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He wanted to ignore it. He had been ignoring it. He had been ignoring it for ages now. But every single day it only got louder. More insistent. More obvious. And Abaddon wasn't sure how much longer that he could take any of it. He wasn't sure how much longer he could manage to hide himself from it. How much longer he could hide it from the others. How much longer he could hide it from everyone.
Abaddon was never the type to admit to anyone when he was facing serious troubles. Or, at the very least, he would try to avoid them as much as possible. Complaining about not being open to something? That was different. But genuine emotions and struggles? That was something else. Territory that he, really, didn't want to touch on too deeply, lest he have a reason. He figured that the longer he ignored his emotions, the more of a chance he had of them going away. But the more and more he DID ignore them, the more he noticed things coming up.
It had started off manageable enough. It was merely him doing actions that he thought were a bit uncharacteristic of himself, such as occasionally willingly helping out around the hotel or actually cleaning up after himself without being forced once or twice. Everybody had off days, he figured. He was warming up to the family too, even if he didn't want to admit it. This was likely just a result of that! He easily wrote it away and stopped questioning the moments as much when they happened. Never anything too brash. He could regret it later.
Eventually, things started escalating a bit. Uncharacteristic moments turned into him simply doing things that he hardly remembered doing at all. He could write that away easily enough as well — sometimes days went by too fast to keep track of, other times they moved by too slow and he could remember every little detail. Regardless, it was always only simply small tasks that he forgot about. Never anything significant enough for him to raise concern about. He never thought much of it, even if Katherine got upset at him for things he couldn't recall confused him, it was nothing new. He was used to getting and being in trouble — getting punished. Annoying, but a bit thrilling if anything.
But then things started getting more serious. He was having complete gaps in memory. At this point, he wasn't sure if he could count on both of his hands how many times he had been asked by Esther if he remembered something that she had told him or something that they did together, with him simply having to shake his head no. It was true, he didn't remember. No matter how important Esther, or anybody really, made it seem, he could never fully recall it. He could tell that it was starting to get on peoples nerves, but more importantly, they were getting worried. If he was being honest, he was getting worried about himself. Things like this had never happened before — none that he could recall. But now that he was thinking about it, what if this HAD happened before, and he just couldn't remember that either? That thought was making him more paranoid than he cared to admit.
Occasionally, days would go by. Days that he couldn't recall, but he didn't want to inquire about them. He didn't want anybody to think anything was wrong. More wrong than they clearly already thought things were. He would always just nod along if someone was talking of one of the odd ghost adventures they had that day. He wasn't sure if he was the best at pretending, but his act seemed to be getting him by easily enough. He would chime in when he needed to with a random comment, get the standard weird stares that would happen when he did, and things like that. Part of him wished he DID remember what happened those days. Not just because he wanted his memory… or brain… or… whatever was wrong with him to be intact again, but also because they simply seemed fun, and he missed bonding with his 'family'. Could he call them that? He wasn't sure. Whatever.
Things came to a head though on one day in particular. Today, actually. What had led to him immediately running off and hiding himself in the vents to attempt and get away from everybody — even if he knew that was probably going to get him fussed at later. He didn't care right now. Frankly, he was freaking the fuck out.
Things had seemed normal? As normal as things could be in the Undervale, of course. Esther doing her standard chaotic business, Ben being Ben, Katherine complaining, Nathan trying his best to keep everything together — normal. It was all normal. And yet Abaddon was stressed out, uncomfortable all day. The reason being? On this day, hundreds of years prior, he had been bound to the vessel. Bound to this… weak form. No matter how much time had passed, he would never forget the day that everything changed for him. For the worst. He could go many days without thinking about it, but this one always brought it up. He was forced to think about it, against his better judgment. Frankly, he thought he should be over this by now. But the scar still remained on his chest. That damn priest…
…
The priest.
That was the part he tried not to think about the most.
Not because it was the most traumatic part — sure, it hurt, but he got his revenge about it. The branding was the worst part, really (though he supposed it was caused by the priest, which made him the most… whatever), but because of something else. Something that he… couldn't explain. He had memories of the priest. Not the negative ones from the branding, no. But positive ones, positive ones that very clearly weren't his own. Memories of being held and loved by the man, being truly cared for. Like a son. He hated those memories, because they confused him, and he hated being confused. Today specifically they were stuck in his mind, and he'd be damned if he wasn't trying to get them out of his head the best that he could.
But that was when he heard it.
"I miss my Poppa…"
The voice was small in the back of his mind. He was glad that everyone's backs were turned when he first heard it, because if anybody had seen the way it caused him to flinch, he'd have to explain something incredibly embarrassing that he didn't want to disclose. Not now, not ever. It had caught him off guard. The voice was in no way his own, much higher, like that of a child. Furthermore, the voice was familiar to him. He knew exactly who the voice belonged to. And that only sent him further into a spiral of denial.
This was a part he didn't admit to anybody, but he had been… 'friends' with his vessel. He didn't want to possess without asking, that was cruel, so he had done what he could. He had talked to the boy. Learned his name, hobbies, favorite games, favorite songs, and things of the sort. Gained his trust, and gained his permission to take over his body. It was an act of rebellion — the boy and his father had been having problems recently, likely caused by his new found friendship with the demon that Abaddon is and his fathers conflicting ideology. And Abaddon remembered that voice like no other. A voice burnt into his brain.
And that was the exact voice that he had heard.
He thought the boy was gone. No— he KNEW the boy was gone. He hadn't heard a peep from him in years, there had never been any signs that he was still around, so he COULDN'T still be around. Abaddon didn't want to believe that. That would lead to too many complications, complications that he didn't want. That was what had caused him to rush away from the dining room, and that was what caused him to be where he was now. In the vents, merely staring at the metal in front of him, trying to figure out what was going on.
"There has to be some reasonable explanation for this—"
Abaddon muttered to himself, placing a hand in his hair and tugging a bit. A self soothing behavior, although not a good one. He hated that thought, though. He had never minded doing it before — why was the thought of it being bad only popping into his head now? And damn it, why did his hand lower? He didn't do that, he would never do that, he wouldn't—
"It's dark in here."
Abaddon froze.
No. No no no— This was not happening. The boy couldn't be— there was no way that this was real, right? It was just because of the day, he was hearing things. He would wake up tomorrow and everything would be just fine. Maybe he would forget about everything like he had countless other things. He hoped he could forget about it. His fist ended up in his hair again, his breathing getting fast. Tears were pricking in the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Too much. It was just too much.
This was embarrassing. He needed to stop.
"Crying isn't embarrassing."
…
"What do you know?"
"Uhm… not a lot I don't think, but crying helps you get your feelings out!"
It was talking to him. He was having a conversation with a voice in his head — the voice of the boy that he had possessed years prior. This couldn't be real, he refused it to be real. He was the great Abaddon, the cobra king, and most certainly the only person currently inhabiting this body. What would be the reason for the vessel even revealing himself now? There was none! Things were going fine, he was completely fine!
"If you're crying, I don't think you're fine."
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH, YOU PATHETIC SWINE!"
Abaddon immediately brought a hand to his own once he said that. There was absolutely zero way he would go by undetected now, he had likely just echoed his screech around the entire hotel, and he likely didn't have much time until somebody started shouting at him to get out. He never understood why him being in the vents was a problem, but apparently it was.
"I didn't mean to upset you,"
The mere concept of this voice was upsetting him.
"Can you try taking a deep breath, maybe? Father used to get me to do that and it would help."
He thought about that for a moment. He didn't want to do it, he thought it was rather deign. He was a demon, not some pathetic mortal. But before he knew it, he found air entering his lungs. The action felt almost involuntary. Almost.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale…
Exhale….
Inhale….
"And exhale.. there you go!"
Abaddon didn't want to admit it, but that did make him feel better. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, and it calmed him a bit. He was starting to get a headache though, and that annoyed him.
"…What do you want?"
"What do you mean?"
"You haven't said anything in hundreds of years. I refuse to believe your existence is anything but a futile response to what happened back then anyway, and I am under the full belief that you will disappear within the next few days regardless, but I want to know what you want in the meantime. If you are real. Which you are not."
A beat of silence passed.
"I don't think I want anything."
"A hallucination and a liar, I should have expected this."
"I'm not lying! And also, I haven't been gone for hundreds of years. I've been here! Sort of in and out, but I've been figuring things out more lately! It's been a bit blurry, though."
"…You've been here?"
"Yes!"
"And you thought not to tell me ANYTHING OF YOUR PRESENCE?!"
"You wouldn't have believed me."
That single sentence caused Abaddon to freeze up completely. Because, simply, it was the truth. Honestly, he still didn't believe it now. He was assuming (more so hoping) that over time the voice would merely fizzle out and never come back. That this was all just some form of… delusion, and that the ghosts in and hotel and such were merely getting to him.
Abaddon adjusted his posture a bit, having to take a moment to properly compose what he wanted to say next.
"How did you… discover your own presence? How you discovered that you're merely a fracture of me, that is. And how could you have possibly realized before I did, and what caused me to forget?"
"Well… I don't think I can answer all of that. But I figured out I was here because I tried to change our outfit one day, I think the one we have on is dirty. I saw the big cross scar on our chest, and memories came back, but they were fuzzy. Then later on they called me your name, and it sort of hit me like a truck that I'm… not you! But I kept playing along!"
Thinking about that, it made sense. He didn't like how logical this little voice was being. He didn't like how rational it was — he didn't like how much it didn't sound like himself. He was going to be in denial about this conversation happening in about an hour, give or take.
"Smart, I suppose I will give you that. But I'm still upset with you for not telling me a thing."
"I didn't really know how to communicate it to you. You couldn't hear me up until today."
"Yes, and I'm trying to figure out what ch-"
Abaddon was cut up by a sharp yell of his name from below. Crap, they had found him already-
"Us already."
The voice corrected him so softly, with a genuine care in it's tone, he almost felt guilty for what he said next.
"No. Just me."
…
"We can discuss this more later, yes? Katherine will throw a fit if I am not to evacuate the ventilation system this instant."
He could feel something within him shift, getting a bit happier despite not being the one his words were directed to. He felt as though he was talking to air right now, but the more that he interacted with said air, the more it formed into a physical being.
"Alright! Thank you, Mister Abaddon!"
Exactly what he used to call him back then.
A small smile crept up on his face. He hated that. He hated this voice.
But he had a feeling he was going to have to get used to this.