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Some people are eternally destined for damnation and torture, those who commit unspeakable acts and crimes and die before repenting are snatched away to the deepest pits of Hell and are never to see the light of day again. It is all very calculated, an intricate plan of punishment and terror; Heaven and Hell are dimensions older than Earth, mankind and time itself. Some people commit sins of murder, treachery or adultery. Philip's sin is loving one of the only people who ever gave him the time of day, letting himself be kissed by the anti-Christ and effectively marking him with jewellery gifted by the Dark One; matching black porcelain rings Damien got him for their first anniversary as boyfriends.
Damien always knew this would be the outcome. He’d told Pip as such many times, that if they continue to be together he will be cursed to eternal damnation; not that he was fit for Heaven in the first place, everyone knows only mormons get into Heaven. But Damien is human enough to feel guilt over leading his lover into the dimension of despair, the Seventh Circle, the deepest pits, his hometown. Every time Pip had simply smiled, touched his face gently and assured him that he knows what awaits and that he doesn’t want a future without Damien, silly. The anti-Christ decides not to push the topic again out of embarrassment.
They’re just about a few weeks into seventh grade and the snow is already making its way back onto the sides of the street, summer short-lived and fleeting in the mountain town. During the night the water freezes just barely and by morning it’s already melting and leaking into kids’ shoes on the way to school; gravel and dirt colouring the ground grey and depressing. These periods between seasons are the worst, that can, for once, be unanimously agreed upon in the student body.
Hallways are therefore much more wetter and slippery right now, wet snow dragged in by the younger students that don’t wipe their feet and the lack of staff leaving the janitor position empty for no one to clean up properly. Pip makes sure not to step in the worst of it as he scurries off to his second class of the day when the school bell rings, but he’s inevitably pushed to the side by Eric Cartman or a friend of his right outside the door. Pip only lets out a surprised “oh!” before he stumbles onto his knees, landing hard, in a puddle on the floor.
He’s the last one in, but Pip knows this song and dance and slips into the classroom quickly before Mr. Garrison can close the door and mark him tardy. Their teacher merely sighs and seems to not care as he shuts the door with finality and starts taking attendance. Philip beams at him and sits down in the back of the classroom, his usual chair, next to Damien.
“...You are late,” Damien observes with a suspicious raise of an eyebrow aimed at Pip, while the blonde boy simply smiles as usual and shakes his head softly.
“Nope, I made it just in time!” Pip whispers cheerfully as he unloads his notebook from his messenger bag, an old thing that barely hangs on by a thread. The Brit learned to sew long ago simply to keep it in a working state, backpacks can be expensive.
Damien doesn’t seem entirely pleased, his pointed ears flattening against his head. His eyes flick down to Pip’s red bruising knees.
“What happened?” The demon points down, but he already has a suspicion.
“I had a little fall. These floors are slippery,” Pip shrugs but he doesn’t smile like usual. “Pay attention to the lesson, now,” he shushes Damien and points forwards. Damien complies with an eyeroll.
Few times does Damien actually eat in the cafeteria; between the grating swirl of loud voices, the sound of forks scraping against plastic plates and the noise of people eating as well as the general feeling of people watching him, he’s got better ideas of fun. Pip joins him in the library on occasion, when people are throwing food at him or pushing him off his chair, but humans cannot go as long without food as Damien can and Damien forbids the Brit from starving on his account.
The compromise is that Damien is always seemingly waiting for Pip outside of the cafeteria doors when he finishes eating lunch. They go hand in hand to their classes and by the end of the day they always waltz off together to Pip’s apartment complex. Damien practically lives there and comes and goes as he pleases. He says it is an issue of convenience, that opening a portal to and from Hell every day takes a lot of energy, but he still seemed strangely excited at the milestone of having his own toothbrush in Pip’s bathroom. Pip thinks he’s a sap.
The ground is grey and wet and the water squelches under Pip’s previously shining schoolboy shoes and Damien’s combat leather boots. In his true form, without any restraint, Damien doesn’t even need to wear shoes. His legs are furry and adorned by cloven hooves, just like his father. It is much more comfortable to exist in that state, and he never has to worry about getting his pants or shoes dirty, but Damien rarely ever shows that side of himself, barely to Philip and especially not in public in this backwater hick town. People can get weird about that sort of thing. Religious rednecks loiter around every corner.
Damien glances at the blonde next to him. That’s also the reason they don’t hold hands in town, even if everyone always sees them together anywhere anyway. The risk of harassment is too large to be willing to take it. The two other gay kids in their grade, the spazzy blonde and the dude with the blue hat that Damien can never remember the names of, prance around as they please and the town seems infatuated with it. They get to exist without repercussions, but him and Pip don't. If that isn’t a cruel trick played by the man upstairs then Damien doesn’t know what it is.
The only reason he holds his mouth is because he’d rather simmer in his own frustration than let anyone hurt Pip if he could help it. Throwing a middle finger to the church-goers they pass by isn’t worth it if it makes Pip’s life unnecessarily harder than it already is. He can’t tell if Pip cares this much about something so trivial as hand-holding in public, because Pip’s true thoughts are almost always behind lock and key within the smiling and polite facade Damien can tell he puts up. Pip told him once it’s easier to simply go along with things and blend in sometimes. It’s all survival. If he ever thinks about the way people view their relationship, Pip doesn’t show it. He doesn’t show a lot of the things he truly thinks. Damien supposes he’s got every reason not to.
“Something wrong?” Philip takes that second to look at Damien who’s been observing his boyfriend for the last minute and tugs a blonde strand of hair behind his ear. The demon boy flusters with a scowl.
“No. Just thinking,” he says.
“About what?” Pip urges him to go on with a gentle hum.
Damien doesn’t know how to avoid the topic he’s been pondering over for the duration of their walk and he’d rather chew his fingers off than admit to being all lovey-dovey and caring, so he doesn’t reply. Pip still awaits a response patiently, but over in the distance the silhouette of the Tweek Bros. Coffee emerges over a hill. Their attention is snapped up by the smell of mocha and ground coffee beans.
“Wanna get something?” Damien asks Pip tonelessly and pulls at his coat lightly, gesturing towards their usual afternoon tea spot. He’s grateful for the distraction, and could honestly go for a snack right about now.
“I’d love to, but I don’t have my wallet on me, I’m afraid,” Pip smiles sheepishly.
Patting at his pocket, Damien gives a lopsided grin and a shake of his head. The fondness of it almost makes him flush all over again.
“Since when do I make you pay for your own food?” Damien walks without looking at Pip because he knows he’s already following him anyway. He hears Pip’s timid laugh behind him blossom out into a genuine giggle.
“You spoil me,” Philip lightheartedly swoons in a playful manner. He wouldn’t deny it, though. Damien’s not so good with words as he is at shoving gifts in Pip’s face. Buying things is an easier and much more blatant display of affection. It helps that Damien’s father has infinite amounts of money.
When Pip rests his cheek on Damien’s shoulder as they step into the warmth of the coffee shop, Damien decides maybe he doesn’t have to worry about holding hands outside as much. His imp-like tail thumps happily against his legs.
The building is sparsely populated this time of day, and rarely does Pip think he actually has seen it crowded in any capacity. But the Tweak family seems to do well for itself somehow anyway. He orders a Ceylon tea, a comfortable choice for a late afternoon in his opinion. Damien gets a black coffee and some pastry that he’ll inevitably end up finding too sweet and give the rest to Pip.
They sit together in a smaller booth at the edge of the shop, propped up against a window. Pip’s legs kick at Damien’s under the table. Their porcelain plates and cups clink and clatter as it is delivered by the jittery blonde boy who took their order and a shriek is caught in his throat when he almost spills some of it and receives a glare from Damien. He quickly skitters off like a scared mouse. He doesn’t come back to ask for any tips.
Today is Thursday. Tomorrow is Friday, and after that they’re free from school for the weekend. The relief of knowing that visibly slithers into Pip’s muscles, the tension in his strained posture relaxing when he knows he is free from his school peers even if for just a day or two. Damien wishes he could gather Pip’s anxiety into a tightly pressed ball and throw it far, far away. The knowledge that he cannot, even though he should be able to do anything he wants to, grinds his sharp teeth. He takes a bite of the carrot cake he ordered on a whim.
In contrast to the calm Brit, Damien usually faces the impending weekend with a mixture of feelings he cannot describe but would rather not feel. He usually goes home, down below, for the weekends, at the request of his father. He gripes and moans about it but as it currently stands Damien is not yet an adult and has to comply with his parent’s wishes. Maybe part of him also gets a little homesick at times, but that is nowhere near the point. It isn’t his fault that South Park is so damn cold all the time, that he can never find a warmth close enough to remind him of home. He wants to be comfortable without wearing three layers and extra socks.
Half a cake and some tea later, Pip moves his gaze from the window and drums his fingers against his teacup as he looks at Damien. It’s a look he recognises as something Pip thinks is fun or good news, which usually means it is something lame. Damien grunts questioningly.
“Remember the club I’m in? At school?”
Damien’s eyes flicker before they blink in recollection. The ‘club’ Pip suddenly is bringing up is less of a club and more of a weekly meeting where the other foreign students at their school sit in an empty study room and talk about whatever it is they do for an hour or two. Pip invited Damien once, since he by technicality “also qualified as a foreign exchange student” and Damien reminded him none of them were exchange students, just foreigners. He sat outside and waited for Pip’s stupid meeting to end for an hour.
More and more often are Damien’s thoughts and free time spent on Philip in one way or another. He really is getting soft.
“With that Estella girl?” Damien questions. Pip nods. “Yeah. What about it?”
“Gregory is bringing Christophe tomorrow. I thought you might like to join us this time,” he bats his blonde eyelashes sweetly at him, taking a sip of his tea.
Damien has very few friends, but the Mole is one of the select people he can have a conversation with and actually enjoy it. The cigarette smell and the dirty clothes sting in his sensitive nose but he lets it slide for some minutes of dissing God together with the Frenchman.
Philip, on the other hand, is known to be unable to stand Christophe. Something about his ungentlemanliness, about his addiction, about how dirty he is, his crude words and something about the French that Damien never catches. Pip is never impolite, but Damien sees his smile crack whenever Christophe speaks to him. And that in itself is hilarious. The demon smirks with amusement.
“You’re letting the Mole into the club? That’s surprising,” he says with a knowing smirk. Pip never admits his dislike for anyone, but he knows Damien knows him well enough for him not to be able to deny it.
“He is a member. He just doesn’t… have a lot in common with some of us. I thought maybe he’d like it if you’re there.”
“And that I would like it if he was there.”
Pip’s eyes snap to him with a force that almost exudes jealousy. It quickly dissolves into embarrassment. Damien’s shit-eating grin deepens.
“Do you want to or not?” Pip’s spoon rests in the empty teacup. The sky is beginning to darken outside.
“Very well. I will be there,” Damien shrugs. Teasing is fun and all, but he could never really deny Pip for long. The conversation is punctuated with a nod. Philip snorts at his theatrics.
Their cups are empty and the rest of the carrot cake remains untouched and dry, crumbs littering the table. A group of kids swing open the doors, all dressed in black and holding lit cigarettes while asking for the darkest coffee Tweek Bros. Coffee offers.
Pip eyes Damien warily. Damien raises an eyebrow.
“Wanna get out of here?”
“Yes,” Pip is already making his way off of the seat.
The two of them wind up in Pip’s apartment within the half hour.
Pip’s foster parents, an older middle-class couple with no kids of their own, are resting in the living room with the TV on full blast. Their faces are illuminated in a blue artificial light and they wave gently when Pip greets them and pulls Damien along with him into his room. Damien manages a stiff nod as a greeting, even though he’s met them at brief times before.
Underneath a quilt blanket, Damien’s bones finally relax and he can share body heat with his boyfriend. This is where he would like to stay for the rest of his eternal life, unable to be plagued by the outside world and mortal worries. He’d wrap Philip up with him and cuddle up close, never taking his hands off. This is a practiced dance, Philip waits with the blanket until Damien props himself up next to him in the bed and sinks into the pillows. Damien wraps an arm around him, Philip lets his head rest against Damien’s chest.
A DVD is pushed into the little TV Pip keeps in his bedroom, angled towards the bed. Before the movie passes the halfway point the two boys are passed out in each other's arms.
Pip knows Damien has little in common with any of his friends, so the fact alone that the anti-Christ is willing to come along is enough to have him beam the entire day.
They’re the last ones to arrive at the study room, a small little thing tucked away in the corner of the school that is only ever used for tutoring, kids who want to hang out and as the occasional storage room when necessary. Previously dusty and untouched, now the few foreign kids all find it somewhat of a sanctuary. Their shared experiences of being outsiders, of ending up in this small town without really knowing how or why, of being away from home, it all sort of simply pulled them together at some point. Philip already knew Estella from childhood, and after her mother’s death she supposedly moved around in England until she wanted a change of scenery. Pip was told in a letter that she was arriving in his town only about a week before it, which was about a year ago now. He hasn’t ever seen her with any other people, and the other girls seem to shun her a bit. The two old childhood sweethearts have more in common now than ever before. Estella kicks Pip in the shin whenever he insinuates just that.
The group of people see Pip, Estella and Gregory often as they’re all equal parts punctual and devoted to it. Pip likes to think they make a good team, even if he often ends up as the scapegoat of the two more hotheaded Brits; not that he isn’t familiar with that dynamic. He dares even say it makes him nostalgic. At times Pip wonders if Pocket would’ve liked something like this, if he didn’t stay back home. But the little faux school club, seeing as it was never officially recognised by the school administration, is open for anyone. Occasionally, Christophe will peak his head in and stay for a chat. Usually if Gregory makes him. Damien is often seen hanging around outside of the door waiting for Pip. David Rodriguez participated once or twice, and it was nice to see a fresh face. The two previously homeschooled siblings, Rebecca and Mark, will join their after-school activity if their parents permit. Truthfully, it is not a bad little social circle at all, Pip has to admit. Being part of something feels nice.
Pip is not someone he would call prideful, but he holds his head particularly high when Damien looks around in the room with a curious glance. He seems nicely surprised. Damien’s hand squeezes Pip’s gently and he smirks at him with wide eyes, earning a toothy grin back. By the round table, Gregory, Estella and Christophe are already engaged in a heated discussion over a game of cards. Christophe is blowing smoke out of an open window.
“Hello, fellows!” Pip gives an excited wave. Damien mumbles something that sounds like a hello.
Christophe grunts noncommittally but he does meet the pair’s eyes. Gregory and Estella momentarily put their argument on pause to greet them.
“Afternoon, Philip,” Gregory smiles warmly. He eyes Damien curiously. “And Damien. Nice of you to finally join us.”
“Yes, frankly, I had quite enough of seeing you mope outside every week. It was pathetic,” Estella adds without any facial expression, but her lack of usual insults leads Pip to understand she was either happy, curious or excited at the idea of Damien being here. She often gripes about having only Gregory and Pip to talk to, claiming that a lady needs intelligent peers to converse with. Pip thinks she’s lonely.
Damien rolls his eyes and sits down on the chair next to Pip obediently when the blonde pats at it.
“I’m still not a member of this club,” Damien says with airquotes around the last word. “I’m just here because Pip keeps pestering me about it.”
Pip giggles and leans into Damien’s arm. The game of cards resumes. Pip joins a conversation with Gregory about the South Park Cows’ last football game while Damien peeks at Estella’s cards and tells her which ones to pick. Christophe calls the two of them assholes when he loses.
Awakened from a deep slumber and a very nice dream he’d like to go back to, mind you, Damien pulls his body to the bathroom outside of Pip’s room in the middle of the night. He makes sure Pip is staying asleep before maneuvering himself out of the blonde boy’s grasp. He recognises the tingling, calling sensation in his body. His father is trying to reach him.
And because Hell has no reception, their communication relies on medieval-like ways of summoning and messaging. Damien yawns with sleep in his eyes as he closes the door to the dark bathroom and lights the closest candle he sees with a flick of his finger.
He walks to the mirror, muttering a familiar phrase in his native Latin tongue until the view of his father’s face is visible in it. Damien sighs and pinches his nose bridge, motioning a gesture that means for his dad to get the hell on with it.
“Damien,” Satan’s voice rumbles and he can hear the smile on his lips behind those large fangs. “How are you doing?”
“Fine until you woke me up,” Damien glares halfheartedly. His dark, thick hair is still messy from the bed. He does not believe his dad didn’t do this partly on purpose. “What is it? Did you call just for small talk? Because if so, I am going back to bed.”
He moves to end the conversation, but Satan stops him with some sputters of denial and Damien is curious enough to want to know what this could possibly be about to listen to him.
He knows this isn’t anything serious, anything regarding life-or-death odds, because if it was Satan would’ve already physically summoned him into Hell or opened a portal to speak to him himself. The fact that his dad also didn’t sound incredibly pissed off immediately was also a good sign, because Damien did often forget some of his chores back home and would occasionally let Cerberus out to terrorise sinners for fun until Satan noticed.
The anti-Christ crosses his arms with a huff and cocks an eyebrow at the large, red demon.
“I’m sorry for waking you up, I just have a proposition for this weekend that I wanted to share with you,” Satan says and it explains even less.
“Which is?”
“It’s about your little friend, Philip.”
Now Damien’s ears perk up with interest. His face pulls into a grimace of suspicion, thick brows furrowing over his eyelashes.
“What about him?” Damien all but snarls, though he has the mind to keep his manner cool.
His father rarely inquired about Damien’s personal relationships, other than wanting to know his son had people to spend his time with on Earth. Of course, Satan had been ecstatic upon knowing of Damien’s relationship. Damien hadn’t expected anything else, his father was the biggest sap he’s ever known, but the support and sheer joy did lift a weight off of his chest he didn’t know he was harbouring. Even if it was to be expected, his dad was also gay, after all. But Satan is unpredictable, and is prone to go back on promises and things previously said, which pisses Damien off to no end.
Satan moves his hands in a placating motion and tuts at him. Damien takes a breath and smoke dissipates from his reddening hands.
“Jeez, take it easy. I was just gonna say that I think it would be nice to finally meet this little boy, and that maybe it would be appropriate to do so at our house,” Satan motions downwards with a finger. His tone is purposely airy, but Damien can tell this is something he’s set his mind to. “We can have dinner together, what do you say? You’re going home this weekend anyway.”
Damien… can’t say that was what he expected. Wordlessly, the little devil blinks and his back straightens from the hunched defensive position he previously took.
He’s shown his father pictures of Philip before, talked about him and retold stories of things they did together. But the two had never actually met, his father and his boyfriend. Damien thinks that’s somewhat of a milestone in relationships for humans, but Pip never mentioned it. Though he stays away from the topic of parents all-together, which might have something to do with it.
Rubbing at his face thoughtfully, Damien hums. His brows are still furrowed as he replies.
“That… doesn’t sound completely detestable,” he admits, much to his father’s visible joy in the mirror. “But I don’t know what Pip would think. I’ll need to ask him.”
Satan nods understandingly, and Damien almost feels like a seven year old making silly plans with his dad as they play in the living room again. He shakes off a nostalgic smile.
“Alright, how about next weekend?” Satan proposes, and waits for Damien’s nod of approval before continuing. “Great, that actually gives me some extra time to prepare. Call me if anything changes.”
“Okay,” Damien nods and rolls his eyes while silently praying for his dad not to go overboard. Then another thought strikes him. “Uh, by the way, can I stay here for the weekend?”
“Hm? Oh, sure, as long as Pip’s parents are also okay with it,” Satan says. A smile actually does make its way onto Damien’s face then.
The two of them say their goodbyes and end the call. Damien blows out the candle and places it back where he found it, and silently curses his dad for waking him up and having this conversation, because now he’s not gonna be able to sleep while thinking about this.
He sighs as he makes his way back into bed, where Pip’s already spread out over his side of the bed. His lanky limbs have claimed the entirety of the blanket, and his mouth is open and drooling onto his pillow. The blonde carries himself with such grace everywhere, but sleep is the one state in which Damien has seen Pip look completely dishevelled in. The demon is just happy the boy stayed asleep, and seemingly with no nightmares tonight. He thinks Pip should thank him for being so nice as he manhandles the heavy sleeper over to the side again before hopping back into the soft bed, because had he been anyone else he would’ve simply set them on fire for touching his place of rest at all. Yes, Damien truly is an angel, alright.
The weekend passes quicker than anyone would’ve liked. Damien finds Philip in a locker at school when he should’ve been in the cafeteria at lunch hour. He nearly rips the metal door off of its hinges to rescue the taller, thinner boy who is practically folded into himself in order to fit in there. It looks claustrophobic. Pip smiles sheepishly at him when their eyes meet, but Damien can see a pearly sheen of sweat across his forehead and a wrinkle between his eyebrows.
The demonic boy pulls Pip out with little struggle. Pip’s thighs, the gap between where his high socks end and his shorts begin, have red marks from being pressed against the sides of the little space. His hair is frazzled, so messily unlike itself normally.
“What the fuck?” Damien glowers, looking around in the hallway suspiciously. There is no one else there. “Who did this to you?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter,” Pip consoles sweetly. He smoothens out the wrinkles on his maroon jacket and tightens the crooked bowtie. “All that matters is that you came and rescued me,” his tone delves into something light and airy and dangerously romantic.
“What? Of course it matters,” Damien insists, still watching over the end of the hallway in case any pranksters were still lingering around that he could set on fire. He slams the locker shut with no regard for the things in it, whoever’s stuff it might be.
“You’re my knight in shining armour,” Pip continues, hands clasped together and pulled tightly to his body, as if revelling in the dream of Damien clad in medieval armour rescuing a Pip in a princess dress from evil dragons.
“Fuck off,” Damien wrinkles his nose, baring sharp teeth at him. “I’m not a knight. I’m a demon. Knights are gay.”
“You’d be my gay knight,” Pip drapes his body over Damien’s shoulder in the way that always makes Damien blush, not because of the affection but because it reminds him that Pip is painfully taller than him. “And I’m your princess, your damsel in distress.”
“Why do you want to be a girl? You’re not a damsel, you’re just a wimp.”
“I don’t want to be in distress unless I’m a damsel in distress,” Pip says and Damien rolls his eyes. “And I don’t want to be a girl unless I’m your girl.”
“I don’t want you to be a girl, full stop,” Damien replies with finality and looks at the clock on the wall. Pip smiles at him like Damien said something delightful and positively charming, and laughs.
They have about ten or so minutes left before their next class, which is the only one they have together on Mondays. When they get to the classroom they both find their seats in the back of the room, next to each other, strategically placed so that they can pass notes between them without being seen from the teacher’s angle. Pip’s note asks Damien if he’d like to join Pip again after school in the study room, and Damien says he might just as well since he’s got nothing better to do.
The truth is that Damien rarely ever has things to do, he’s got very little hobbies besides pirating R-rated horror movies online and scaring kids who played with Ouija boards by popping out when they tried to summon ghosts. People don’t realise just what type of fire they play with when they buy those sorts of things.
Following Pip around does make him feel like a lost puppy at times, but that’s easy to ignore when Pip smiles happily at him from his side. With how much suffering the Brit has endured, Damien almost feels obligated to make the rest of his life as good for him as possible. Is that what love is? Damien is starting to think so.
The rest of the day moves slowly and boringly. Before he has time to regret it, Damien swallows any remnants of anxiety and cautiously pushes the door open to the after-school club. His shoulders sag in relief when he sees that Pip already is there, and he is pleasantly surprised to see the same people there too from the last time he was here. Damien thinks this little circle of people is preferable to anyone else in school.
Pip notices Damien’s hesitant steps and gently moves the chair next to him to invite him to sit down. He’d never say it out loud, but Damien’s more anxious and careful demeanours makes Pip melt like putty in his hands. Maybe it is the way it reminds him of Damien’s humanity, or the way he seems to cling more to Pip’s side when he’s unsure, but Pip almost prefers it to the boastful, spiteful and destructive side of the anti-Christ. Not that he doesn’t love all of it. Pip just likes being Damien’s rock, too.
Estella greets him with the same cold look as before, but with a nod that makes it feel like the two of them have some sort of unspoken pact which Damien can only interpret as a staple of what Estella considers friendship. The Mole has his feet propped up on the table, muddy boots and all, and Gregory looks wholly displeased at it. Pip does a little, too, but he hides it more well.
“What are you infidels doing?” Damien sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back into the wooden chair which looks comedic next to Pip’s exemplary straight posture.
“We were just discussing some future plans!” Pip is quick to recount, hands up and fingers splayed in excitement. His left ring finger is adorned by a black, shiny ring. “Summer activities and such. Gregory is thinking of visiting back home in July, isn’t that exciting?”
“Oh?” Damien raises his brows in idle curiosity, shooting a glance at Gregory to verify if this was actually something exciting. Pip’s ideas of fun can be very displaced at times.
Gregory doesn’t seem as pepped about the prospect, but he does give a smile and a couple of nods towards Damien. He seems to have stopped glaring at Christophe, eventually deeming it a losing battle, which the Mole almost smirks at.
“Yes, well, it’s just an idea. It depends on how both me and my parents feel at the time. It would be nice to go there at least as a vacation, though,” Gregory explains and his gaze trails off somewhere else for every word he says. “I do miss it sometimes.”
“Ugh,” Estella remarks from the other side of the table.
“I would just love to go back one day,” Pip says dreamily, surprising Damien who has never really heard of this until now. “Not permanently, or anything. But I want to see how my sister is doing, and Pocket, and I want to have some proper English food and see my hometown. And–”
“I thought your sister hated your guts?” Damien cuts his boyfriend off before he can continue on the ramble he’s clearly heading for in all his glee. Pip blinks with a bit of a stunned expression.
“Well, yes,” he sighs. “But, you know, times were tough. We were very poor. I’d just like to see if she and her husband Joe are doing better now. They did raise me, after all.”
Damien hums displeased at Pip’s overflowing forgiveness for those who have wronged him, something he seems to struggle with immensely. If it were Damien, he never would’ve spoken to those people ever again, and he might’ve just killed them as revenge. But Pip seems unable to hold grudges towards those he loves the most, his guilt over being alive overpowers any ounce of anger he should feel.
The air in the room turns a bit stale. Estella deems this her moment to strike.
“I, for one, am not going anywhere near that place. I’ve had enough of that pile of piss of a country for years to come,” she waves a hand in disinterest. The Mole actually chuckles at that.
“Me either, I ‘ave no interest in the English.”
“What, you wouldn’t come along with me?” Gregory says underneath a pout he plays up on purpose. Christophe scoffs.
“Are you inviting me?”
“Maybe,” the Brit’s long, blonde curls fall to his back as he shrugs his shoulders and cocks his head to the side.
“Zen my answer is maybe, too,” Christophe simply replies and copies Gregory’s falsely disinterested facial expression. “I’m going out for a quick smoke,” Christophe suddenly says and rises from his seat.
Pip, now quiet, doesn’t say anything when Damien looks at him. Sensing that this is an impending conversation that he does not want to be part of, Damien hurries to stand up as well.
“I’ll join you,” the raven-haired boy mutters. Christophe does not seem to care.
Damien lets his back hit the concrete wall once they make it to the back of the school, where those goth kids usually hang out. It’s a little colder, a little chillier than last week, but not quite enough to where the wet slush of mud and rain and snow can freeze just yet. Christophe sits on the wheelchair platform, with his feet resting on the ground. His dark brown steel toed boots are already dirty, and he doesn’t seem to care about the state of them. Damien prefers to stay where his shoes stay clean.
The Mole lights his cigarette with practiced ease, it slips into his mouth and sneaks into his lungs like it was second nature, as easy as breathing. He inhales deeply, exhales for just as long, and pries another cigarette from his pocket and reaches out for Damien, eyeing him with a silent question. His face is surprisingly gentle, probably because he doesn’t particularly care, but also like he is saying that even if Damien were to turn it down he wouldn’t judge. It puts the demon at a little more ease. Not a lot of people are brave enough to exchange that sort of vulnerability with others.
Despite himself, Damien takes the cigarette and lights it with his hand and not the lighter. He needed the outlet, anyway. The Mole chuckles at nothing in particular and resumes to his own smoke. Minutes pass before either of them move from their positions.
It isn’t until Christophe finishes his cigarette with concerning speed that he turns his body and shifts all the way around to face Damien with a hint of amusement in his face.
“You are strangely quiet today,” the Frenchman hums with thought. “Something bothering you?” Christophe’s words come out slow and calculated, one could think he deliberately picks them with thought behind it. Damien knows it’s mostly because the guy is terrible at English.
“A guy can’t have a smoke in peace?” Damien scoffs.
“For one, you normally do not even smoke,” the Mole begins to list off of his fingers and Damien throws his head back and groans at the theatrics. “And two, you are usually complaining about something by now, so I assume you have something on your mind that you cannot, eh, work out.”
Damien should be flattered by the dedication to perception that Christophe is impressively handing out to him, but it only serves to both embarrass and annoy him to be put under a microscope right now. Partially because he knows the Mole is right. Most people stay out of his way when he is in a bad mood. Christophe is the only guy either stupid enough not to or cares too little to bother. Damien doesn’t know if he appreciates it or not.
“I spoke to my father a few days ago,” Damien explains even though he has absolutely no obligation to, dragging a last breath from the cigarette before letting it fall to the ground and stomping out the ashes. Christophe nods to signal his full attention. “He wants to meet Pip. Invite him to dinner this weekend. At our house.”
Christophe’s eyebrows hike up just about a millimetre or less at the mention of Damien’s home, but hums in something that is either supposed to be understanding or sympathy. Damien’s clawed hand scratches the back of his head. The Mole places his chin in the palm of his hand.
“So, meeting ze parents, huh? Seems big,” Christophe smiles dumbly. Damien glares, but it’s barely even a warning with how nervous his thick brows expose him for being. “You don’t think Pip would want to?”
“I honestly don’t know,” the demon runs a hand over his face. “Philip gets weird about… parents. I don’t blame him. I just don’t want him to be uncomfortable. I know he’ll accept the invite because he never says no to anything and wouldn’t want to offend or something, but I don’t want to make him feel obligated,” Damien explains with his hands out in sort of a helpless gesture.
“Zat is a good point, but maybe you should look at it differently,” Christophe says with a voice laden by contemplation. Damien’s head tilts to the side in question. “Perhaps this could be an opportunity for Pip to, uh, how you say, cope? Confront inner demons in a way he is comfortable with. He might be uncomfortable, I agree with you, but maybe afterwards he will feel better because he did it and he did it with you. Does that make sense?”
Damien thinks about it for a second, and then for another one. In a way, he supposes it does. He’s been worried Pip would turn the invite down, something that has very slim chances of actually happening if he knows his boyfriend well enough, or that he would accept it and absolutely hate it. Pip has a tendency to shut down, dissociate, shrink away at the topic of parents or caretakers all-together. A strange sort of numbness glazes over his eyes that Damien wishes he didn’t know too well. For Damien to send Pip into another episode like that, all because his big red idiot of a dad wants to play house for an evening, well, it would honestly tear at Damien in ways he doesn’t want to confront.
But if Damien introduced the idea gently, with plenty of reassurance and boundaries that Pip can freely converse with him about, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He’s going to meet Satan one way or another, that much is inevitable and Damien knows that. And some deep, deep part of Damien really wants Pip to get along with his father, because he wants the two most prominent figures in his life to have a good relationship. He doesn’t want Pip’s trauma responses to possibly get in the way of befriending his future father-in-law, because Damien knows Satan already absolutely loves the blonde Brit and he’s going to love him even more if he actually gets to meet him. He can be predictable like that. Damien laughs at his own thoughts and rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, I guess. I just gotta actually talk to Pip about it now,” his eyes pinch shut and his ears flatten against his head in defeat. Christophe rises from his position and gives him a firm pat on the shoulder with a smirk as he moves to the door, watching Damien follow him.
“Zat’s the spirit.”
Once back inside, Damien sits down next to Pip who looks at him with big, blue eyes. The anti-Christ rests a hand on Pip’s thigh, and the blonde flushes enough for Damien to visibly see his face turn red.
It starts raining on the way home from school the next day, downright pouring like a faucet opened up in the sky. Pip says something about cats and dogs that Damien doesn’t even bother to try to wrap his head around, figuring it was just another one of his British nonsense sayings.
At a bus stop halfway to the apartment, the two boys come to a halt. Damien’s dark hair is drenched, a feeling he detests. He feels like a wet cat. Pip is just as soaked and is using his bag as a makeshift protection from the rain, which barely succeeds in keeping his hat from getting damp. His fringe is protected underneath the cap, but Damien sees his blonde hair stick to his neck wetly in the back.
“Oh, goodness,” Pip laments, babbling on like he does whenever the air is silent for too long. “Oh, dear. This is just my luck. Dear, oh, dear.”
Damien scowls at him as if he was the one responsible for the rain, then nearly slaps himself in the face when he figures out the solution to their predicament which really should’ve been obvious.
“Pip, shut up,” Damien says and rolls up the sleeves of his black zip-up hoodie. Pip’s words trail off into nothingness as his attention is directed at his demonic boyfriend.
Damien steps forward, giving Pip’s bag a look and the Englishman drops it and lets it hang back down to his side. It was silly of him to still be holding it up since they were actually under some sort of roof now, so Pip smiles sheepishly. His hands are wet and cold and stale when Damien takes them in his own clawed, and unnaturally warm, hands. He takes a step even closer.
“Damien, I appreciate it,” Pip blinks. “But maybe we can save the kissing for when we get inside?”
That earns him a firm squeeze of his hands and an angry glare.
“I said shut up,” Damien mutters and Pip begins to feel a warmth like nothing he can compare it to spread into his hands. He welcomes it gladly, recognises it. “Close your eyes.”
Both of them do just that and Pip is overcome with the sensation much like that of being in an elevator that is quickly descending. His heart flutters and his head spins for less than a second, then it is all over and he opens his eyes again.
A puff of black odourless smoke is surrounding them which quickly dissipates into the air and Pip recognises that they are now standing on the doorstep of his current home building. Pip can’t help the giggles that bubble up from his throat as he rummages for his keys and quickly shove them into the keyhole, hurrying inside with his soppy devil in tow. He is incredibly thankful to have a boyfriend with these powerful abilities at times.
They take turns showering, Pip lets the warm water melt his body and relax his previously strained and shaky muscles. His foster parents aren’t home, so they bundle up in blankets and pillows on the couch in the living room. Damien is rolled up in a thick quilt with nothing but his head sticking out of it, cheeks still rosy from the warm shower. He borrowed a pair of thick, fluffy socks from Pip’s closet.
Philip continues out into the kitchen before sitting down with Damien, and comes back five or so minutes later with two cups of tea steaming in his hands. He settles down by Damien’s side, who took the liberty of taking control of the TV remote and is zapping across channels until landing on something that doesn’t seem too boring. It’s in the middle of some romcom, one where the guy will inevitably end up with the main female lead. Pip chuckles at the stereotypical love story.
“Uh,” Damien’s throat makes a strange, choked noise before he clears it. Pip’s eyes are immediately on him in interest. “I gotta ask you something.”
His hair is almost dry, warming up quickly from his abnormal body heat. Pip finds himself leaning into it instinctively, but also because Damien seems nervous and sometimes physical reassurance of affection helps his racing thoughts calm down. He’s lucky Philip is so patient.
“Yes?” Pip ushers him, though not judgementally. A simple push on the way.
“So, uh, I was wondering,” Damien’s eyes flicker to the TV. “Well, my dad, actually, was wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner. At my house. Just the three of us.”
Pip’s hand stills from the comforting circles he’s been rubbing on Damien’s knee, a sort of blank look overtaking his features. Damien wishes he could backpedal, take it back and prevent the conversation from ever happening. He doesn’t want to deal with Pip when he gets like this, he hates seeing it and hates trying to talk him through it. Mostly because he feels absolutely useless at it. And he hates feeling helpless.
Eyes lingering to the floor, Pip’s brows furrow in a slight grimace before he looks back up at Damien with a flame of determination in his eyes. He smiles, but it isn’t as light and airy as it usually is. Damien picks him apart with his gaze.
“Okay,” Pip concludes.
“Okay?” Damien questions warily.
“Yeah, okay,” the blonde nods, continuing like nothing happened. “I’d love to. I mean, it’s a little scary going to Hell. You won’t have to kill me in order to get me down there, will you?” Pip says with a smile of amusement, almost teasing in the exact way Damien needed in order to be able to breathe again.
Damien can’t stop himself from chuckling.
“No, not necessarily. I’ll just open a portal like usual. You’ll be fine,” he assures him with a slight nudge, letting his forehead bunt against Pip’s gently. Pip can feel his small horns, recently budding, scratch his skin right below his hairline.
Damien likes to knock his forehead against Pip’s. He said something once about it being a way younger imps tend to show affection, and Pip compared him to a baby goat. The resemblance wasn’t appreciated by Damien who huffed and pushed Pip away, but a smile still lingered. The anti-Christ does a lot of things to adjust his ways of loving to something more human-like, Pip knows, but the bunting is something he never quite shook off. Pip doesn’t want him to.
“I’d better be,” Pip sighs and leans his head onto Damien’s shoulder and his blonde locks sprawl out onto his neck. Damien suppresses a shiver from the way it tickles. “Or I’ll come back and haunt you for a hundred years.”
“Good luck with that,” Damien murmurs with a smile in his voice. The silence that stretches across the room is comfortable, only broken by the low volume of the television that lights up their faces and casts strong shadows across their features. “My dad is very excited to meet you, you know.”
The gentleness in his voice is unusual, but Pip soaks it up like a sponge as he looks Damien in the eyes through his long eyelashes. His eyes flutter, but the conviction of what Damien is saying is written boldly on his face. He nods in acknowledgement.
“...I think it would be nice to meet your father,” Pip says finally. There is a lot that goes unsaid behind his words, his thoughts and feelings and how he carries himself. Damien feels it and doesn’t pry. He can tell Pip is trying to be strong, optimistic, everything he does he does to prove himself to Damien. He never needed to do it in the first place, but Christophe’s words echo in Damien’s mind.
“You don’t have to be scared or anything,” Damien says and Pip looks at him wordlessly. “Even if he is Satan, he’s a complete gaywad. I want you to have fun if you really want to come.”
A final opportunity to back down, a chance for Philip to pull out before he makes up his mind about something. Damien doesn’t want to admit how pleasantly surprised he is that Pip simply smiles at him, how the warmth blossoms in his chest.
“I want to,” Pip assures him. Damien puffs a breath out of his nose.
“If dad starts spouting a bunch of bullshit childhood stories for hours, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Damien grumbles. Pip bursts out into a laugh and punches weakly at his arm.
In order to make sure no one could see them and possibly interfere when the weekend arrives quicker than either boy expected it to, Pip has followed Damien into a secluded part of the woods that surround South Park where he has reassured his boyfriend no one will stumble onto them. The forest around here is thick and deep with wild animals around every corner. It’s the sort of forest people go missing in, never to be found again.
What Pip arrives at is a little glade in the forest where a perfectly symmetrical ring has been burnt into the grass. Damien seems almost sheepish when Pip looks at it curiously.
“This is where I usually go, so… the grass is a little burnt.”
“Huh,” Pip hums, touching the ashen blades of grass gently. They’re warm, but not to the point of burning his skin. Just strangely heated. “Is that normal?”
“Not… really,” Damien says and puts a hand on Pip’s shoulder, softly moving him back away from the spot and throwing an eye in every direction before he holds his hands to the sky. “It just looks like that because I do it in the same spot over and over.”
Pip decides not to reply when Damien begins to chant something in Latin, and the ground starts to open up before them. A ring of fire seems to flash before Pip, and he shies away in fear for a second until he feels Damien’s hand tug at his wrist. The demon looks at him with a look that Pip can’t decipher, but he can tell what Damien wants.
No words are exchanged as Pip lets Damien guide him into the ring. The fire crackles, but Pip doesn’t feel any pain when they stand in the ring. He closes his eyes and lets the warmth that he recognises so well wash over him.
Hell’s climate isn’t much different from a warm summer day on Earth. It is blanketed in a simmering heat, but not enough to truly hurt unless you were to stand too close to the pools of lava that Philip spots in the distance. The rocky gigantic walls of the mountains seem to reach into an endless sky that isn’t blue nor black nor quite red. It is incomprehensible, it is unlike anything Pip has ever seen or could imagine. The ground is warm, but the air is comfortable and not humid nor too dry. It smells faintly of smoke, like Damien.
Just being here is off-putting, which must be some sort of uncontrollable reaction his body is having as Pip feels his stomach twist itself into knots and his hands start sweating as he fumbles with the buttons of his nicest cardigan. His dress pants suddenly feel suffocating. He almost wishes he wore his usual shorts. Damien dressed nicer than usual, too, opting for black pair of jeans and a black long sleeve button-up. Pip thinks he looks mighty handsome in it, and tries to distract himself from the sudden onslaught of anxiety by looking at his cleaned and dolled up boyfriend.
Damien meets his gaze with something worried in his eyes, and Pip figures out embarrassingly slowly that he’s worried about him. Likely, his wide eyes are making it extremely obvious how nervous Pip truly feels. Damien’s tail twitches idly near the ground, snaking its way to Pip’s leg and touching it softly. He is just as nervous. Pip takes his hand and gives it a light squeeze.
“Dad’s place is just over there,” Damien points towards a large dark castle that looms over the buildings and people that Pip spots across the hellscape. Pip nods slowly, trying to take it all in. “So, what do you think?”
Damien is observing every twitch in Philip’s face very closely, and Pip almost smiles at how eager he is to see Pip’s first impression of Damien’s realm. While Hell certainly is terrifying and fulfills many of Pip’s expectations, he also isn’t nearly as scared shitless as he truly expected to be, though that might be due to the knowledge of being guaranteed protection by the anti-Christ himself.
“It certainly is something,” Philip murmurs. “This place is huge. Very red, and warm. But it’s not… as scary as I guess I thought it would be,” he says with a crooked smile as he keeps looking around him. The sheer size of the place he is in is incredulous. He thinks if he ponders any further on it he might go mad, and decides to simply leave the train of thought right where it is.
“We are in the Seventh Circle, which is the plane I grew up in,” Damien explains as they walk towards the large castle hand-in-hand. People and creatures pass them by but barely pay any mind to them, besides steering clear of their path, which Pip finds that he really appreciates. “It is where the most powerful demons and the worst sinners reside.”
“Is that why you and Satan live here? Have you been to the other circles?” Pip asks curiously. The conversation helps his nerves ease, and seems to put Damien in a better mood. He rarely really speaks of his home, aside from an occasional comment or explanation that only leads Pip to wonder more about it. But he’s always found that when asked, Damien will talk about the hellscape in a way that almost exudes nostalgia. How strange it must be to be from another plane of existence entirely.
“Yes,” the demon shrugs in response. “And only once or twice. I’ve visited the river Styx a few times and been to the Sixth Circle once, but I usually keep to this place. I’m not very interested in sightseeing.”
“I thought as royalty you’re supposed to know the entire place you’ll rule over,” Pip giggles lightheartedly.
“I don’t have to do shit if I don’t want to,” is Damien’s final response. Pip sees the quirk in the corner of his lip, the way his brow relaxes. The castle grows larger the closer they get to it, and Pip now sees creatures he assumes to be demons acting as guards outside of it. Red, pointy, intimidating things that Pip thinks are straight out of storybooks, nothing at all like the demon he knows so well. The only resemblance Damien has to these creatures is the red tail and horns they share. When Pip’s hands start sweating in a flurry of nervousness and anticipation, he feels Damien squeeze one of them lightly. It’s not just an equally grounding and comforting action, but also a reminder: I’m here. Pip does it back and signals that he’s here for him, too, because he isn’t the only nervous one out of the two. He can tell how Damien’s back straightens out when they arrive at the gate.
After little words are exchanged that Pip cannot follow, they arrive at the large front door of the castle. It’s a little before five, the time that Satan had given Damien, and Damien’s outstretched finger hovers over the doorbell but does not press it. Pip cocks his head in question.
For the first time this day, Damien’s resolve truly falters, and his hand falls to his side as he turns his head to Pip’s direction. The Brit’s expression softens immediately at the sight of Damien’s wide eyes and furrowed brows. He bites back the urge to cup his demon’s face.
“Sorry,” Damien blurts out, voice low and unsure. He knows that Pip knows how difficult he finds words to be but it still incites a feeling of vulnerability in him that he’d rather avoid. He’s gotten better, though, at facing it head on like the school counsellor advised him to. Pip’s encouragement helps. “I just… Dad can be a lot. I just want to warn you. If you feel, uh, uncomfortable at any point… please just tell me and we can get the hell out of here.”
“Damien,” Pip puts a hand to his shoulder and waits for the devil to look him in the eyes. “I’m sure it’ll be alright. Take a deep breath, and help me make sure my tie isn’t crooked,” Phillip encourages him and smiles as Damien inhales and exhales loudly before bending down and re-tying the windsor knot with extreme concentration. As the knot is tied, Damien promptly opens the front door and walks into the large gothicesque castle, Pip’s hand firmly in his.
“Dad! We’re here!” Damien yips from the foyer, which is decorated a lot nicer than Pip had anticipated. It’s such a contrast from the exterior of the building that almost leaves him dizzy. The walls are a lighter, white colour and the picture frames that hung from the walls were adorned in a light pink hue. It was rather quaint, and some of the porcelain decor reminded Pip of home. Not South Park, but his actual home. It was still a large building and the ceiling was higher than any regular house, but that aside Pip would’ve never expected it to house the ruler of Hell.
Damien kicks his shoes off by the door and Pip quickly jolts into action to follow suit, placing them neatly on the welcome mat, a beige thing adorned by a welcome message in a swirly font and hoof marks around the edges. He even takes the time to straighten up Damien’s boots next to his. The interior of the house is putting him surprisingly at ease, and Damien notices his curious glances, meeting Pip’s eyes with an exasperated grimace before turning back to await his father’s greeting. Pip folds hands politely over his torso, as he eyes a smaller portrait on the wall of a much younger Damien than he has ever met, cooing softly at the look of his nubby sharp claws in the image. The little version of Damien seems to be holding a toy truck of some kind, which is engulfed in flames as he smiles in glee towards the camera. Pip points to catch his boyfriend’s attention.
“Oh my, you’re adorable!” Pip laughs, and Damien grumbles with a light pink dusting his cheeks. “How old are you here?”
“Two or three, I think,” Damien grabs the frame and turns it around, checking the date on the back. “Yeah, three. Father has a ton of old photographs of me, because he’s a sentimental old man. Don’t ask about it, he’ll go on for hours.”
Pip grins but something in his eye tells Damien he likely won’t adhere to his command.
Satan’s booming steps reach the foyer and Pip whips his head up at the sound, completely oblivious to what he should expect. The idea of meeting Satan has had his nerves ramped up the last few days if he’s being honest. No matter how much Damien assures him that everything will be fine, a mantra that sounds more like he’s saying it to himself rather than Pip the more he mentions it in passing, he has been honest and informed Pip that the sight of the devil might put him off at first. Pip has seen Damien’s true form, a much more beast-like version of Damien with claws and hooves and larger pointier teeth, and it has never scared him. But apparently, Damien’s half-human status makes him simply appear less demonic. Satan and other demons and imps are the real deal. Damien blinks up with a blank expression, maybe a bit of an expectant one, when Satan’s large stature comes into the room.
Pip instinctively reels back a step, craning his neck up to properly take the view in. He swallows and does his best to plaster on a nervous smile. He has never been that tall, nor strong, but under the devil’s gaze he feels smaller than ever. Satan isn’t just large, but also extremely muscular, signalling his pure strength. His horns are yellow, as opposed to Damien’s deep red ones, and are much, much larger than his son’s. However, Satan’s eyes gleam at Philip and Damien with an emotion Pip can only place as fondness. It feels foreign, coming from adults towards Pip himself. It stills Pip’s shaky hands.
Satan’s large, clawed hand comes to rest on the crown of Damien’s head. Damien seems exasperated, both by the blunt affection and by the way his father’s hand is big enough to practically swallow Damien’s hair. It is without a doubt bigger than a human skull. Pip offhandedly wonders how such a large presence created an offspring so small.
“There you are!” Satan’s voice bellows, a deep rumble in the walls. “On time, for once.”
“Hello, father,” Damien rolls his eyes and wriggles out of his dad’s grasp. “Pip, this is my father, Satan. Dad, this is Phillip,” he motions between the two, grabbing Pip’s hand and intertwining their fingers as he gestures towards the blonde boy.
Pip is glad for the touch, as it stops his fiddling with the hem of his sleeve and looks up at Satan with a polite smile.
“Hello, uh, S-Satan, sir,” he tacks on like an afterthought. Satan seems mildly amused, if anything. His stare isn’t cold, simply calm, as he looks at Philip.
“Hello, Philip. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Satan smiles with his large canine teeth jutting out. A flicker of a look is sent Damien’s way.
“No, you haven’t,” Damien glowers.
“I was unsure at first,” Satan continues, and walks out of the room and towards a larger hallway leading into an open kitchen and dinner table. The two boys follow him, Pip still glancing around curiously in the house and taking in every interior design and decoration. If he ever moves out and gets his own place, he thinks he wants it to look something like this. Homely, comfortable. Maybe less pink. Satan continues. “About my son getting himself attached to a human boy. Especially one so pure. But I understand why my Damien likes you so much.”
“Oh my god,” Damien pinches the bridge of his nose, the tips of his ears red.
“He’s never talked about someone as happily as he does about you,” Satan says to Pip, clearly ignoring his son’s groans. The crinkle of his smile in his eyes and Damien’s embarrassment makes Pip snicker with his hand to his mouth. Perhaps the situation is bizarre, but Pip can’t help but feel strangely at home with it.
“I’m glad he hasn’t given you a bad impression of me, sir,” Pip manages to say, smiling almost teasingly towards his boyfriend. Damien has let go of his hand in favour of folding his arms over his chest.
“I thought we were here to eat, not talk shit,” Damien walks off into the kitchen, tail swishing behind him. He looks at something in the oven, then at the large table. It’s already set. With Pip’s racing nerves calmed down, the Brit suddenly feels how hungry he is. He’s barely been able to eat a thing today.
Satan directs them to the table, saying something about dinner being done very soon. They both quickly comply, and Pip looks down at the porcelain plate and the little design of a bird in pastel colours on it. He cannot say that he expected anything, but this, this house, this comfort, this playful and friendly conversation, this strange feeling that he barely is able to recognise as belonging, it all evades any kind of concept he had previous to today. Pip doesn’t remember the last time he truly had a parental figure. His foster parents are good people, but they never felt like actual parents even if they were good caretakers, and they understood that too. Pip appreciates that mutual understanding between them, and he has never felt unsafe in their home. It’s just harder to raise a child who is already well into their teens as their own. Orphanages and group homes are a lot more ‘every man for himself’, and the last father-like figure Pip can remember having was his sister’s husband back in England, Joe, whom he hasn’t seen in years.
The absence has been with Philip so long that he almost forgot the feeling of having a real parent all-together. Maybe it is wishful thinking or just because it is Damien’s father, but Satan seems to not only accept Philip happily into his home but also enjoy having him there. Even if it is just him being polite, Pip decides to let himself feel safe here, just for this evening. Damien did say he could leave whenever he wanted, so if anything were to go wrong during the evening, at least Pip won’t be left alone by the end of it.
Damien’s tail wags behind him through the back of his chair, and Pip spots it out of the corner of his eye as he looks up. Damien seems to be equally lost in thought, though more likely overthinking their decision to come here. Pip doesn’t want to pretend to understand just what exactly Damien is feeling, but the sight always tugs at his heartstrings and he reaches over to brush his hand over Damien’s warm one. The demon snaps his head up and meets Pip’s smiling eyes, and for a second his demeanour softens.
“You alright, love?” Pip asks slowly, suddenly worried that maybe Damien really did take offense to being teased by both parties earlier. Damien’s pointed ears flatten. That is still something Pip hasn’t completely grasped what it means just yet, but he has his suspicions.
Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like it alludes to Damien being sad or anxious like usual. Damien gives him a small smile.
“Yeah. You?”
“Yes. This is a very nice place,” Pip gestures around to the interior. “Reminds me a little of my childhood home. I can’t say it’s what I expected,” he laughs. Damien smiles more at that. It’s nice to see him comfortable, Pip notices. Damien isn’t usually as relaxed as he is now. Something about that settles warmly in Pip’s chest.
“I know. If it were up to me, this place would’ve looked way different.”
Satan walks over, an apron around his waist, and sets down various dishes of food on the table. Damien perks up. Pip looks at all the food in awe.
“Alright,” Satan sits down. “Dig in.”
Damien is nothing if not gluttonous when it comes to food. It comes naturally, the instinct to sin, as the anti-Christ, but also because he simply just liked to indulge and would eat an entire pantry’s worth of food if allowed. He prefers meat above all else, Pip has learnt.
Pip doesn’t consider himself much of anything in relation to food, other than that he has a big sweet tooth and prefers his tea with sugar. But the years of growing up in homes with other poor and starved children meant that he had to learn to be quick with his food lest someone else got to it before him. Large meals were a rarity in his childhood. He almost feels guilty over being such a quick eater when he could take his time at restaurants and lunch breaks.
Knowing himself, Pip actively decides to try to pace himself. Above all else Pip is a gentleman and has been raised and taught how to properly appear both as a host and as a guest. Damien, on the other hand, eats like he normally does – as if he won’t see food ever again. It takes little time until his second plate is empty, and until Pip is more full than he ever can remember being.
Pip had dreaded a quiet, awkward dinner with tension laced heavily in the air. Meeting your partner’s parents, or, singular parent in this case, was always painted up as something terrifying. That they wouldn’t like you, approve of you and your relationship to their child, that Pip would have to impress Damien’s father and Pip knows he isn’t impressive in any sort of measurement. But the light conversation over the food, and the calm atmosphere in the house, contradicts everything Pip has ever truly known or imagined. The glances and smiles that Satan occasionally sends Damien’s way and the rare reciprocal of it make Pip long for a family he never truly had. It’s equally as sour as it is sweet. It makes his heart twinge in his chest.
Satan recalls childhood memories, to Damien’s annoyance, as Pip smiles giddily at the stories he tells. They talk about mundane things, like school and homework and hobbies – Pip talks about archery, Satan praises him on such an “impressive pastime", Damien calls him posh. They talk about future plans, summer, college and university, jobs, housing. Satan asks about family, and for a daunting second Damien freezes and eyes Philip, who graciously responds with his simple “I’m an orphan,” that he’s practiced for years now. His smile doesn’t even falter, even when Satan’s grimace drops into that recognisable dread and apologetic gaze. Damien supposes he worries too much over nothing. Pip is stronger than he gives him credit for.
Pip tries to help Satan with the dishes after the dinner ordeal is all done with and the entire three-man family is satisfied after that large meal. The large red devil only shoos him away, telling him to “go play with Damien,” and that dessert would be out in a while for the three of them. Damien is sitting on the sofa on the opposite side of the room. Pip does as asked, only because he isn’t tall enough to reach into the sink properly since it was tailored to the ruler of Hell’s stature.
“Hey,” Damien says before Pip can sit down next to him. “Wanna go see my room?”
It hasn’t hit them yet that Philip hasn’t seen Damien’s room yet, in all of their years as friends, which seems unfair since Damien spends almost every waking hour in Pip’s. Naturally, Pip nods excitedly, blonde locks bouncing up and down.
It’s a minute walk throughout the large building, but when Damien stops by a door painted in a dark shade of grey Pip can tell it’s his safe haven. It’s a void in the light atmosphere in the rest of the house, a rest for eyes in the pastel pinks and yellows and porcelain Hummels. The door doesn’t have a name on it, but it does have something akin to burns and claw marks closer to the ground and a sign that says to stay out. Pip guesses those have been there for a while. Damien opens and slips into the room.
It’s dark, not only colour-wise but also because it’s barely lit at all and the curtains are pulled over the window, concealing the fiery red environment that shines through the miniscule holes in the fabric. Pip notices a large canopy bed. The sheets and covers are nothing unusual, regular white things, but there’s a soft plushie of a three-headed dog on the edge of the bed. The bedside table seems vintage, almost a gothic-era piece of furniture, which is the case for most of Damien’s furnishings. Pip always liked vintage things, victorian and edwardian, but if Damien were to choose he gravitated more towards gothic and renaissance.
The large TV is propped up towards the bed, with a shelf housing a large DVD collection of mostly horrors and thrillers underneath it. The desk has an oil lamp and large books on top of it, resting on top of thick parchment papers and fountain pens. Outside of that, there are nothing such as posters or miscellaneous decorations inside the space. Only necessities and some entertainment. It is very much like Damien, and that makes Pip smile.
They both plop down on the bed, Pip sitting by the pillows and Damien stretched out sideways further down. The demon seems content, which Pip chalks up less so to Pip getting along with his father and more to the large, fancy dinner. His tail thumps happily against the mattress. Pip catches it playfully, squeezing at the sensitive end right before it tapers out into the spade-like tip. Damien coughs on air at the feeling and looks at Pip with wide eyes and a blush spreading across his face.
“Hey, hey, no funny business, my dad’s still in the house,” Damien begins to smirk, wagging a finger mockingly as he snatches his tail back and Pip rolls his eyes. The anti-Christ crawls up to sit beside Pip in the bed, shoulders touching.
“This is a very nice room, I must say. Cozy,” Pip motions, especially to the bed. When he moves, he’ll be buying a canopy bed first thing. “It’s very you.”
“It’s alright. I like my movie collection, over anything,” Damien shrugs. He rubs his cheek against Pip’s pointy shoulder. “Did you like the dinner?”
“Oh, yes, it was lovely. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much food for only three people,” Pip laughs. Damien presses his face further against him and Pip can tell he wants to know how he feels about his father, his home, him in general. It’s telling, how affectionate he gets when he feels insecure over something, especially pertaining to Pip. When Damien worries he seeks Pip out, often pressing as close to him as possible, cuddling for a little while longer, kissing with just a little more teeth. When words fail him he comes to press foreheads together and Pip gently holds him and lets him listen to his heartbeat.
In the kitchen, the sounds of silverware clinging and a dishwasher powering up and curses as a tinfoil is dropped can be heard trickling into the room of the two boys. But for now they’re still far away and they can simply exist in their own little world, for just a while longer.
“Satan is much kinder than I imagined,” Pip says, rubbing a circle into Damien’s back. The demon hums.
“When it comes to work he’s much more ruthless. At home he gets all gay and doting and whatever. Something about separating work and personal life,” Damien responds. The words tumble out easily, living with only this man for the majority of his life Damien knows almost every little quirk of his father and vice versa. It’s both a blessing and a curse. A son needs to be away from his father every now and then.
“I’ll be honest,” Pip says after a few minutes of silence. Damien’s ears lazily snap up to attention, letting Pip know he is listening. “It’s been so long since I had a father of any kind, I forgot what it truly felt like. Today, I felt it again. Like I am someone’s son. It’s incredibly strange and overwhelming, but it’s also a feeling I don’t want to let go of,” Pip speaks slowly with carefully picked words, light blonde brows furrowed not in sadness or anger but pure concentration. Damien feels the weight of each word, of how Pip feels and how it makes Damien feel in return.
Damien doesn’t want Pip to ever let go, either.
“Pip,” Damien sneaks a gentle claw underneath Pip’s jaw and coerces his head up to look at him, bright blues meeting his deep maroon eyes and his rectangular, goat-like pupils. “For what it’s worth, I know my father likes you. Not only because I do, but I can tell in the way he speaks to you that he truly enjoys your presence. You will always have a place here, in this home, in this… family.”
Damien isn’t quite sure what to even call his little piece of childhood that has been etched in the walls of Hell, a family of only two always seemed so insignificant to him that it barely counted. It was always just him and his father. A two-man unit, tucked away from Satan’s reign and prying eyes. A shadow that lingered underneath his throne, two child-like eyes that peeked out from behind Satan’s large hoof. People didn’t coo at Damien or play with him because people never met Damien. No one was part of his life except his father.
But three people? Three is a crowd. Damien thinks three is a worthy number of a family. At least, he wants it to be, and when Damien wants something he usually makes it happen.
“Dad’s just been waiting for an opportunity to meet his future son-in-law,” Damien rolls his eyes but there’s no real anger behind it. Only fondness. “Trust me, after this, you won’t be able to get him off your back either. I hope you’re happy.”
Pip hears the table being set and spoons clinking against plates, likely some sort of cake or mousse or perhaps even just ice cream planned for their dessert, the Brit couldn’t care which. He feels the way Damien’s pulse picks up as Pip scoots closer, bodies pressed against each other in nothing but the utmost desire to be close enough for either of them to simply mold themselves into the other. Pip wishes he could stay like this forever.
The duvet crinkles when Pip practically straddles Damien’s lap, featherlight on top of the dark boy. Their holds on each other are every bit as sweet and gentle as they are firm, grounding. As if they’d disappear if they let go. Damien feels like he’d sink into the mattress and drown if Pip let go and left him here now. He wants nothing more than to hold Pip and make sure every single one of his worries in the world are gone, out of reach to get him. His head swims with something so thick and loving and protective that it almost stings in Damien’s eyes.
“You know, I think I am,” Pip smiles, eyes crinkling and teeth gleaming through the slight gap between his lips from how tightly his face is pulled into an uncontrollable smile. There is nothing left for him to do but smile. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted right here.
Satan calls for them to come to the table. The fire crackles outside of Damien’s window, covered by the black-out curtain, shielding the room in a calm darkness. Their bodies are flush against each other and they exist in a vacuum until the door will inevitably open and they will once again be palpable to reality.
Until then, they have a minute longer to simply wait, watch and want. Want this to last forever. Want the world to stop spinning just like this. Want everything they currently have and more.
Pip kisses Damien. They both close their eyes and want more.