Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Norm's face was set in a scowl, matching the drawing on his currently rain spotted post-it note. He held onto his umbrella tighter as a particularly strong gust of wind threatened to blow it inside out, and drenched the back of his trousers.

At least the astronaut suit was waterproof, but that didn't change the rain that leaked onto his socks. Norm grunted and shoved his hat tighter on his head.

He had been babysitting Gingi's children –or Ginglings, as it had called them– while she went 'hunting' for food. Or more accurately, snatch up tire tracked roadkill.

Norm had expressed concern at the quality of the meat, but the kids seemed fine enough, and Gingi wasn't dead despite this having been her diet for as long as it could remember.

That didn't stop Norm from offering to cook for them on occasion, to which the green one had pounced on the opportunity.

Then it started raining just as he was leaving.

Gingi had offered to let him stay in their tent for the night but Norm had declined, really not wanting to deal with tent stench and over energetic kids any longer. He had hoped to get home before it got too bad.

Norm now regretted that optimism. This was fucking miserable.

He was just passing by the scareshack when he spotted a strangely familiar figure. He slowed to a stop to squint through the semi opaque sheets of rain.

"What in tarnation-" But his eyes didn't deceive him, it was the god fella himself, just sitting on the curb, folded on himself like a lawn chair. 

The hobo had his head low, practically drowning in his own lap.

Norm reckoned that he should probably check up on the man, even if he may have some sort of divine protection or whatever. He hurried across the road.

"Hey, ya alright there, pardner?" He called out as he approached. 

He didn't make any acknowledgement of his presence.

He stood in front of him, and put the umbrella above the already drenched man. He instinctively turned his gun holster closer to his front to shield it from the rain. Seeing as the TV head was still not stirring, Norm was beginning to get actually worried.

"You uh, you alive, pardner?" He placed his hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly.

Thankfully that got a response. A muffled grumble, but a response nonetheless. Norm let out a sigh of relief. Seems the Hound had only fallen asleep, though considering the weather and his state, that wasn't as reassuring as it could have been.

After thinking for a moment, Norm knelt down to his level, making sure the umbrella was still shielding him.

Finally, God moved. He tilted his head slightly to look at Norm, and the sheriff saw that his screen displayed nothing but static. Forget divine protection or whatever else, electronics and water did not mix well.

"Oh no ya don't. Yer catchin' yer death out here. Yer comin' with me, pardner." The hound didn't protest, nor did he make a move to get up.

Norm sighed and stood, his knees aching like hell. He stepped to Hound's side, accidentally kicking a brown glass bottle in the process.

"Up you go, then." Norm snagged the back of Hound's shirt collar, pulling him to sit up. His dead weight felt both lighter and heavier than Norm had expected.

"C'mon, I ain't carryin' you all that way." 

Hound didn't look up, but managed to push himself to stand. He stumbled, but Norm's hand on his shirt collar kept him from dropping back down, and the god flopped on Norm's side bonelessly. 

Norm cringed at the feeling of the edge of his paper bag getting wet, and the increased scent of wet dog hitting his nose.

"Let's get you inside and dried, pardner." He wrapped his arm not holding the umbrella around the drunk's shoulders, and led him forward.

...

For a few minutes the only sounds were those of footsteps and the rushing rain before the uncharacteristically silent Hound let out a staticky mumble.

"Sorry, could ya repeat that, pardner?" Norm turned his head towards the god.

"........why?"

"Why?" Norm repeated back.

Why not?

Norm wasn't sure whether he'd consider them friends or not, but regardless he wasn't heartless. 

He... he cared about the Hound. 

Norm had made him his damn omelette, several omelettes even, and those weren't just Norm fulfilling his promise. Didn't that show what he thought of him? Why wouldn't he worry for him?

Norm took a deep breath, accidentally inhaling that wet dog stench again. The man wasn't in his right mind, even less than usual, he needed reassurance.

"Because I don't want t' have t' deal with yer waterlogged corpse in my town," He let out gruffly instead, "and I don't want to find out what happens to the world when God is dead. Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other fer now."

He mumbled incomprehensibly about 'rapture' and 'holidays', whatever that meant, before going quiet again and hanging his head back down. Norm took that short 'conversation' as a good sign, because to be frank, the sad and brooding God unsettled him more than that GoddoG form he had witnessed when he first met the man.

And the rain kept falling as they walked, shielded by Norm's umbrella.

Chapter Text

After fumbling with his keys for an embarrassing amount of time, Norm finally pushed the door open with his foot.

Hobo stepped inside to let him shake out the umbrella and shut the door, muffling the sound of falling rain with it. While Norm did so, he leaned against the wall and watched him through heavy static. 

Norm kicked off his muddy shoes, then turned to look at the soaked man-god and the growing puddle on the wood floor beneath him.

"...Just go stand in the shower, I don't want ya trackin' muck everywhere." He sighed.

After a short moment, Hobo let out a glitchy noise and trudged to where he was pretty sure the bathroom was located.

Norm just stared tiredly at the trail on the floor before heading to his room to dig through the drawers.

He wasn't sure why he had a grand total of two drawers full of clothes despite always wearing his spacesuit, but he wasn't about to complain when it was coming in handy. 

He grabbed the pj set Oliver had gotten him for Christmas, a shirt and a pair of shorts. He had found it quite sweet, even if Oliver couldn't stop cackling every time he looked at it. The shorts had a print of an eagle (with those newfangled razor heads) soaring in front of the American flag, and the shirt had a wolf with its head badly printed, rendering it unrecognisable, (Norm couldn't remember what object it was meant to be), presumably howling at the moon in front of a rainbow flag, with the text "GOD BLESS 'MERICA" below it. 

He also grabbed two towels, going back into the front room to drop one on the floor to wipe it later, before heading to the bathroom himself with the pjs, the other towel and after quick consideration, boxers bundled in his arms.

Hound, having sobered up a little, sat in the shower, idly watching the shower head drip.

Well shit, how long had that been leaking? Norm hoped it wasn't long enough to impact his water bill too much.

He chucked the clothes on the counter next to the sink and plopped the towel on Hound's lap, reaching over him to turn the tap off tightly.

"I'm sure you can dry yerself. Just throw yer clothes in the washer after."

Hound seemed to try and crack a joke if the finger guns were anything to go by, but just nodded when he was reminded of his water-damaged head.

"I, uh... I’ll leave ya to it. If you need somethin'... scream, I guess? ...Just don't slip and crack yer head on the sink." He added after consideration of the tipsy and possibly currently visually impaired man.

God gave him a thumbs up.

He left the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

...

By the time Hound came out of the bathroom sporting the ill-fitting patriotic pj's, the floor was clean, and Norm was watching the packet of chicken noodle soup that he found in the back of a cabinet boil. He had even shredded some leftover roasted chicken and carrots from yesterday to put into it. 

He glanced towards the god.

"How ya feeling?"

Hound shrugged, and his voice crackled out. Norm turned towards him fully at that.

"That don't sound too good, if ya don't mind me sayin'."

The god scratched the back of his neck with a short crackle that Norm could only assume was a "Yeah..."

Norm tilted his head, "I think I might have somethin' for y'."

Norm had a hairdryer in his closet, surprisingly. When he had first settled into his new home, Mingus had given him a fancy one as some sort of housewarming present. Norm had accepted the surprisingly kind gesture gratefully, even if he was a 'just let it air dry' kind of guy. So it was still in the box.

"This work?"

God nodded, and took it from him, plugging it in the nearest outlet. He proceeded to aim it straight at his vent and turn it onto the maximum setting. After a few moments of the loud air blowing, the chassis of his head let out a few loud pops as it expanded from the heat and not being wet anymore. He smacked the back of his head a couple times, and the static flickered out, the dog popping back in place like it never left. 

"Thanks." His voice was mostly back to normal too, other than sounding slightly more deteriorated than usual.

...

Norm and Hobo looked down at the soup pot. It looked fine, really, even if the noodles were so cooked they were practically mush. Hobo shrugged, "Eh, 'ts not like it's burnt, I've eaten worse."

"I'm sure ya have, pardner." He replied as he scooped it into two bowls, making sure they both had a decent amount of admittedly dried out chicken.

"You ever wonder how come something cooked in liquid can become dry?" Hobo threw out as he took the bowl and spoon offered to him. Norm glared slightly at him for that.

"D'you have a straw with that?" He continued regardless. The dog on his screen perked up as Norm turned towards him with evident revulsion at the reminder of how people drank post Dial-up.

"...Sure." Norm rummaged through the drawer for one and gave it to him.

"Cheers." He stuck the straw in and slurped.

Hobo walked to the creaky pleather couch and plopped down on it like he owned the damn thing, and Norm followed suit, sitting on the other end. The sheriff turned away to lift his bag off his mouth to eat. 

Even though he knew that the god was almost certainly indifferent to seeing his face, it still felt awkward to do so in front of object heads.

After an awkward amount of time spent chomping on chicken bits and noodles, Norm cleared his throat.

"...You good?"

Hobo paused his straw slurping, before his dog switched to a dopey grin.

"Sure!" As far as he was concerned, he was always 'good'.

He didn't need to see his face to feel Norm's heavy doubt pointed at him. He didn't believe him whatsoever. Now, being genuine wasn't his strong suit anyway, but he wasn't about to clear anything up or try to reassure him.

In approximately 60 years, maybe even less, Norm would die, and he'd be back to square one with the lesson he keeps unlearning. No point in getting close again.

Ah fuck, who was he kidding? He had already gotten way too attached and had made Norm somewhat attached to him too, he was screwed already.

"I-"

"Mind if I grab more of this stuff?" Hobo raised his empty bowl, changing the subject. Hell, he ate that quick, was he really that hungry?

Norm's breath hitched, like he was going to call out the diversion.

"Help yerself, pardner." Norm said instead, turning back to continue eating.

“Cheers.” He pushed himself off the couch.

What a funny way to phrase it, 'help yourself', God mused as he walked back in the kitchen.

Help yourself to more food is of course what he meant. Help yourself in life, help yourself to be better. Be the change you want to see in yourself.

While Norm had first found help in Gingi, he had helped himself in the end, he had been the one to let himself be talked down.

Norm knew a lot about helping himself. And now he was trying to help god. Heh.

He scooped up more of the now tepid soup from the pot into his bowl.

He lingered a bit, leaning against the counter as he ate. Both because he wanted to give Norm a chance to inhale more than his own stale breath, and also kinda because he didn’t want his wellbeing to be questioned again for a while.

He ate, periodically scooping up more soup, childishly avoiding the carrots until he considered himself full.

He then dumped the bowl and spoon in the sink, along with the straw. Maybe Norm was the straw-reusing type, he didn’t know. He wandered back into the front room just as Norm put the bag back over his face, or more likely because he heard God coming in. He flopped back down on the other end of the couch, like he didn't spend a suspiciously long "I'm avoiding talking to you" amount of time in the kitchen.

The awkward silence returned.

Norm had been getting to know him more. Even if the other tried to remain relaxed and aloof, he was pretty bad at hiding his feelings, funnily enough. 

Sure, he seemed uncaring at first, and he wasn't trying to say that he was an open book, but all it took was a little pushing for micro cracks to appear. And the sight beyond those cracks was so large, so bright that the rest of his defences might as well not exist at all.

And now he was trying to run away to lick his wounds shut.

"Well, thanks for the grub, but it's 'bout time I head out," the dog winked, "got lots of... God stuff to do." He started to stand-

"Sit yer ass back down." Norm interrupted him, but without any bite, more of a sigh. God froze mid-motion.

"'Scuse me?"

"It's blowing up a storm out there!" Norm continued, "Ain't lettin' ya wander out there in thin PJ's and short out fer good this time." His tone was firm, like it was already a truth of the universe.

God blinked back into his neutral expression, and slumped back down, pleather creaking under him. Norm grabbed the purple blanket decorating the back of the couch —another housewarming gift from Mingus, because she's such a kind and generous leader, don't you know?— and tossed it to the god. He did not catch it, and it hit his side. 

He hesitated for a moment, seemingly preparing a protest before realising that it'd be too much of a hassle. 

"Sure... Cheers." He smiles, and drapes it over his lap.

Norm looked to the side for a moment, before awkwardly coughing.

He stood up, knees aching again from sitting down for so long. He glanced towards the god one more time before bringing his dishes to the kitchen.

God watched him go, listening to Norm turn the tap on, and the rain and thunder outside. The water didn't quite dampen his thoughts as much when it wasn't seeping into him, but he felt himself relax slightly. He brought his feet up, pulling the blanket up with it. 

The tap squeaked shut.

Norm’s footsteps returned briefly, only to stop at the hallway.

"Y' need anythin' else?" He asked.

God crossed his hands behind his head, not being able to stop himself from brushing the spot where his post-it note used to be .

"Nah, all good over here." He answered lightly.

"Alright then. Goodnight G- Hound." 

"Night." God grinned, even if Norm couldn't see it from his angle. 

After a second, the sound of Norm's footsteps faded away, leaving God with the sound of the storm and shifting fabric as he rested his head on the armrest.

He stared up at the ceiling for a while, not letting himself think about anything in particular.

His optic sensors dimmed, then closed automatically, and his display replaced itself with a black screen and looping Z’s.

And the rain kept falling, but it wasn't like he was listening anymore.