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Incessant tapping on a glass works wonders for an already splitting headache. Every clink of the bottles and crinkling each time a tray of fries is received into reaching hands. It made his teeth ache, although that may also be a side effect of his clenched jaw. In turn, it’s possible that the gritting of his teeth was a nervous habit he’d picked up. Fidgeting. Certainly something he didn’t do before, not for his entire life. The guys back in Verdiov used to tell him how nice it was to have a calm, steady hand on their stealthier commissions. Now, as he cradles his drink in his hands, he finds the liquid inside won’t stop quivering, the small ripples mesmerizing him to the point where the sound of the room almost fades out.
Almost.
“Ya’ want anotha’ round there?” The sharp voice nearly makes him jump from his stool, his heart immediately picking up in his ears. The bartender stands behind the counter, left eyebrow raised in question as he watches his customer in disinterest. It doesn’t surprise him, with how busy this bar can get during the holidays. A lot of sad people, sadly making their way to the pubs and late night bars, downing sad glass after sad glass into their sad mouths and spewing sad stories of lost lives and broken homes. Maybe it wouldn’t grate on his nerves so exceedingly if he were one of them.
“No, I’m fine. I’m heading home.” He grunts, standing from the stool. Maybe he just needed some sleep, preferably one that isn’t plagued with the hateful expressions and broken figures he sees when he inevitably passes out each morning.
“Alright, you jus’ keep safe, hm? No drivin’.” The already distant voice mumbles, fading away with each step he takes to the door. He finds himself snorting into his hood as he enters onto the street, the cold air of the city hitting him with daggers. As if he owns a car. Sure, the precautions are alright, it’s what that bartender says to everyone that leaves his doors. Stay safe, don’t drive, don’t be stupid. The cardinal rules of his life that he seems to be destined to break at every possible juncture.
It’s a damn shame, too, that he can’t keep it together for more than a week anymore. He did, at one point in his time with those two idiots. At the very least, he hopes he did, or else every little scrap of misery he’s received was the perfect just deserts. The thought passes his mind as he turns the street corner and into an alleyway, that maybe he deserves it all anyway, from the lying to the lack of empathy to his desires for just a little peace and quiet sometimes, and from locking himself in his room for days, harassing his roomates, his friends. The crimes and the killing and everything in between. Rude comments flowing with every interaction, crude whispers that were a bit too loud. Stupid mistakes. Bruised knuckles.
His hand shakes when he attempts, and fails, to unlock his door, the small clatter as the keys fall to the cement floor of the open air hallway of the motel.
“Stop.” He mumbles, pressing a hand against his temple when the headache flares. With one slow motion, he picks up the keys and carefully turns the lock, leaving behind what he now accepts as the most challenging part of his day as of yet. The keys hit the floor somewhere near the farthest wall, his arm dropping to his side like a dumbbell, both feet feeling similar. They carry him to the plain mattress that sits proudly as one of the very few furniture items he owns, a single blanket tucked haphazardly against the wall from where he rolled out of bed that morning. The apartment, while only two rooms, seems spacious with the lack of decor. It’s not as if he has any mementos in the first place, since he left with only the clothes on his back. For a moment after he unceremoniously slumps into the bed, he wonders how much longer he has in this dump. A month? Two? The abandoned motel seemed like a luxury suite compared to his previous living arrangement. Meaning, a lack of one.
Slowly, his eyes begin to droop closed, the repeated sounds of the dripping ceiling and passing cars.
“You just had to go fall off the deep end, didn’t you?”
His eyes shoot open at the sharp voice and he scrambles out of bed. The moment he looks at the other, however, he promptly flops back onto the mattress with an irritated, “Go away.”
“Aw, is that any way to treat an old friend, Delphius? You know, you should be happy to see me! At least I’m not‒” Delphius sits up and shoots a glare as cold as a glacier at the man, who flushes red and scratched at one of his horns, “Sorry, that… it’s, uh, too soon for that then?”
“You think?” Delphius sneers, his glare turning to the wall opposite of him, “Leave.”
“Leave? You’re ordering me to leave?”
“Yes. Goodbye, Peter.”
There’s a shuffling, silence, and suddenly arms are around him. At first he almost hisses in anger, thinking that this was nothing more than a weird, unnerving hug, but quickly stops that thought as cold air once again bites at his skin and a sharp wind nearly blows off his beanie. One quick look around is enough to confirm his suspicions: he has no idea where he is. His shoulders tense and he desperately searches for any sort of landmark.
“Relax, Delph, it’s just your roof. I just hated looking at that disgusting room, plus, my wings felt cramped.” Peter’s bored voice echoes from behind him. The man stands with his hands lazily thrown in his pockets, as if any inconveniences in the world were pointless to him. Actually, that’s exactly how it is for the demon.
“Leave. Me. Alone.” Delphius snarls, his eyes angry slits behind his mask.
The response he receives is a snort, followed by Peter’s caustic tone, “Gentle reminder, friend, that you were the one who summoned me. I’d love to leave you if I could, it’s my dream, in fact, but,” He takes a step closer, his thin tail flicking behind him, “Believe it or not, dealing with you and the crybaby across the planet is a bit more preferable than literal Hell.”
Delphius rolls his eyes and turns to the opposite end of the building where he assumes the emergency ladder is, “I hate that teleportation shit you do.” His eyes are trained on the ladder, but one disorienting blink later and he’s staring down on a vast rainforest.
“What, you mean this?” Peter snickers, flicking the side of Delphius’ mask and moving them back a bit.
“Yes.”
“Why? It’s fun!”
“It’s nauseating.”
Peter rolls his dark eyes and sighs, “You’re no fun. I thought you might be when I first showed up, but turns out Oxley was the most fun out of the three of you‒”
Were they anywhere close to civilization, someone certainly would have heard the resonating yelp that escaped the demon, Delphius nearly stumbling off the rock structure they’re stranding
upon. He regains his balance and shakes out his fist, hissing in pain as the grunts of a falling Peter fade away.
He’s back in a moment, bloodied and fuming, his black eyes flashing with something dangerous, “Listen up, spiderman,” He spits, Delphius only crosses his arms, “I came here to give you a much needed pep talk, since your sorry rear couldn’t do it for yourself. Your little pal over there, Lennox? He sent me because, who’d have guessed it, he actually cares about you! Incredible, I know, completely out of left field for you, but it’s true. He’s been worrying himself sick over if you’re even alive, and for what? You’ve been sitting around‒ no, moping around. Bar visits, drug escapades, your petty little crimes… what does it all amount to, hm? What are you trying to accomplish?” A flick of his wrist and the cuts fade away, healing himself with whatever supernatural abilities he owns. While his expression remains steadfastly angry, his gaze holding something solemn. Delphius wouldn’t say it was a soft look. No, it was the look of someone acknowledging pain. Understanding it. The same looks given at crime scenes or funerals. Signature ‘not pity but close’ gazes. Peter steps closer, his horns casting an eerie shadow over his face, “I’m not here because I like you. You know just as well as I do that we aren’t friends. Hell, we can hardly stand each other. Every moment we spend together is like a ticking time bomb. But dude,” There’s that look again, “You have to open your eyes, and I don’t just mean the six on your face. Think about Chester, he was Oxley’s little boyfriend or whatever, and how long has it been since you’ve even seen the kid? Or maybe Lennox, your old chum? You know, the one who stood beside you for years without fail, and you left behind in a crying heap on the floor? He’s all alone, and if you think you’re the only one that’s hurt over what happened, then you’re even more selfish than I thought.”
Birds chirp overhead, orange and red cascading around them as the sun rises. The dark shadow across Peter’s eyes moves and he turns away from the sun to avoid squinting.
A single thought floats through Delphius’ mind. The hat and mask seem a bit irrelevant now. Each one’s coverage of his features unneeded when no one who cared was around to see him. He reaches up and slips the mask’s strap over his head, then the deep red beanie. Each twitching antenna falls in front of his face, endlessly moving like fingers. Like legs. He, too, squints at the sudden light directed at the four eyes that cover his forehead. He turns his face away, looking over his shoulder into the foliage-covered ground.
Silence is almost welcome at this point. Well, near silence. The birds still chirp in the trees and the wind still blows small gusts across the rocks. True silence has only surrounded him once, only for a moment. The world shut down around him, tunnel vision as he watched that desperate hand grasp at the air for something, anything. Reaching out to no one as if their hand will pull him from the precipice, away from the cold, jagged stone below. Away from pain, away from fear, away from the bullets that pierce his skull. Away.
The second, smaller sun rises in the Northeast, warming the planet until a heavy fog has settled below, raising more and more until the entire forest is shrouded in it, aside from a few of the taller trees that peak above in the morning sunlight.
It makes his face itchy.
“Delph?”
Delphius blinks, his chest constricting. He gasps, but it’s cut off by a broken noise, something that should be heard only from a dying animal. It’s a choked sound, and it’s at that moment that he realizes there are tears on his face. That same, awful sound leaves him, louder this time. His eyes are closed, squeezed shut against more tears in a futile attempt to keep the rising sobs down. Never, never, has he done this. It’s new, it’s terrifying. It hurts worse than anything he’s experienced. He’s had broken bones, he’s taken bullets, knives, spears… hell, even lasers. Recollecting the pain now seems almost laughable, the deep agony far too encapsulating to even come close to, say, a head wound or a bite to the calf. This ache, the throbbing pain in his chest as the hiccupped gasps send shivers rushing up his spine… it’s worse than any torture he’s had to endure.
An odd feeling hits him and he’s sitting down. Something soft, a familiar scent of old musk and rusty pipes. Yellowed walls surround him, grimy with age, remnants of wallpaper still clinging to the corners, only a small bump away from flaking off onto the splintered wood below. That dried plant at the windowsill, still seated, meek, in it’s pot as the leaves droop, it’s tired gaze eyeing the same grave that of the wallpaper. It almost matches the green armchair in the corner of the room, covered in layers upon layers of dust from the immeasurable years of neglect.
“Delphie, come on, just breathe. Deep breaths.” A quiet voice cuts through his thoughts and his attention shifts to Peter. “Deep breaths.” He repeats, brow pinched.
Delphius nods shortly, trying to calm the quick gasps. Each one feels like a dagger to the throat, as if he’s being ripped apart from the inside out. A minute later, he can breathe again, his face sticky from water that he swiftly attempts to wipe away with a sleeve of his coat.
A memory flashes into his mind, one filled with warmth and laughs. It was on Ulcra-34, an incredible planet when in the correct season. Huge flowers bloomed in every field that was left behind by the receded oceans, springing to life with colors so vibrant that even Lennox had seemed dull in comparison. During the years of the warmer climate that circulated every twenty years, the glaciers would melt and the creatures below the surface would leave their caves and deep burrows to frolic in the tall grasses. They’d discovered a new species, one that was nearly entirely covered in coarse fur and rolled down the hills that made up the ground beneath them.
He didn’t think it was anything important at the time, and hell, did he wish he hadn’t taken it for granted.
“Come on, Delphie, just pet one! They’re cute!” Lennox had crouched down, petting one of the little creatures.
Delphius grimaced down at him, “Aren’t we here to save a planet from a complete Ice Age? Like, one that would kill everything here and also destroy the entire planet itself?”
“Well, yeah, but can’t we have some fun while we’re doing it?” The man smiled back brightly at Delphius, returning to making disgusting cooing noises at the creature.
He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to argue, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t be a spoilsport, Delphie, me and you can worry about the saving the world part for now, let him have fun for a bit, eh?” A small ball of fluff hit his boot and the shorter man bent down to pick it up, grinning, “You’ve got to admit, they’re kind of adorable. In a creepy sort of way.”
“Like Delphie!” Lennox chimed in, now covered in the creatures and laughing loudly.
“Oxley,” Delphius warned, watching the man’s eyes fill with mirth as he bit his cheek.
Oxley raised his hands, “Not laughing!”
“You’d better not be.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I would!” Giggles break up Lennox’s words, and beside him, Oxley finally breaks, erupting into a fit of laughter. The creatures startle and roll away, leaving a roaring Lennox in the grass, his shoulder-length hair getting grass in it with every movement.
Another eye roll later and Delphius stomped away. Thoughts filling his mind in an attempt to stave off the raging headache that threatened to put him out of commission. Maybe he could go wait in the ship until the local buffoons decide to relax a bit. There’s no way he can get any work done with two walking, talking distractions yipping at his heels. The grass doesn’t crunch under his boots, which he’s a bit glum about. His favorite planets are the ones with crunchy grass and leaves. He also likes the forested ones. Opinions on Ulcra-34 so far: not great.
In the next moment, he face-planted into the aforementioned grass.
Laughter filled his ears and any thought of a headache or lack of trees left him, replaced by a wide smile full of sharp teeth and fangs.
“You guys are the worst!” He yelled, his own laughter bubbling up.
“No, we’re the best.”
“Seconded. Majority rules.”
“Since when were we voting?”
“Right now!”
The two scrambled off of him and run in the opposite direction, sweating from the heat, but smiling nonetheless. Their called echos made him sigh and slowly rise to his feet, waiting a moment
before chasing after them, their whoops of glee filling the surrounding land.
He blinks, his stomach pulling tightly to the point where he finds himself doubling over. It hurts. It hurts, it hurts. Individual atoms he’s built upon each screaming in anguish.
“He’s really gone.” He stutters out, his already rough voice cracking from misuse, “Oxley he… he fell. He got shot and fell. The whole cave collapsed, too. Everything started crumbling and we couldn't even go back for his body.” His teeth grind together when more sobs threaten to rip through him, “We couldn’t even have a proper burial.”
Peter listens on, seated beside him on the mattress and playing idly with the tuft of fur that ends his tail.
“We… we mourned him, together, but I,” Delphius growns and puts his face in his hands, “I got so angry with him. All he needed was someone to help, someone to be there. And… and…”
“You left.” Peter finishes, his eyes trained on the stained walls, “You got drunk, mad, you fought him and you shoved him, then you left.” A deep sigh leaves him, “This entire time, he’s been watching over Chester. Poor kid lost his damn mind since the accident, thinks everything is his fault, like he could’ve somehow changed what happened. Keeps showing up on the curb outside in the middle of the night screaming and wailing, which obviously scared Len half to death the first few times. He sleeps on the couch now so we can watch him.” His gaze shifts to the corner of his eyes, focused now on Delphius, “Our friend over there, he’s running on empty, Delph. Gives so much but he doesn’t have anyone.”
Delphius opens his mouth to argue, but the words fall from his lips at Peter’s expression. The demon glares, “Yes, I visited them, and no, I am not a replacement for your sorry spider ass.” Delphius returns the scowl halfheartedly, slumping back against the wall.
After a beat of silence between the two beings, Delphius frowns, the question rising up from his chest. “Why did it hurt so much? Crying, I mean. How do you all do it so much?” Another wipe at his cheeks, his antenna twitching in discomfort. Sticky, wet, tears have now dried into his skin, turning it tacky to the touch. His eyes droop from exhaustion, too. It feels more like he ran a full marathon than shed a few tears.
Laughter fills the room and Peter kick’s Delphius’ shin, “What does that even mean, you’ve never cried before? No wonder you have such a stick up your‒”
“Shut up.”
“Really, though, not once?” Peter presses, sitting up straighter, that look from earlier almost returning.
Delphius releases a sigh and nods, shrugging a shoulder, “I’ve never really seen a point in it. It makes people weak.” He scrubs roughly at his eyes, blinking the four above them to clear his vision. There’d never been a need to cry. Wounds heal, people die during heists, sometimes you lose. Of course, he’s felt stinging tears of pain rise up in his eyes, but, not once, has he ever let one fall. He had certainly gotten close, once upon a time. Dread had come bubbling up in his chest with every extra second that had passed during his brief imprisonment. In hindsight, stealing from the most elite, wealthy family in the galaxy had been a poor decision on his part. Maybe, had he boarded that spaceship with a crew, or, at the very least, any resemblance of a plan. The only saving grace of that heist had been in the form of a young, blonde man all but tripping over him.
“We have to leave. Right now. If we don’t get out of here we’ll be killed.” He’d said, his calculating eyes trained on Delphius.
Delphius had only blinked, and silently followed every direction he’d been given.
“Who is that guy?” Delphius had asked the other, watching in awe as he hacked a locked vent with ease, “The one who runs this place? I saw him, just for a second, before I was thrown in here.”
The other sighed and removed the grate, looking his new companion over for a moment, “That man is someone you don’t want to meet. If I were you, as soon as we get out of here I’d high tail it as fast as you can away from this region and change your name.”
With a frown, Delphius presses on, “Yes, but WHO is he?”
The man closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, “My father.”
Delphius watched as he’d faded into the shadows, frowning at the empty service hallway behind them before following suit.
“You miss him.” asks Peter, his tone softer than usual.
All that Delphie could manage was a tight nod. With eyes disoriented and dizzy, it was about all he could physically manage in the moment.
“Then do something about it.”
That, however, catches his attention.
“What?” He asks back, ashamed of the squeak in his voice.
“Do something. Unless you want to sit here and waste away while your friends mourn yet another member of the peculiar little family you’ve collected.” Peter leans in, a new glint in his eyes, one that threatened a challenge for the spider-like being.
And he could never back down from a challenge.
In quick movement he’s standing and trudging towards the direction he remembers throwing his house keys. From the corner of his eye, he watches a grinning Peter sit up, tilt his head, and dematerialize, leaving behind the empty, decrepit mattress. The room seems a lot brighter now, the early morning rays of sun beginning to peek through the grimy windowpane and casting shadows behind the familiar friends of green and grime he’d come to recognize. When he leaves the room, he doesn’t cast a glance back. Mask and toboggan firmly in place, he steps onto the street, the soft rumbling of ships as they fly above the buildings acting as the guiding beat of the city.
He pulls his hand out of his pocket and glances down at the small locator device placed carefully in it. An old gift.
“Just hold on, Len. Please.”