Chapter Text
Cleo's pain was killing them today. They barely made it out of bed and to their mailbox. A letter from Etho with a heart stamp, some spam mail... Nothing of immediate interest.
She sat down on one of the shulker boxes, settling down crutches she was using to help her move on bad days. She never understood how she was still feeling pain if she was dead, but didn't question it much so as not to go insane. They took Etho's envelope and started reading the letter. He sent Cleo some frog lights after they helped him with a particularly difficult armour stand statue. She smiled as she reached the end of the text, putting the letter in her lap only to be met with a head grinning ear to ear.
"Hi buddeh!" The angel had his usual mischievous attitude, on his knees before Cleo sitting on the shulker box, hands gripping the corners of it.
Cleo flinched away and smacked Skizz on the head out of sheer astonishment.
"Ow ow ow! Is this how you greet your lawyer, Clebert?!" Skizzleman leaned back onto the grass, rubbing his head where Cleo's fist landed. The zombie sighed.
"And why were you sneaking up on me again?"
The shit-eating grin is back. "Cause i like it, that's why!"
"Oh fuck off." Cleo laughed despite themselves. The second Skizz was here, the pain eased up a bit.
"You're a meanie! I came here because I felt your pain from a mile away and wanted to help because I'm such a good friend and you say words like this to my face?"
"Yeah pretty much." Cleo tilted their head, smirking. "Though I wouldn't mind that help right now." They hissed, realising their neck wouldn't turn anymore.
"Of course I'll help but you're still a meanie." He lifted his thighs, but still was on his knees to be on eye level with Cleo.
Skizz lifted his right arm to gently rub at the back of Cleo's neck, right where it hurt the most. Cleo hissed, eyes watering in pain. They despised that someone had to see them crying, but she couldn't even turn away. The angel leaned in, his wings enveloping them, hiding from prying eyes, and pressed two gentle kisses on the aching spot. The pain started to slowly melt away from the warmth of Skizz's healing kiss. He could very much heal them without smooches, but he insisted aka begged for it. And the most weird thing out of it all, is that Cleo didn't mind.
She acts "i hate affection" and "ew love" but Skizz sees right through her facade of disgust that she secretly wishes someone would hold her as well. Cleo's eyes fluttered closed.
"Thank you." They muttered.
"I'm not done yet." Skizz leaned back to admire Cleo's face. "Do you want me to take you to bed or do it here?"
No wasn't an option, as it always was with Skizz. He pressed, but only because of his concern and care for people. Some would turn away from his rudeness and enthusiasm, but to Cleo he was one of the kindest people she knows and it says a lot.
"Bed. It would look weird, you know, people could be watching."
"Right, of course." Skizzleman stood up with a stretch of his muscly, big arms.
He hooked up the crutches into the inside of his left elbow and gently scooped up Cleo into his arms, priorly asking where it hurt the most so he wouldn't grab or touch there. His curved snow-white wings flapped, feet lifting off the grass to carry them inside Cleo's workshop and house. He whispered apologies into her ears as he settled her down onto the bed. The zombie grunted, but didn't cry out once. Skizz sat down beside them, slowly massaging their thigh.
"Where should I start?" he asked. Of course, he could sense pain from other people, but not quite exactly where it was located.
"Back. Lower back. It hurts there and echoes through my entire spine."
"Poor Clebert." The angel gently flipped Cleo so they were lying on their back, then rubbed soothing circles on it before kissing their spine. Cleo moaned in relief.
Skizz then went through every usual place: neck, shoulders, stomach, chest, knees, eyes even. He liked to give them a massage after the healing session.
"Feel better now?"
"It's like being born again."
"Pretty sure being born is painful."
"Shut it, I'm being thankful." Cleo nudged Skizz with a laugh. "Talking about birth, if I were to ask, could you take away my periods?"
"Wha-" Skizz was stunned, utterly shocked and perplexed. He froze in place, eyes wide and jaw agape.
They sat in silence for a minute before Cleo gasped, putting their hand over their mouth.
"Oh gosh i didn't mean it like that, jeez!" Cleo flapped their other hand, embarrassed.
Skizz exhaled, realising he was holding his breath the entire time.
"I meant sparing me the torture of bleeding out of my hole and having cramps, not, uh..."
"Yeah no i get it!! Totally!" Skizz reassured, nodding with a little too much enthusiasm.
"Soooo... Could you?"
Skizz scratched his chin. "I.. don't know. It's not exactly a wound."
He, in fact, could.
Cleo has never ever felt this free, except maybe when they escaped Doc's lab. No more painkillers, pads, stained favourite clothes, ruined alone times. And the gender euphoria, oh the euphoria they felt when their virtual calendar sent them a reminder of an upcoming period and they, in response, deleted it. It was too pink and feminine anyway. Sometimes they wished there was an evil period calendar with skulls and fire instead of flowers, but not that they need it now anyways.
Skizz was an angel in every way. Cleo wondered if he could get in trouble up there for what he did. Well, if he did, they'd protect him like no one else..
The pain in other places didn't go away, though. Of course it didn't. It was bearable the next day, at least.
Skizz was out in the sky, shooting rockets and making loops in the air. Cleo could make out a bow-shaped object in his hands. At least he wasn't shooting at them… yet.
As if on cue the angel flew to her base, crashing into the workshop’s wall with a painful crust of wings. He immediately stood up, grunting and rubbing his shoulder. Cleo ran up to him.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“CLEO I SHAT- SH- SHOOTED-"
“You shot,”
“I SHOT MYSELF!” he screamed.
***
He never stood a chance.
His best was someone's worst. Skizz tried not to think about it often, to keep his spirits up for everyone's sake. What else could he do? Indulging and feeding on those thoughts would only mean digging himself into a deeper hole and he could not afford it.
People needed him, after all. Not as much as he needed them, but still. He lived to see his friends smile and laugh and to help them in a moment of need.
“Oh Skizz, you're an angel” they would say. Well, he literally was, but was it all they saw in him?
And lying in bed at night he would wonder if they were using him for his powers. Of course they were friends and all, but the two never really hung out together. Not alone at least. Not that he asked.
Skizz was still fairly new to this world. Before he'd only come down if the higher ups ordered so, with the task taking around 5 minutes, but now he noticed all the beauty of the earth. Heaven was plain and simple, made not to overwhelm the dead, but everything down here had meaning. Everything lived and everything loved, from the smallest ants to the sky above(not to confuse with Heaven). The hermits were all so different and full of character, ideas and words to share he never grew bored of listening.
Everyone seemed to know each other, though. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, but it made things awkward sometimes, when a group would share laughs over an inside joke Skizz did not understand.
Naturally, he stuck around to the only person he knew - Impulse. Of course, by now he made new friends and hung out with other people more, but everything always came down to him.
“I don't know, man, practically everyone likes her.” Skizz rubbed the back of his neck with a defeated sigh, slouching.
“So what? You're the closest anyone has ever gotten to them excluding Bdubs and Etho.” Impulse reassured.
“THIS IS NOT HELPING AT ALL!” Skizz cried out, sobbing into his palms.
“I'm sorry- didn't mean it like that. It's just… You get to touch them, hug them, etc. while others don't.” Imp patted Skizz’s back. “And it's never too late to tell people about your feelings. You know I support you.”
“You're right, you're right… as always.” The angel grumbled. “How should I even do it? Hey Cleo, I am madly in love with you??”
“Don't say it like you didn't make some of the most romantic poems ever to me.”
“It's… different.” Skizz looked at the imp with his light cyan eyes. ‘oh gosh you should get brown contacts’ the back of Impulse's mind would say, but unfortunately, the front was completely smitten by their beauty.
He took his hand, thumb gently rubbing over a vein. “We were best friends for decades.”
“Love comes at unexpected times. You of all people should know that. And if you get a no, it's not the end of the world. You guys will stay friends anyway.” Impulse smiled at Skizz, cupping his cheek, then pinching it. “So chin up, buddy.”
Skizzleman shook his wings, more in a calming motion than anything. “Thank you hommeh.”
“We sleep in one bed and you call me homie.”
“Yeah!” Skizz stood up and gave Impulse a quick kiss. “I'll go for a walk now, brainstorm some ideas.”
Impulse nodded. He was working on his city anyway, putting some neon signs on buildings for finishing touches. His hand instinctively came up to the ring on his right horn, rolling it. The colour of the aquamarine sitting in it didn't match his style’s colours at all, but it matched Skizz’s eyes. He wanted only the best for his man, and he was ready to support him through a heartbreak or something else entirely. Although he started to question Skizz’s taste.
Meanwhile the angel found solace between the clouds, watching the server from above, wings spread wide- all 5 pairs of them-, the wind in his hair, the faint smell of the coming storm. Skizz's eyes landed on the Shopping District, reminding him that he has a job now, before briefly gazing at Cleo's Kitty Café. Gosh, he missed them a normal amount.
Down on the ground, Scar, his fellow colleague, waved to Skizz. It was his chance- the angel pulled out an arrow from the quiver on his back, the tip heart-shaped, and shot at Scar as he glided down towards him. That was his favourite hobby, shooting people for fun.
For some reason it only made them fall in love with each other, but a kill is a kill.
Skizz didn't bother picking up Scar's stuff, just waiting for him to come back to pick it off the ground as he sat, leg over another on top of an arch.
The man glanced in the general direction of Cleo's pop-up hay bales shop, his heart sinking at the thought that she's going to be banished soon.Grian and Cub already moved the spawn to the world border. He didn't go there yet, but even thinking about it made him shiver - all alone, surviving. Zero ways to get out. 30 million blocks… Gosh. That was evil even for the POE.
Dialoguing with Scar about his zoo distracted Skizz enough to forget about his, ah, issues. He went straight into his POE POE Skizz mode, put his moustache on, booty shorts and the cool hat. They had a job to do, Cub wouldn't let them slack off anymore. After the pop-up purge, their worst problems were unstocked shops, and oh how Skizz loved to use his position to force people to give him what he wanted.
Skizz always had a twisted ankle in some way or another. He didn't break his bones or anything, but most of the time at least one foot of his hurt, so most of the time he found himself levitating during a dialogue or flying even for the smallest transportations. Not that it was a problem. After all, he is a free bird, and no avian stays on the ground for too long.
Grian did, though, but in Skizz's eyes, Grian wasn't really a free bird right now. He was in a cage he built for himself, and just wouldn't let any help in.
People often point out that Skizz is too nosy and helps even when they don't need it. But he can't just not do it, can he? He was created to help humanity. This is all he is. A relief, a cure, a hand, a word of comfort, the warmth of a hug, but not ever the person giving it. Defying it would break each of his morals.
While on patrol, he saw a great opportunity to punish someone who hasn't been following the law. The angel pulled out an arrow out of his quiver yet again - this one's tip was carved the way it hurts you even more if you try to pull it out. He squinted to focus on his target, wings lazily flopping behind his back, spread wide in all their glory, sunlight making them look almost iridescent, unable to not look at. And when the victim is distracted enough - that's when his claws sink in.
Scar managed to break the bed they needed, and the hermit was no longer here. Skizz's communicator buzzed like crazy, but he already knew what was there - shocked, indignant messages of a newly exiled person. By the time their little shift was over it was sunset. Not that they had nights, but Skizz guessed he needed some rest.
And, of course, he went to Cleo's - totally because it was the nearest base… like a thousand blocks away.
He shot another rocket that made sure he had enough wind in his hair - he wanted to land gracefully, to make her stare. And while he detailed his plan, his body was already there. Crashing into a concrete wall, his vision went blank from the sudden pain, a painful crunch that echoed through all of his bones, a thud that shook his brain upside down. Unable to see, he only heard faint, rushed footsteps that grew just a little louder as his consciousness started to slip.