply because you see me being angry.”

She lets out a sigh, closing her eyes briefly before she continues on, sounds weary and tired. 

“I didn’t pull you aside for anything you did. You did nothing wrong, it's not you that I’m mad at right now.” Pausing for a moment, her brows furrow as the frown on her face turns into an angry grimace. “No, I’m actually mad for you, Spat’. You didn’t hear it I’m sure, but they said some.. Less than pleasant things about you while you were in the hospital.” 

His heart sinks, his entire body freezing as she pauses again. The argument he couldn’t understand but hear past his hospital room door that day.. He was right, it was about him, but.. What did Milk say about him, to make Punk this disappointed in them?

She opens her eyes, a fierce, aggressive glint in them as she stares intensely at him. 

“I’m not going to sugar coat what they said, I don’t believe in all that beating around the bush shit. I just want you to know I don’t agree with what they said, at all.” 

Her warning only serves to make him more tense, the stabbing pain in his shoulders barely even registering as he clutches the edge of the table hard enough to turn his knuckles white. 

“They complained about you, called your injuries a burden because it stole them away from their work. Said they couldn’t understand why you weren’t just normal, ignoring that something serious must have happened to you.” She scoffs, her eyes trained on the table in front of her as she glares daggers into it, missing how the blood drains from his face. The world is fuzzy at the edges of his vision, delighted laughter echoing in his ears as she continues on. “That day in the hospital, they argued with Slingshot about all this.. Said they couldn’t be your friend anymore if you were going to be all depressed.” 

Punk goes silent for a moment, seeming to notice the look of horror and despair on his face. She gives him a moment to process it all, the ringing of laughter in his ears making it hard to actually gather his thoughts. He knew it was going to be bad, her warning enough was clear that it wouldn’t be present.. 

Yet he could never have been prepared enough to face the harsh reality of it all, that Milk thought of him as too much of a burden to deal with. His first friend in this entirely new world to him, the demon that got him out of his house and to be more social.. And they think of him like that. 

He’s in shock, the world doesn’t feel real to him as he stares blankly down at his table. It feels like he could wake up at any moment from this horrid nightmare, before the cult back when his biggest worry was going out with his friends. When Chocolate Milk was still his friend, still cared enough about him and worried about him. 

A hand on his shoulder startles him out of his thoughts, his body flinching away from the gentle touch as his eye darted upwards. Punk stared at him with concern and sympathy, the earlier anger on her face nowhere to be seen. 

“Sorry…” She mutters out, voice quiet as she gently, in full view, puts her hand back on his shoulder. Between the two of his coworkers, Spatula thought he was closest with Milk. They spent the most time together, both at work and out of it. 

Because of  that, there’s an awkwardness between them. Punk doesn’t quite know what to say, never one for big emotional speeches. Despite that, her just being there, deciding to stick with him despite how difficult he obviously is, brings him comfort. The gentle look in her eyes and the fact she was mad for him tell him all he needs to know. 

“It's… It's okay..” His voice is hoarse, mouth dry as he looks away from her. 

There’s nothing else to be said, the silence between them suffocating, but not uncomfortable. Awkward, but not bad or unbearable. Two friends stuck in an unfortunate situation who weren’t super close before, feelings both want to express but can’t find the words to. 

When he looks up at Punk there’s a look in her eyes that tells him she thinks it's not okay, a faint grimace on her face as she looks over his head. The silence stretches on for a moment, before a voice at the threshold of the entryway knocks them out of it. 

“Am I.. Interrupting something?” Spatula’s head swivels over towards Slingshot as he stands there awkwardly, his eyes still unable to meet Spatula’s. “I.. I wanted to talk with Spatula, for a moment.” 

Punk glances between the two, a silent question in her eyes when Spatula looks over at her. He doesn’t know what she’s asking him at first, before he remembers that Slingshot had also walked out that day and never visited him again. With the knowledge of what he was arguing with Milk about fresh in his mind, Spatula is almost tempted to shake his head, to leave it for another day. 

However, he’s already here with the Phighter and has had one emotional moment with someone. He might as well get another one done and out of the way with. 

He gives Punk an affirmative nod, and she reluctantly lets go of his shoulder and begins to walk away. As she passes Slingshot she shoots him a warning look, cracking her knuckles as a threat to what will happen if he messes up. Slingshot flinches slightly, a look on his face reminiscent of a wet cat as he nods in acceptance. 

When Punk finally exits the room, Slingshot walks over to the kitchen table, taking her old spot in front of him. Much like with Punk a silence lingers for a moment as the two just stare at each other. Spatula isn’t sure what look is on his face, if it's pale or not from what he just learned, but whatever it is it makes Slingshot look away when he glances over at his face. 

“...I just wanted to say..” He pauses, taking a deep breath before looking up at Spatula with a shameful look in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he starts again, stronger this time as he stares intently at Spatula. “I wanted to say I’m sorry, for just up and leaving you while you were in the hospital. I was feeling emotional, but you didn’t deserve to get caught up in the middle of my own personal grievances.” 

Spatula blinks, the words churning slowly in his mind. The tension in his shoulders left him in a whoosh as he wasn’t yelled at or told more soul crushing facts. He didn’t know exactly what he expected, maybe to be told Slingshot was just here out of obligation and didn’t want to be his friend anymore, but an apology was certainly not it. 

It actually, ironically enough, makes him feel relieved. Going from what his previous news was from Punk to this is actually rather refreshing. It makes him think that maybe not all hope is lost for him. 

Blinking, he realizes Slingshot is still staring at him, and that he hasn’t answered his friend. Afraid that he’ll take it back or think Spatula doesn’t forgive him, he quickly answers, almost tripping over himself to get the words out. 

“O-Oh! It's okay!!” He waves his hands in the air, the small smile on his face feeling both forced and natural. “Punk told me a bit about what happened so… I get it.” 

Slingshot grimaces angrily, baring his teeth as he looks away from Spatula with clenched fists.

“I see… Then you know Milk was way out of line and not at all correct, right?”

“Yeah…” The word is like ash on his tongue, his voice barely audible in the kitchen. It's a lie. A lie he can’t tell, because he knows it will only cause his friends to worry more. ‘They don’t need to worry about me more than they do..’

Slingshot doesn’t seem to catch the lie, either completely oblivious to it or blinded by his anger as he glances down at the table. His entire face is screwed up in anger, a fire lit in his eyes as his hand twitches beside him, looking for his Gear. Spatula marvels at it for a moment internally, that someone could be so angry on his behalf that they’d want to fight someone else for what they said. 

It only makes him more sure than ever that he doesn’t want to involve his friends any more in anything he does. They’re such great people, have such important lives ahead of him.. 

He lets out a quiet sigh, shoving those thoughts to the side for now as he stands up from his chair. His abrupt movement catches Slingshot’s attention again, knocking him out of his angry musings. He stands as well, the anger fading from his face as he looks a bit awkwardly at Spatula.

“Er… We’re good, right??” He rubs the back of his neck nervously, looking away from him as he scrambles to continue on. “I just mean.. It wasn’t cool of me, so I just wanted to clear the air between us so to speak..” 

He trails off, claws clutching the sleeves of his jacket as he stubbornly refuses to look Spatula in the face once more. It’s a bit weird seeing him like this, so uncertain and awkward, looking for reassurances. It’s starkly different from how Slingshot was in the game, as well as what he knew about the Phighter and his attitude. 

“We’re good, don’t worry about it. Seriously.” He smiles gently at Slingshot, having truly never even had any bad emotions towards him. Again it never occurred to him that Slingshot would even need to apologize for him. 

Slingshot lets out a relieved sigh, shoulders slumping in relief as he faces Spatula fully. A wide smile grows on his face, his entire demeanor brightening up now. 

“Alright awesome! ‘Cause we have a lot of catching up to do, you hear me?” He punches Spatula gently on the shoulder, the playful glint in his eyes and excitement making him chuckle. 

“I hear you.. Though you’ll be fighting for some time with the others, y'know?" Spatula can’t help but tease back, the small smile on his face feeling natural for the first time today. 

Slingshot just rolls his eyes at him, before slinging an arm around his shoulder and guiding him towards his living room. 

“Yeah yeah, I’m sure we’ll work something out. We all need our Spatula Time, after all.” He jostles Spatula teasingly as they walk out into the living room. 

His words make another chuckle escape Spatula, the idea of them all needing time with him like Slingshot said is quite laughable to him. He doesn’t voice that thought out loud though, just raises a disbelieving eyebrow at his friend and looks away. 

The others are all gathered around his tv, standing in front of it as there’s only one chair to sit in. When the pair walks back into the living room they all turn their attention towards them, looking at them with curious eyes. That curiosity gives way to relief and happiness upon seeing the two so close. 

Shuriken poofs into existence next to the pair, a wide smile on his face.

“It’s about time you joined the rest of us again, Spat’! I about thought Sling had you held hostage in that kitchen.” 

Slingshot rolls his eyes at Shuriken, taking his hand off Spatula's shoulder as he walks closer to the group. Spatula stays back, simply enjoying observing his friends for a moment, not being the center of attention again. It’s a tad exhausting being the focus of everyone’s worry, he can’t lie. 

As he watches Slingshot bicker with Shuriken, Vinestaff talking excitedly at a lax looking Punk, he can’t help but feel happy. Sure he’s not in the midst of it all, more on the outskirts of the friend group right now of his own volition. However just seeing them all happy and interacting is making him happy. Seeing their smiling faces, the playful jabs thrown at one another, it soothes some burned part of him. 

Of course he can’t stay on the outskirts forever. Katana walks over and stands next to him, simply observing the group with him. The two stand in silence for a good moment, the conversations floating around them. Shuriken seems to have pulled Vinestaff and Punk into his shenanigans, as Vinestaff rolls her eyes theatrically at Punk as if to say ‘see what I have to deal with?’. Punk just pats her sympathetically, an amused smirk on her face as she does so. 

“Have you made your peace with it all yet, Spatula?” Katana’s low, quiet voice makes him jolt for a moment. The silence around them is broken, though when he turns his attention to the Phighter he’s still watching the others. 

Turning his own back to his friends, Spatula frowns to himself as he mules over the words. Truthfully, deep in his heart, he knows he hasn’t gotten over it all just yet. There’s still so many unanswered questions, along with the theories he has brewing in his head. 

His silence seems enough of an answer to Katana, for he speaks again, still in a quiet voice just enough for Spatula only to hear. 

“It’ll take a while before it settles in your mind, what they did to you. It may seem like nothing will ever get better for a while.” He pauses, the playful argument from the others in the room washing over them. It lightens the serious mood for a moment, even as the words stir in Spatula’s mind. 

He continues on, turning his head ever so slightly towards Spatula. “You’re lucky, though. You have all of your friends to help show you that things can continue on after it all.” 

Spatula bites his lip hard as he turns Katana’s words over in his head. The Phighter isn’t wrong, as much as he’s afraid of his friends, of them getting too close to him and paying for it.. He can’t deny that having them here has brightened his bleak looking day significantly. He doesn’t have time to muse on depressing thoughts, to get stuck inside his own mind, when he’s busy chatting with his friends or watching their antics. 

It makes sense, though it's hard to actually realize. Emotions don’t really care about something like logic, working on their own arbitrary set of rules. However if it were anyone else telling him this he wouldn’t believe them, but if what he remembers about Katana’s lore is true… 

The Phighter had gone rogue himself, abandoned the cult he was born into and struck out on his own. Despite his own family scorning him and attacking him, he still chose to leave and live in CrossRoad’s. If anyone can talk on the subject of cults and what happens afterwards, it’s Katana. 

So he gives the Phighter his best smile, it turning out more like some sort of pained grimace more than anything. Katana seems to get the sentiment though, as he lets out an amused huff of air and looks away from him. Looking back at his friends, Spatula lets the smile/grimace on his face fall away. His thoughts from before swirl around in his mind, the shadow in the corner of his eye and the feeling of rage directed at him more like a background noise instead of the blaring concert it was when he was alone. 

It's not perfect, his mind and his life. It's actually probably the furthest thing from perfect, with so many potholes and things to despair over. However as he continues to just watch his friends interact, the air filled with their gleeful chattering and laughter, it gets a bit better to breathe. To decide that maybe waking up tomorrow in this world wouldn’t be so bad. 

The hangout doesn’t last long after all of the heavy conversations. There isn’t much to do within Spatula’s apartment that isn’t just sitting around talking or watching tv, so it isn’t surprising that eventually the others grow tired and want to leave. They don’t seem too happy with it, wanting to spend more time with him, but they must understand that he doesn’t want to be out and about like he is just yet. 

He didn’t get out of the hospital all that long ago afterall, and he had more than enough socializing just within his apartment, the emotional shocks of the day hanging heavily on his tense shoulders. Honestly if it weren’t for the fact he’s been thrown through ups and downs with his emotions today he might have offered himself to go walking around, to continue hanging out. Yet that isn’t so, so his friends eventually call it a day and begin to leave. 

They promise him to be back when he’s ready again, not wanting to overwhelm him so soon but also wanting to just be there for him. They then say their goodbyes, the blatant concern in their eyes even as they smile and leave tell him that they’ll stick by their words, not giving up on him. He appreciates it, but again. He doesn’t want to burden them, he already did that with Milk and Slingshot. 

He can’t just tell them that, not only would that just be.. Well quite sad if he’s honest, but it would also be just a bit rude. They shower him with all this attention and care as his friends and he responds by asking them to just stop caring about him? To just leave him alone to get into trouble by himself and die?

Not only would that just be rude and mean, it also wouldn’t be completely true. If today has taught him anything, it's the fact that his friends actively made things better by being around him. He couldn’t tell such an outrageous lie, not when there’s nothing he nor them would get out of it. 

Taking in a deep, tired breath, he lets his shoulders fall just the tiniest of bits. The tiredness, both emotional and physical, is catching up to him now in full. There’s nothing to distract him from how today wore down on him, both with his constant worrying and the actual ache in his body from his still healing burns. 

Dragging a hand down his face, reawakening the incessant itch of his skin underneath his bandages, Spatula makes his way into his bedroom. He feels like a zombie as he does so, eye half-lidded and limbs feeling both heavy and far away. He doesn’t even bother with his nightly routine, too tired to care and put forth the effort. The bed calls to him like a siren, and he falls onto it heavily, melting into it. 

For a moment he debates staying up, staring up at his phone on his nightstand as he turns to lay on his back. Normally he spends a couple more hours up, fighting his own sleep simply because it feels like a waste to not be doing something. Yet on this night there’s something strange going on. He still feels that need to be doing something, to not waste time by being asleep, but his body gets heavier and heavier by the moment. 

The shadow in his eye hovers directly in view, and while he can’t see its face right now, he gets the distinct feeling that is smiling at him. This immediately alarms him, even as his eyes drift close. The shadow was never once looking at him with any sort of happy emotion, unless it was happy over his very visible suffering. While it's probably just a figment of his imagination, he can’t help but circle back to the theory he had come up with before his friends came over. 

A sense of dread envelopes him, his eye a pinprick even as it closes. He tries his best to fight his sleep, a surge of adrenaline that's quickly batted away as he lays there. His heavy body continues to get heavier as he descends anxiously into sleep. 

The next time he opens his eye, he doesn’t notice anything wrong at first. Even as the sun blazed down at him, scorching his pale skin and turning it a bright, angry red. He didn’t register anything as weird, simply going on his way towards.. Somewhere. He isn’t quite sure actually where he was going, if he was just wandering aimlessly or if he had a goal. All he knew was he had to keep moving in a specific direction. 

The sun beat down on him, and if he wasn’t wrong it actually felt like the heat from it was getting more and more aggressive. His skin started bubbling painfully, and yet he kept his eyes forward. He had to keep moving, he was certain of that. No matter what happened he had to keep moving, keep going and ignore what was going on around him. 

There was a beat of wings around him, the sound of owls hooting ominously in the distance to where he was heading. Their hoots only made him more energetic, his pace picking up as he went from a walk to a light jog. 

The feeling of eyes on him, of a hatred burning as hot as the sun beating down on him registered in his head. Suddenly he was assaulted by anxiety, of a certainty that there was something hunting him down behind him. He couldn’t stop, not even for a moment, or it would get him. 

His muscles burned as his light jog turned into a full blown sprint. It felt like his heart and lungs would explode, that he wouldn’t be able to make it to wherever he was going. Yet he didn’t give up, even as his skin started sloughing off of him and his muscles started getting sun burnt as well. Even as whatever was behind him was approaching, as a fire spread around him, he didn’t stop. 

With one large leap, he jumped suddenly, certain that he could reach the sun in the sky if he tried just a little bit harder. Wings beat around him, his body ascending from the ground as his eye widened in glee. The sun faced him as he reached out towards him, the heat from it so intense it felt as if he was grabbing at it directly. 

Yet just as his fingers grazed the giant star, his muscles being burnt to a crisp painfully due to the heat, he felt his stomach drop. Suddenly he was falling, the sun getting farther and farther away from him as he fell all the way back to the earth. It was almost as if the world was mocking him, the sun still shone so brightly even as he descended to his demise. The bright light was just within his reach, a certainty in his bones that if he could have just grabbed it things would turn out okay, and it was pulled away from him. 

As his body slammed into the ground, as the monsters that were chasing him tore it to shreds, he kept his eye trained on the sun. It burned his eye, everything else fading around him as he bleed his vision dry staring at it. 

It was only then that he realized he was staring out of his right eye.