Chapter Text
Searing pain was the first thing that tipped Darkheart off to something wrong. It started at the back of their neck, trailing down their spine and making their knees buckle. The alleyway they’d chosen as their hiding spot began to melt around them, scenery fading into the background of their mind. It wasn’t like being stabbed or hit—it was a fierce burning under their skin.
The second thing Darkheart noticed was a flash of teal in their peripheral vision. They hadn’t seen it coming; the bastards caught them off guard. Those damned cultists... They could already imagine the way their siblings would ridicule them for their weakness. Darkheart, of all demons, struck by such aggravating mortals.
Their reaction was immediate, whipping around to face their attacker and reaching to summon their gear-
Wait, what? The familiar tingling feeling in the tips of their fingers was there, but their gear felt just out of reach. Like their fingers were grazing the hilt, unable to fully grasp it. Something broad and heavy hit the side of their head, a cry ringing out in their air—that couldn’t have come from their own mouth, right? They were better than this, better than these pests.
Darkheart stumbled back, still reaching to summon their gear. The hit to their head had disoriented them severely, vision swimming and ears ringing. It made it impossible to focus, unable to form a solid plan in their mind. A swirling mix of anger, frustration, and something that felt far, far too close to fear was flooding their brain. They needed to act fast, before this spiraled further than it already had.
There had to be a door somewhere, Darkheart vaguely recalled one just a few feet to their left. Another hit, this one a slash to his side—there was more than one attacker, this was a full-blown ambush. They lunged to the side, clawed hand outstretched and searching. That damn door had to be around here somewhere, they just needed to find it.
Another hit, this one to their lower leg. It was blunt and crushing, and they were starting to piece together what types of weapons their attackers used. Something broad and heavy, and something quick and sharp. They gritted their teeth, still searching blindly for a door handle. Just as their hand met cool metal, another slash hit their side, just above the earlier bleeding wound. It hurt, it nearly made them double over, adding onto the pile of all of their other injuries. But it shouldn’t matter, they’d found a door.
It took a suspicious amount of energy to use their abilities, the usually shimmering sigils now dull and flickering. Opening the door knocked the wind from their lungs. This was wrong, even with such injuries, using his abilities shouldn’t be this difficult. Getting payback on their attackers could wait, they needed to get to safety while they still had their head.
They threw themself through the door, ignoring the indignant shouting from the cultists to instead slam it in their faces. The Backdoors were safer, but they couldn’t stay here long without bleeding out. They ran through the options in their head—their siblings, absolutely not. What about that young man from Blackrock, the one with the pink horns? Nah, he was kind of a weirdo, not trustworthy when they were in such a state. Zuka, however... It was a risk, but he knew that old bastard was too soft to throw out someone injured. Hopefully.
Zuka’s door was sickeningly familiar to them, they’d practically memorized its shape and color. The old, worn wood, the dinged up doorknob, the peephole that was starting to rust. They’d been here often enough to bother the veteran that it almost felt like home. Or, the closest thing someone like them could call a home.
Darkheart fumbled with the doorknob, having trouble getting enough grip on it while also worrying about the actively bleeding wounds on their side. They collapsed into the entryway, body slumping to the ground with a dull thud. They could only hope Zuka was in a good enough mood today to deal with them.
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Time always seemed to be working against Zuka, whether it be the days moving by too quickly for him to keep up, or the hours stretching on and on with no end in sight. Today was one of those days, each glance up at the clock showing that only seconds had passed when it had felt like an eternity. Rocket’s complaining didn’t help. He loved the kid, but they were being extremely unhelpful at the moment.
“What about at 5:15? Can I leave then?” Rocket had been pestering him about going to Sword’s house since they’d come down to help at Da Shop. Zuka wasn’t even sure the two had anything particular planned; Rocket just wanted out of here. He didn’t blame him, it was slow as hell, he’d only made him stay because he needed help loading stuff onto a high shelf.
Zuka sighed, glancing back up at the clock. It had only been thirty seconds since he’d last checked, this was starting to get really annoying. “If you finish taping up those boxes for me I’ll let ‘ya go,” Zuka nodded towards the pile of cardboard boxes he’d been neglecting to do anything with. Rocket perked up at the offer, and without saying a word, scrambled over to do it.
Rocket finished the task at record speed, or, much faster than Zuka could ever hope to do it. He was getting older than he thought, but at least he had his son to push the work on to.
Rocket was running for the door before Zuka could stop him. “Please be safe! Don’t forget your curfew-“ His voice trailed off at the last few words, Rocket was long gone, probably not having listened to a word he said.
It didn’t take too long after that for the shop to be closed down for the day. The volume of customers dwindled, and the light outside began to fade. It was just as Zuka turned the lights off that he heard a thud from upstairs.
That couldn’t have been anything good.
Several possibilities ran through the veteran’s mind as he climbed the stairs up to the apartment two at a time. It could be a robber daring to break in when he was just downstairs, or perhaps Rocket had come back without him noticing and dropped something. The door handle twisted with no resistance—it was already unlocked. He pushed it open and-
It wouldn’t open all the way. He tried again, it was hitting something solid just beyond the entrance. Whatever was there was large, heavy, he pushed it out of the way as best he could using the door and slipped inside, thoughts still racing.
The absolute last thing he expected to be met with was the limp body of a deity halfway slumped against the shoe rack just in the entryway. He was so shocked by the sight that the smell of blood didn’t register until a few seconds later.
Darkheart was injured, in his fucking apartment of all places. Zuka acted fast, moving with a sort of calculated efficiency he didn’t think he still had in him. He pushed Darkheart’s body to lay flat on the floor, taking stock of their current condition.
Two gashes on their side, a wound on their head that trickled blood down their cheek. Zuka was no stranger to seeing people injured, but he'd never seen Darkheart like this. It was jarring enough to make him falter for just a moment. Who the hell could've done something like this to them of all inphernals, they were quick witted, sharp with their sword, he'd seen with his own eyes the way they move in a fight. Something was horribly wrong. He needed to act fast, he couldn't just let him bleed out like this.
Zuka stepped over their body, scrambling to the bathroom for his first aid kit. It was an impressive thing, far more equipped than the average at-home kit. He'd hoped he'd never have to use it, but still kept it in case of the unthinkable.
Darkheart hadn't moved a muscle by the time Zuka returned, hand shaking as he struggled to undo the buttons of their coat. It was an agonizingly slow process, each second ticking by filling him with a sense of dread deeper than he'd thought himself capable of feeling. What the fuck would he even do if Darkheart died here, how does he tell their family, would they blame him?
He can't be thinking like this when they were still alive and in need of help. Zuka shook the thoughts away with the final button, shoving the fabric aside to get the full scope of the injury.
Two wounds, both on Darkheart's left side just parallel to each other. They didn't look deep enough to warrant stitches, but they couldn't be left untreated. Blood oozed from the cuts, soaking into their clothes and staining them an even darker shade than it already was. Zuka started on the one further down, seemingly the more severe of the two, pressing gauze down onto it to stem the bleeding.
It was difficult to work efficiently with only one arm, movements slow and awkward. Zuka swore under his breath, pressing down a bit harder. He didn't like Darkheart, but he couldn't just let them die right in his own home. Especially if he was able to help.
The first wound was largely under control, and he moved onto the second, struggling to keep pressure over both as he pulled the first aid kit closer with his leg. He needed to get this wound wrapped.
There was shifting beneath him, and a low groan rang through the air—Darkheart was waking up.
"Shit- Can you hear me? You need to sit up so I can wrap this." Darkheart didn't respond immediately, another groan ringing out. "Hey, c'mon! I can't do this on my own."
This seemed to get through Darkheart's thick skull, and they began to push themselves upwards. Every action looked like it took every ounce of their energy, and that already all consuming dread Zuka felt began to gnaw away at him. This was wrong, wrong in an uncanny way that made the painfully mortal part of his mind want to scream and recoil.
Darkheart propped themselves up against the shoe rack, leaving space for Zuka to wrap a bandage tight around their stomach. It was a slow, careful job, the veteran making damn sure the thing wouldn't come loose.
Zuka removed his hand slowly, like if he moved too fast, it'd all come undone. Like Darkheart would suddenly collapse and die despite his efforts. There was still a matter of the head injury, which was solved by a pile of antiseptic wipes now covered in blood.
His focus finally shifted from the injuries to the deity themself, taking in their strained expression and labored breathing. A crushing silence stretched between them, the fear and panic melting into something more... awkward.
"What the fuck!?" The silence was broken suddenly by Zuka, who leaned back to take in Darkheart's whole form. "I- what- what!? What's going on? You-" He realized he was getting ahead of himself, and forced himself to stop speaking before he calmed down.
"Lets just... get you to the-" He stopped himself before saying couch, a sudden thought breaking through. Fuck, Rocket. He didn't know when he would be home and he didn't want him anywhere near Darkheart. "Bed. My room. You'll be more comfortable there."
Darkheart raised an eyebrow at this, a strained, letting out a breathy chuckle at Zuka's directions. "Not going to take us out for dinner first?" Despite their dwindling energy, they still found it within themself to poke fun at Zuka. Their tone was closer to delirium than their typical smugness.
Zuka, much to Darkheart's displeasure, ignored them, instead using his strength to pull Darkheart up and sling one of their arms over his shoulder. Darkheart was more dragged than they were carried, their legs struggling to stay steady beneath them as the two stumbled through the apartment. No words were exchanged, only quiet swears and grunts at the effort it took to get them to bed.
Zuka kicked the door closed behind them as they entered the bedroom, the bed only a short distance away. A small part of him wanted to drop Darkheart down onto the mattress like a sack of potatoes, but he couldn't bring himself to be cruel when they were in such rough condition. Instead, the deity was lowered gently onto the bed, Zuka mindful of the bandages.
Darkheart looked painfully mortal here on the bed, hair disheveled and clothes torn. A sigh escaped Zuka's lips as he clenched his jaw in frustration. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shake Darkheart by their shoulders and demand answers--but looking at them now, they just looked defeated. It was a pitiful sight, one he hoped he'd never have to see again.
It sucked, but he knew what he had to do, he could only hope Darkheart wasn't too stubborn to take it.
"I want you to stay here until you're better," His voice was low and hesitant, bracing himself for an argument. The deity was never one to accept help, even when it was absolutely necessary. His teeth ground together at the thought of a mindless rejection, he couldn’t stand their stubbornness sometimes-
"Okay."
...What? It couldn't be that easy. Zuka raised an eyebrow at them. "And you're not leaving this room, I don't want you near my son." He wanted Darkheart to stay, to get better. As much as he hated him he could never bring himself to toss him out in such a state. But there was something so jarring about Darkheart just accepting this right away that he couldn’t help but push, he wanted to see what the last straw would be.
"Okay."
There was no way. Zuka leaned in a bit closer, expression full of skepticism. He studied Darkheart as if a small twitch of their lips or quirk of their eyebrow would give away their real thoughts.
"What? Is it that crazy that we want to stay the night with our favorite mortal?" Darkheart waved Zuka off, head tilting to the side. Their smile was still strained, voice breathy and weak.
"Yes." Zuka’s response came without hesitation. He could count the amount of times Darkheart had willingly accepted an offer for help from him on one finger—that time being now. “Must’ve been one hell of a fight for you to be so agreeable now.” It was said as a joke, but there was a tinge of seriousness in the undercurrent of his words.
Darkheart stiffened, Zuka struck gold.
“Do you mind telling me what happened? I’m being gracious enough to let you stay in my apartment, after all.”
“We wouldn’t want to bore you with the details,” Darkheart waved him off, climbing up further onto the bed to get themself a bit more comfortable. “It’s all over now, no need to lose sleep over it.”
Of course, Zuka should’ve seen this coming. Things had been too good to be true until now—this was going to be like pulling teeth.
“No, you should tell me,” Zuka took a seat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “I insist, actually.”
“Really, Zuka. They’ve all been dealt with-“
“There was more than one attacker?” Zuka’s eyes widened at this, leaning in a bit closer.
“Nothing we couldn’t handle-“
“You were bleeding out on my shoe rack!”
A deafening silence stretched between the two as Darkheart was caught off guard by Zuka’s outburst. The veteran’s breathing had picked up, fist clenching into the fabric of his pants.
“Tomorrow,” Darkheart muttered. “We can tell you everything tomorrow, just let us sleep off this headache first.” Their voice was uncharacteristically quiet, this wasn’t the Darkheart that Zuka knew.
“Fine. Tomorrow. Get your sleep,” The tension drained from Zuka’s body, he couldn’t argue with them like this. It felt pointless and he knew he wasn’t going to be getting any straight answers. It was getting late for him anyway, it was a long day at work and he just wanted to lie down.
“You’re not leaving this room.” He said again, pairing his words with a sharp glance. “Rocket is not to know that you are here, or I will do something far worse than whatever your attackers did.”
Darkheart didn’t respond verbally, simply waving Zuka off. The veteran bit back more harsh words, he had more pressing matters to attend to, namely the mess of blood and bandages in his entryway.