Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Paimon sighed, lounged on his throne as only his butler was present in the room and no others to bare witness this lapse in decorum. It had been brought to his attention by the staff through Mr. Butler that one of his sons had been displaying concerning behavior.  There were whispers and rumors that this son (whichever one it was), had become increasingly reclusive, despondent, and staff had found him weeping on multiple occasions. Then there were rumors milling, as they were wont to do, full of conjecture that this would lead to him… preemptively extinguishing his own life so to speak. He very well could not have that, for multiple reasons including the loss of influence with one less child and the rumors that would spread through the rest of the court. However, despite his attempts to think of a solution, he was yet to find one which was viable.

He was informed of which of his sons was focus of this gossip and instantly forgot the name. The owl one, which made the situation more complex as a result of the nature of the timing. Well, that would most definitely make even more of a scandal if something happened so soon after he came of age or before he married. He needed that precautionary heir, and for his necessary duties to be fulfilled.

He was sure that his son was just being overdramatic, as how could he be depressed when he was a royal of the Ars Goetia with all the power and influence that entailed. Perhaps he had spoiled his children too much, and they do not understand the importance of maintaining composure despite not getting their way. Paimon considered this but quickly dismissed the idea as he was assuredly a good paren. It was simply the way of willful children to find any way they can to rebel against their parents.

He did not really have the time nor patience to deal with it now. Instead, commanding a suggestion or insight from Mr. Butler. He provided it, “As it is the young prince’s birthday, it may be fitting to hire the circus imp from his tenth birthday, your highness. He quite enjoyed his company then and seemed to be in higher spirits for some time after.”

Paimon vaguely remembered making the purchase which corroborated with this. He failed to follow up on the results afterward due to the marriage of one of the older children, but the lack of any concerning reports was, and still is, sufficient.

it sounded as good as anything else and waved his permission regardless of how ridiculous the idea seemed. Mr. Butler had proven himself to be reliable and competent, so Paimon would just allow him to take care of the problem.

Surely if it had helped before, it would again.

——

Just another day, another three hours of boring nothing.

Blitzo sat in one of the rickety stands, chin in hand, watching the same routine play out that he had every day for the last however long. It was a few months old and the same amount of time since he had been ‘promoted to assistant trainer’ which was actually just being a glorified water boy. This had been his routine, wake up and sit around until group practice started. He was forced to watch Barb, Fizz, and all the others with solo acts run through their routine until he was called to wait on them like a damned servant. The trainers didn’t even pretend to need his input and he could respect that, but damn. He grits his teeth, body humming with pent up energy, hoof thumping against the dry wood of the audience seating.

It was a common feeling of frustration because he was more than capable of solo acts! Sure, maybe his humor wasn’t appreciated by most, and clowning wasn’t his thing, but he was a damned good acrobat. Cash had said something about him fucking up too many times (before he was even moved to acrobatics full time!) and only allowed him to perform in a duo with Fizz or in the group routines. Satan, he would even be fine with just that if he wasn’t forced to sit here like a queef having its nose stuck in its own stank puddle for pissing indoors. He could be doing anything else, like cleaning the hell horse stalls, or helping Momma. Even mucking the Hellephant pens would be more tolerable than nothing.

The only bright side to this whole thing was that sometimes Fizz would smile at him or wave from where he was practicing. His face was as bright as it would be when performing and Blitzo would enjoy that swell of adoration and pride while it lasted. It was easy to ignore Barbs taunting gestures whenever she noticed with that. Then he would be back in boredom station, wishing he could be doing literally anything else.

“Boy! Come here!” A familiar high pitch voice yelled at him from the flap of the big top.

Okay, take that back, he could stay here doing nothing all day! He knew that tone and did not like what would follow. Nonetheless, he huffed, throwing a casual wave at Fizz and Barb, whose attention had been drawn by Cash’s shout. They shrugged it off, a common enough occurrence for them to not concern themselves. Part of Blitzo wished they would, and the other part was glad they didn’t ask… too often

He took his time, hands in the pocket of his loose pants, his own little sort of rebellion. It irritated his father, but it was something he never snapped about for one reason or another. Probably wanting to look good for whatever client he had scammed into this shit. Not his problem, he would just do his job and move on.

“Whad’ya got, Pops?”

Pushing open the flap revealed his father with some short, vaguely familiar imp. Said imp was dressed in fine clothes, probably a servant of some rich fucker, so it’s possible this was a return customer and that’s how Blitzo knew him. He could practically see the dollar signs in his father’s eyes and knew the bastard gotten a good price out of this sucker. He squashed the hope that he would be left alone or given a break, it seemed like, after the necessary purchases were made and Blitzo received his pitiful cut, whatever was leftover would vanish to the wind. He got the same amount every time, and then would be back on another job in two days. Blitzo knew his father would charge varying costs based on what he can get away with. It sucked, but family’s family.

Cash ignored his question, addressing the customer (or customer’s help), “Here we are, Blitzo just as asked. Bring ‘im back by noon tomorrow. He’s still gotta job to do.”

Overnight? Yeah, these fuckers paid well then. Blitzo tried not to fidget. He picked at a loose thread on his shirt.

Without another word they were ushered away, Blitzo left to follow this likely brown-noser to whatever royal freak he worked for. Well, he hoped it was a royal anyway, they were usually weirder, but it would give him a chance to swipe and pawn a few valuables for his own savings.

The other imp made for poor company on the ride over, just gave Blitzo a disdainful look when he helped himself to the passenger seat of the way too fancy for an imp car. Silence was fine. Blitzo had learned pretty early on not to make conversation unless the other initiated it for risk of opening the doors to weirdness. He’d rather not think about it till he had to, thanks.

—

Okay, yeah, this was definitely somewhere he had been before. Not in a long time, but the circular driveway, pretentious fountains, and lush gardens hit him over the head with recognition. Was his father trying to get him killed?! He considered making a break for it, but one of the first things you’re taught growing up in the circus is how to fall. Instead of fighting it by trying to catch yourself, lean into it, let it happen. It’s a philosophy that worked most of the time. Besides, things could be worse than getting murdered by vengeful royals with a score to settle. They would probably end him quick, not wanting to waste their ‘precious time’ on a thieving imp.

The whole situation was the same but so different as well. The first visit his dad had brought him in a cheap cab and had to drag him from the cabin of the vehicle. Now, he was chauffeured in a car worth more than he could fathom and he was stepping out from it with his own agency. Last time (eight years ago, his brain supplied), there had been one intimidatingly large demon and one tiny ball of excitement, and now, it was just the one. He was certainly tall, but spindly in a way that made it look like a stiff breeze could knock him over. That did nothing to quell the dread. At that job, he had just been expected to play with the poor sap and rob them blind. This time, should he not end up a smear on the marble flooring, they would be playing a whole different game.

Somehow, the steps up to the palace were just intimidating as before. This could be due to the fact that they are designed for Goetia, or the various circumstances that could be at play. However, it may have been the variety of unknown factors that gripped his chest with anxiety as he approached the royal awaiting him. When they were children, the young Goetia had smiled and bowed to him, obviously excitable. Now those four red eyes stared down at him, no trace of emotion to give him any clues.

Blitzo fiddled with his suspenders, but his pride was a tough bitch, making sure he looked right back into the gaze, which set others trembling, without a hint of fear. Damn the lack of visible pupils! He had no idea where the bird was fucking looking, still he held, or assumed he held, eye contact. He received a prim eyebrow raise for his troubles. Before finally, that beak opened to speak.

“Blitzo the Clown. It is a pleasure to have your company again.”

He couldn’t help himself, he chuckled under his breath, “I’m Blitzo the Acrobat now, actually.”

It was taken in stride and a subtle incline of a feathery head, “I see, I suppose I shall need to request a demonstration.”

Blitzo’s face scrunched a bit. Royals flirt weird. Well apparently, this guy (yeah no, his name still wasn’t coming to the imp) wanted a clown, so maybe he should play into that. Sometimes he could get a tip out of good customer service and that was a lot easier to squirrel away than the trinkets he would ‘liberate.’

“If you want, though, I could do some clown shit for you.”

This time he got a twitch of a beak, barely noticeable, and what it could mean was a mystery, but he would tale what he could get. Without another word, the royal demon gestured for him to follow, like Blitzo was his damned butler, and made his way to the double doors of the palace. Remembering the place was a maze, the performer scrambled to keep up with him, noticing that the imp that had picked him up parted ways at some point.

The quiet between them as they walked was stifling, and Blitzo had to take four steps for every one the Goetia took. There was the click of talons and thump of shitty boots on the polished marble, but it did nothing to disperse the awkward air that had taken up residence between them. He lost track of where they were quickly despite trying to use the many portraits as guide points. It didn’t help that they all looked the fucking same. Man, royals had shit taste.

“You have braces.”

The statement bounced through the vast hallway.

Blitzo had to stop himself from rolling his eyes and snarking back, and you have eyes. He learned not to temper his urges to be annoying. Instead, he settled for, “Yeah, a few months ago, I don’t recommend them, they hurt like heaven.”

“Hmm, I imagine so, but I do not foresee myself needing them due to my lack of teeth.”

Was that a sassy comeback? Blitzo decided to push his luck, “What? They don’t have like fancy beak braces or something?”

“Not quite, actually, some Goetia do require procedures to trim and straighten their beaks, should they develop improperly. I have never needed one myself.”

“Probably the incest,” The imp mumbled before he could stop himself. His fangs clicked together. Shit! Not the audience for that kind of joke, you dumbass.

Surprisingly, the owl demon hooted, and Blitzo was pretty sure that was a laugh. If he could see the other’s face, he might have a better idea, but instead it was just the back of a dark cloak and tail feathers, a head and puff of feathers if he craned his neck to look up.

“Quite. I suppose that is part of the collateral of royalty.”

Blitzo narrowed his eyes, contemplating that statement. It was odd behavior from a royal, to allow for a lowly imp to make a jab and agree with it. What was this bastard’s game? Maybe he had a humiliation kink. Blitzo wasn’t gonna examine that one.

They made it to a bedroom, much like Blitzo had expected. However, instead of a plain guest room which was typical of these jobs with royals, it was the same one from all those years ago. Many of the childish decorations had been removed, but it was familiar enough. There was that stupidly big bed, fancy ass furniture, and some remnants from before that he decided not to examine too closely. It was strange that this was going to be happening in the royal demon’s private space, but the customer is always right.

Neither of them made a move though. Well, Blitzo never made the first move, but usually, as soon as the door closed, it was down to business. Customers knew what they were getting and paid by the hour, so they weren’t gonna just stand there with their fist up their ass. He figured, even if the demon was inexperienced, he would have just jumped in with awkward kissing or some shit.

“Soooo, uuuh… whad’ya wanna do?”

“I think maybe conversation is in order. I’m afraid I do not have much in the way of entertainment, but I would like to catch up with you if you are amenable.”

“Amenable? What’s that mean?”

That stupid laugh came again, pretentious bastard. He knew it was a laugh now that he could see the tall demon’s face, “If you would agree.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, sure.”

It seemed like some walls were coming down now that they were behind closed doors. When the demon turned to face him, he was actually smiling, something warm. Well, probably because Blitzo was one charismatic (thanks for the word, Fizz) motherfucker. He gestured towards the couch in one corner and moved to drape himself over it, leaving plenty of room for his company.

As he scrambled up the stupidly tall piece of furniture, Blitz decided to break the ice, “So, y’know my name, but I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember yours.”

“Stolas,” He responded, seeming disappointed or something. It only lasted a moment, “And yes, of course I remember your name. You were and are my first ever friend.”

Oh.

Well, that was fucking sad. No wonder Stolas chose him to be hired for this. Did that make this whole thing creepy? Yes, but he knew better than to say that, manners and shit. Regardless, he could work with this.

“So, you want me to be your first something else, then?”

 Stolas seemed confused by that. Maybe he was naive, but Blitzo wasn’t gonna let that stop him. He had a job to do, and if this guy had a childhood friends turned lover kink, well, that’s one of the tamer ones. He would let it play out.

“I don’t quite know what you mean, but regardless, I would like to know how things have progressed in your performing career.”

Blitzo smirked, “Good as it can be. Like I said, I’m an acrobat now. It’s fun and it’s helped me be really… flexible.”

The bird tittered, “I imagine so! Do you enjoy it more than being a clown?”

That smile dropped into a frown, Blitzo was thrown off by the question, confused by the lack of suggestive come back. Did he like it more? No. He liked the clown shit, but he wasn’t good at it. He was a good acrobat, but honestly, he was really lucky that Cash let him do that much and didn’t make him take on more of these private jobs. He still wrote comedy routines in his little free time, but really it just pissed him off knowing that his genius would go to waste.

“It would seem that I touched on a sore subject.”

That snapped Blitzo back into action. He pulled off a casual wave and decidedly not casual laugh, “Nah, it’s fine. I’m a good clown but much better at t being an aerialist, particularly the silks.”

“Really? I have seen such performances before, they are quite mesmerizing to witness, and thrilling! I am always amazed at the way they maintain composure despite the risk.”

Were they having an actual conversation or flirting? What was this guy’s deal? Time to kick it into high gear, he wanted to get this shit over with. He leaned back against the arm of the couch, legs spread and displaying himself to Stolas and fiddling with one suspender, “Y’know, they say silks are the sexiest performances.”

Stolas actually blushed at that, his hands coming up to his face to pat at his cheeks. It was actually kind of cute, how innocent he was, and a rare experience. He wasn’t looking at Blitzo now and was stiff as a rod on the other end of the sofa. Well, Stolas wasn’t denying it, so that was permission enough for the imp.

He crawled across the couch, then having to stand on it to crowd into the owl’s space. He would say he was pretty good at reading a person and his suspicions were confirmed when Stolas become flustered just from Blitzo boxing him in with hands resting on the upholstery behind him. He made his weird little bird sounds, but subconsciously rested his hands on Blitzo’s hips.

He purred, well not actually purred, but yknow, in a sexy way, “Don’t play innocent with me, Stolas. You want a good time, right?”

“I-I-I suppose so, that was my hope in seeing you today.”

His smile was sharp, all fang, “Exactly, y’want me to take care of you?”

The returning nod caused the feathers at the top of Stolas’ head to loosen from their coif and tickle Blitzo’s cheek. They were soft and felt pretty good. He adjusted the grip on the couch to those thin shoulders, balancing himself as he swung as leg over the Goetia’s lap to straddle him. He was now on his knees now, perfect height to avoid kissing but leave teasing bites where he could reach.

“Good, because I’m gonna make sure you get your money’s worth.”

He began working off his own clothes, pushing the suspenders down and deftly working at the buttons. He wasn’t paying much attention to Stolas, not noticing how he had gone tense and still. He yanked his arms free from the sleeves, about to go back to fondling the other when his wrists were caught.

“Oh, you’ve got more bite than I thought. You wanna take charge, big guy?”

When no response or movement came, Blitzo looked up, confused as to what was going on. Red eyes looked down at him again, but emotion was on full display, though what the emotion was, Blitzo still had no clue. All four eyes were wide, brows scrunched, and the his beak slightly parted, the corners downturned. Well, that wasn’t good.

“You okay? Want me to do something else?” Blitzo asked, kicking immediately into damage control mode.

Stolas shook his head, it was jerky, forced, and awkward. The noise that left his beak was a bit strange, almost sounding confused himself?

“What do you mean by that?”

The question was whispered.

“I mean, do you want to like, move to the bed? Or put me on my knees? Or you can get on your knees, I don’t have a preference. Whatever you want really.”

He was rambling, nerves prickling under his skin as he grasped at ways to fix whatever he fucked up.

“Just let me know and—”

“No,” Stolas cut him off, still quiet, “What do you mean my ‘money’s worth?’”

Blitzo tilted his head, frowning, “What kind of question is that? You know you or whoever in your family paid for me, right?”

“Yes, of course, they paid you, I am more aware of that now than when I was 10. You were to perform for me.”

“Ohhh, I see, I’m skipping the good parts. You want me to dance for you? Show off my body for you first?”

Without warning, Blitzo hit the ground, hard. The marble was unforgiving and would most likely leave a nasty bruise on his ass. That wasn’t important though. He needed to figure out what the fuck was going on. Why in Satan’s hole was he now on the floor.

Stolas had shot up from his seat, dumping Blitzo in the process, apparently. He was now standing by a bookcase, the couch between him and the imp, with a very clearly horrified expression. What was his deal? Blitzo stood, rubbing his hip and ass to try to soothe the pain away. He tried to approach the other demon, who just circled the seating area, keeping distance between them.

Okay, that’s fucking enough. Blitz scowled, “What gives? Are you playing some weird game with me?”

“N-no!” Stolas shook his head with more energy this time, hands up as if Blitzo were going to jump him. Not like that would do much of anything to a damned royal. The owl continued, “I believe there has been a significant miscommunication about your expectations for this job.”

For whatever reason, Stolas kept looking down at Blitzo’s torso, probably enjoying the view. For his part, the imp just planted his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow.

“You were hired much in the same capacity as your previous job with me, to spend time with me.” He paused for a moment then added, “as a friend.”

“Why?”

“I cannot be certain, but it seems to be my father’s way of dealing with my more… complex emotions.”

That explained absolutely nothing. A lonely royal wasn’t really his problem.

“So you don’t want to fuck?”

Stolas squawked, feather on his neck puffing up, “No! Well I wouldn’t be opposed, However this is not an appropriate situation to do so I think.”

“I don’t see why. You basically said you’re down to clown.” Okay, that was lame.

Solas huffed. He stalked back around the couch, but rather than approaching Blitzo, he collapsed back into it, throwing his arms over both sets of eyes, “Yes, I did say I was not opposed, that is true.” He sat up suddenly, piercing gaze trained on the imp, “The question is, Blitzo, do you actually want to.”

“Yes.”

It was a quick response, which made Stolas’s whole demeanor soften, now looking sad. He was probably just pitying the little imp because unlike most royals, he decided to have some type of heart. Anger flared up at that thought, not wanting anything like that from a fucking royal of all demons. Maybe it made the fucker feel better, to pretend to care about the little guys.

Blitzo beat that line of thinking back with a stick as there were more important things to be worried about. This whole situation has gone off the rails and Blitzo had no idea how to salvage the wreck left behind. He’d never had a client not want sex. How was he supposed to work with this?

“You are still a terrible liar.”

“Still?” He could have been offended by the comment on his lying skills but his brain got stuck on that word.

“Oh, of course, I knew what you were up to by ‘playing pirates.’ I was raised in aristocracy, and lying and subtle language are the bread and butter of our social interactions. However, I found I did not much care. Besides, it turned out to be a good way to rebel against my father. Not that he even noticed, but it was enough for me.”

Blitzo thought to deny it, but really, the guy didn’t seem upset. In fact, he could be described as rather amused by the whole thing. Whatever made him happy.

“Regardless of the past, I am more interested in now. You do not want sex. Am I correct?”

He felt like his heart had stopped with how tightly his chest clenched. Those eyes were on him again and having been caught in multiple lies made it feel as if they were looking straight into his soul. His tail from wrapping around his middle without his permission, his arms soon following, crossed over his chest in a feeble attempt to protect himself. The words wouldn’t come out, so he nodded.

“I thought as much.”

Oh no, fuck, now he had really done it! If he had just not assumed shit he wouldn’t be in this absolutely messed up position. Now his father would know about his fuck up with this, seeing as he always checked in with the client afterwards to make sure Blitzo was actually doing his damned job. Bastard may be an inattentive parent, but the same could not be said about his business acumen. It’s not that Cash had ever laid his hands on him besides some spankings when he was young and pulling on his arms, but as he always said, ‘there are scarier things.’

Now he was going to be sent back early, and it would be apparent that something had went wrong. It would be obvious that he failed at what was supposed to be an easy fucking job that even he couldn’t screw up.

Stolas was watching him, eyes again drifting down occasionally. When he spoke again, it was soft, “I am not upset with you for saying no. That is well within your rights. I do find myself concerned, and would be willing to listen if you would like to tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

…

“I see, then how did you acquire your other injuries?”

Of course that would be what he had been looking at. Blitzo’s bare chest showed off the evidence of past clients, still healing. Bruises and claw marks littered his body in very telling places and really, he should have put the pieces together sooner.

“Being an acrobat is dangerous sometimes.”

Stolas lifted an eyebrow, “Ah, so is being an acrobat an innuendo?”

“No… Like…” Blitzo huffed, frustrated that the words wouldn’t come to him. He had no idea how to brush this off.

“You needn’t say more. Just know, I am not so naive that I do not know to some extent what is going on. I would also say that I am intelligent enough to compile the clues I have seen.”

The imp kept his trap shut tight. He didn’t know how to even reply to that, and he was out of excuses, his brain too scrambled by the emotional whiplash to even try. He kept hugging himself for lack of anything better to do. It did little to hide the stains discoloring the otherwise soft red of his torso. He now felt painfully aware of every place they sat.

“Allow me to help you somehow.” At Blitzo’s curious look, he clarified, “I know basic healing spells. These injuries should not be so substantial that they are outside my scope.”

Well, while not all those words made sense, he caught onto what Stolas was offering. He shuffled forward, only a few steps, until he was within arms reach of the owl.

Stolas did not stand, or even move closer. A book, a very very familiar book, floated off the shelf and into his awaiting talons. Blitzo recognized the grimoire that the taller demon had showed off 8 years ago, and he remembered the beaming pride that had taken over the owlet at the time.

He watched as the pages were flipped with purple magic, Stolas humming and glancing through the text before settling on one. He reread it a few times, brows drawn tight in concentration. It was interesting to see him so focused and Blitzo really appreciated in that moment how much he had grown and changed. Some of it was good, the new height, the smoothing of his feathers, the gracefulness he held. However, there was some concerning changes, he seemed duller, not in a boring way but like he had lost some light, he was obviously tired, and quieter. It was hard to reconcile the two Stolases in his head.

“Please uncross your arms and remove your tail from your waist.”

Blitzo hesitated, uncertain. He wasn’t sure why he had to do that for the spell. Stolas just smiled softly again, “I need to see what I am healing for this to work properly.”

That made enough sense, so Blitzo complied, letting his arms drop and adjusting his tail to grip his thigh. It was either that or it started flailing like crazy and knock over something fancy.

Stolas began speaking, but it was in a language Blitzo had no chance of understanding and so he let it pass over him, unknown. It was just magical shit he didn’t need to concern himself. Besides, he was much more occupied by the weird feeling that overcame him. It was a very neutral experience. It tingled through him, much like static electricity, soft and fuzzy. Actually, it was more than neutral, it was comfortable, warming him up from the inside out.

When he looked back down at himself, the marks that had littered his chest, hips, stomach, shoulders… okay that had been on his everywhere, were gone. There was no trace of them. He allowed himself to marvel at it for a moment. Magic was actually kind of cool! He laughed softly, outside of his control, and looked at his now pristine skin on his arms.

“Fucking awesome!”

Stolas giggled, “Yes, indeed. I am sure that feels much better.”

Blitzo just grinned at him as a way of thanking him.

“Do you have any other injuries?”

He did, of course he did. His thighs and ass were always a kaleidoscope of bruises, bite marks, and scratches in various state of healing. That dropped his mood quickly, not really wanting to show that off.

“Nothing to worry about, birdy. This is already cool as shit of you!”

Stolas frowned, “I am offering. I would like to help with them if I could.”

The imp really really wanted to avoid any additional vulnerability. It felt way too dangerous to show that much. He didn’t know why though, he had never had any issues with it with clients in admittedly much more uncomfortable situations. Something about the kindness of this damned royal made it seem like a literal sin to expose him to it.

“Please, Blitzo. I would feel much better if you were to accept.”

Dirty bastard. That was a low blow, turning it back on himself and using his name in that tone. It was like his name was a prayer, the way it was whispered into the quiet room. He heard a shuffling and jerked his head up to see Stolas standing to approach him, kneeling and then hunching in front of Blitzo to try meeting his eyes.

“Please, let me help you.”

His hands were warm where they rested on bare, red shoulders, dry but not rough, and grounding. Blitzo kept his head tilted down, staring at the chest in front of him, gaze caught on the intricate pattern of the fine vest the owl wore. His claws came together, tangling and pinching. It helped to keep him from floating away. He caved regardless of every instinct screaming at him to run, deflect, anything. He nodded.

Then, he was pulled forward. He shot his hands out, pushing at the other demon who was an immovable force against his front. Arms were now wrapped around his shoulders and then he realized what was happening. He was being hugged. Feathers pressed against his cheek where Stolas’ head was hooked over his shoulder. He felt the rumbling as Stolas said, “Thank you.”

Why is he thanking me? I should be the one saying that.

——

A few hours later, they lay in the bed. Nothing untoward had happened in that time, Blitzo had just been too exhausted to move after the emotional turmoil of fully exposing himself to the other, who had been kind enough to move him there after he nearly collapsed from the mental fatigue. Now they laid next to each other, shoulders barely brushing, under a mound of blankets (well a mound for Blitzo, Stolas just the one). Hell, they weren’t even sharing them, each with their own.

Blitzo had dozed in that time, trying not to let the anxiety of his dad potentially finding out about his failed job overwhelm him. At some point the tiredness had been replaced with a restless energy that left him twitching. When Stolas asked him, he just responded, “If you’re asked how I did at my job, will you give me a good review?”

“What?” The owl turned himself onto his side, propping himself up with an elbow to look down at Blitzo, “Why would they ask?”

Blitzo clenched his jaw, baring his teeth, “He always asks, to make sure I’m doing a good job I guess.”

“Who asks?”

He fixed Stolas with the most incredulous look he could muster, “Who do you think?”

“Your employer?”

Blitzo scoffed, “Sure, my employer. I wouldn’t exactly call Cash Buckzo much of a employer.”

“Buckzo?” Stolas frowned and then his eyes widened until they were near perfect circles, “Is he your father?”

“Yeah? I thought that was obvious. I mean I know you royals probably think all of us imps look the same, but you’d have to be blind not to notice some of our more unique shared traits.” He gestured at the spines on his tail and back as if that explained everything, which it should have.

Stolas didn’t respond but appeared to be pretty upset about something. Blitzo didn’t really know what his problem was. It was common for imps to have family run businesses as a way to make ends meet, the free labor of children the foundation for most of them. It made sense that a Goetia really wouldn’t understand that, seeing as royal children lived a completely different and probably easy as fuck life.

“Doesn’t matter who my boss is anyway, just need you to tell him I did a good job.”

The owl seemed to be discontent and having some kind of internal debate. Eventually he huffed in a way that sounded tired but nodded, “Okay, well, I suppose, if I am asked to provide feedback, I will tell them that you appropriately attended to my needs.”

“Works for me.” Blitzo waved a hand dismissively, somehow trusting that as the truth. It was way too easy to take Stolas at face value. They were quiet for a long time after that, neither of them sleeping and not daring to speak a word.

Again it was Stolas who broke the silence, “So, you do work as an acrobat at the circus, is that something you want forever?”

Blitzo shook his head, “I thought I already told you all of this. It’s all the same as back then.”

“Indulge me.”

Eye roll, “Okay Birdy, but gotta tell me what you wanna be when you grow up, too.”

“It’s a deal.”

The imp turned to rest on his side and look at the heart shaped face of his bed companion, who was already angled towards him. He ignored the way it made him smile a bit.

“I’m gonna run my own circus and be the most famous imp ever. I’ll be able to do what I want to do. I’m going to make so much money, I can by myself a big building. I want to have a big office.”

He paused here waiting, and Stolas didn’t disappoint, “A big office for a circus?”

“Yeah, circus business with clowns and horses. I’ll name one Stapler and one Biscuit Queen. If you want to apply, maybe I’ll hire you.”

Stolas giggled, not the same childish one from so long ago. It was heavier, holding more in it than that time under the tree, “I hope I qualify. You’d be a good boss.”

Blitzo’s cheeks hurt, smiling. Stolas hadn’t even sounded sarcastic this time, instead something unidentifiable but it made him feel good to hear. It almost sounded like a promise or even a solemn oath.

“You know it.” He chuckled, “Okay, your turn, Birdy.”

Stolas’ smile fell, it seemed as if he was thinking.

“I believe, I will always love the stars and the cosmos and enjoy that.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Red eyes became glassy, shining as if the owl demon was holding back tears, “Of course not. I have not really given much thought to my own future, as so much of it has already been decided for me.”

Blitzo shuffled closer, chest pressing against a feathered shoulder where Stolas had returned to his laying on his back, staring up at the stars that swirled around his ceiling in the dark room. Normally, he was hands off, but it felt important for the owl to feel someone’s touch.

“Like what?”

A sniffle broke through the room, “Everything, Blitzo. I am set to marry in 2 months time and my betrothed was decided for me 8 years ago, today. And tomorrow, I will begin my duties as a full member of the Ars Goetia.”

“Tomorrow? That seems pretty random.”

“Did you not know it’s my birthday?”

“No.” Blitzo frowned, nobody had even mentioned that. You would think there would be a big party for a royal coming of age, but it seemed like there was no fanfare. Did anyone even know. They had to, seeing as Stolas said he would begin working the next day. On top of all that, an arranged marriage. That sounded like a nightmare. What do you even say to all of that.

“No, I didn’t know, but happy birthday.”

Stolas took time to gather himself, breathing and wiping at the tears that had just started to spill. His wobbly smile barely visible in the dimness, his eyes illuminating it just enough to hint at it’s curve. He moved himself to his side again, throwing himself against the imp, arms tight. It was nice, warm and soft from fluffy feathers.

“Thank you, Blitzo. You have made this day as happy as it could be. I fear that there is still much that is decidedly unhappy about it.”

The imp did the only thing he could really think of. He threw one arm over Stolas’ waist and wiggled the other one between him and the bed until they were fully wrapped up and anchored to each other. His tail followed suit, pulling them closer until there wasn’t any space left to go. He listened to the hitching breaths that reverberated out of the other’s chest and straight into his own. He let one hand drift up and down Stolas’ back and said not one word.

Chapter Text

Several weeks have passed, maybe a month, since meeting Stolas for the second time in his life. Blitzo had continued with his day to day, between rehearsals and performances, helping to maintain the circus, his ‘side job’, and care of his mother, and now the clandestine meetings with said prince, he felt more tired than he thinks he ever had.

His performance was slipping, he knew it was, and he could tell that Fizz and Barbie were taking notice. He often caught them glancing at him before whispering between themselves. It seemed they all refused to bring it up, so now the three of them were in this weird status quo. All of their interactions were tense, awkward. He could tell that they wanted to ask, years of living with them providing the experience to easily read them. He was content with saying nothing if they are.

His father had continued on as if nothing had happened, as if he had not received a ludicrous amount of money from the Goetias. He had predicted that, anyway. He was still being sent to see clients, usually three or four times a week. Each time, it wouldn’t be until late in the night that he returned. Staying the night with most clients was completely off the table; there were a few familiar faces that he would, but it was rare. While it exhausted him, no complaint was made. It was better that it happen late so that Fizz was asleep when he returned to their shared sleeping space.

When he felt the anger at Cash and the situation bubbling up, he would push it aside, reminding himself of his reasons for agreeing. Really it was primarily one reason, and that was his mother. Doing these jobs ensured that his momma received her medication, that it could be afforded. He would tear off his own arm for her, so really, this was mild in comparison to her life. Every day that he got to see her gentle smile and feel her arms around him made it worth it. It gave him the energy and resolve to keep moving forward.

The pocket change he received for himself meant little in comparison to that, and it would usually end up tucked away with the rest of his compensation. He did not even tell Fizz about it, worried that if Cash were to learn of it, it would start going missing. Blitzo never counted it, but he was sure it was a fair amount. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered to save for himself. Despite having his dream to have a circus of his own, the amount would not even make a dent on the costs associated with that venture.

Another thing that made the whole fuck show that was his life more bearable was Stolas, which was shocking. They had traded phone numbers before Blitzo was forced to return to the circus after their tame night together. The prince made little sense to the imp, in terms of his behaviors and the things he found important, but he found that he didn’t mind the contact.

His shitty little flip phone would buzz throughout the day. When he got a moment to check it, he was with walls of text on various topics that the owl liked. Blitzo understood almost none of it, but still read every one carefully until he was sure about the gist of what was being said. He was suspicious that Stolas was repressing his more complex vocabulary since the language was different from the way he spoke. Blitzo would send short messages back, since it was hard to type anything substantial with the T-9 format of his beat up cell. He knew Stolas had one with a keyboard so he would just go fucking buck wild. The concise answers did not deter the other.

They had several phone calls in that time as well, on nights when Blitzo was free from his side work where he had the time to sneak off from the center of the circus to the less populated areas. He had taken to hiding out by one of the currently unused concession stands and letting the prince talk his ear off about whatever was going on with him. He would provide his own short updates but for the most part just encouraged Stolas to continue. It was nice to not have to talk but still feel near someone, even if it was only a call.

Stolas had become more comfortable with it each time, showing more excitement and sharing more details even if Blitzo didn’t understand a lot of it. Sometimes he would ask questions, when a topic was actually interesting and the delighted hoot he got in return was pretty cute. Alright, he’ll admit it. Stolas was fucking adorable. Blitzo would warm up whenever the prince became particularly animated, would make his silly bird noises, would drone on about plants and stars, or when he would ask after the imp.

Okay, he was always cute, apparently. Sue a guy for appreciating it. Blitzo wasn’t examining it too closely. He had crushes before, fleeting ones, and it made sense to have a crush on a prince of all things. It was not something to make a big deal about. At least with it actually being someone outside of the circus he was spared the teasing from Fizz and Barb. Those two were ruthless, but he gave it back just as well when Barb started fawning over the imp who ran the concessions and then kicked his ass after he talked shit about her.

During one of his calls with Stolas, he had made the mistake of mentioning some ache or pain after a particularly nasty client. Blitzo was bitching about it, not even realizing that the prince had gone silent. There was the rustling of paper and he nearly shat himself when a violet portal tore through the space near him. That earned a string of vivid cursing and a stubbed hoof, but Stolas stepped out instead of some kind of threat.

As Blitzo was rubbing his sore foot, he noticed how harried the other looked and asked if he was okay, which in hindsight was stupid. Stolas rolled his eyes and huffed before nearly yelling about how Blitzo shouldn’t be asking him that when he was the one hurt. The imp tried to shrug it off, but Stolas insisted on healing his wounds yet again, fussing and tutting at every mark he found and wiped away with a smudge of purple light. He was muttering to himself the entire time, and Blitzo had to clench his teeth against the guilt that wanted him to apologize.

That was only the first time. Stolas had then proceeded to beg the imp to tell him whenever he was injured, waxing poetic about wanting to help him and how Blitzo being hurt caused him pain like a manipulative jackass. Blitzo agreed though, now just shooting Stolas a brief text, usually something like ‘need heelin’ or ‘cum do ur magic.’ The prince was reliable and would show up every time, usually a couple time a week, that the performer would summon him, tolerate the grumbling, and himself be fussed over. The whole scenario did little to help Blitz manage his stupid crush, especially if he got a hug afterward (which he almost always did.)

Those embraces alone made it worth it. Even though Blitzo would often hug and cuddle with his family (minus Cash) and Fizz, there was something different when it came from Stolas. His soft feathers had healing capabilities all their own when Blitzo could press his face into them and smell that new scent, nothing like anyone at the circus. Not that they smelled bad, like cheap soap and detergent, but Stolas smelled like herbs and luxury.

Even better, were the times when Stolas would open a portal for him to the human world. They would always end up somewhere remote, with no humans at risk of finding them, and where the stars were better defined away from the light pollution. Blitzo could enjoy the prince’s voice without the crackle of a phone call and enjoy his presence without the weight of guilt settled on his shoulders. Stolas would point out different specks of light, naming some as stars and others as planets, and then he would shuffle close and use his hand on Blitzo’s wrist to guide him through constellations and their stories. When that happened, he would catch that wonderful aroma. It was a struggle to stop himself from burying his nose in that plumage and just inhale, it would probably creep Stolas out.

This was one of those moments, the Goetia pressed right up against his side and his grip light but steady. He had his head tilted against Blitzo’s to mimic his own perspective and help him better trace the stars that he had fixated on. Stolas had called it Hercules, but to him it looked like a headless person flailing all his limbs. Blitzo said as much which earned him a hooting laugh.

“Well yes, you are actually correct, that it is a person. Hercules is a Roman hero of mythology. There are many variations of this constellation, but most commonly, it is to represent his encounter with a great dragon, Ladon.”

“That would be pretty badass if it were true.”

“Well, there are chances it could be true, I am sure that there is an elder in Hell who would know more. There are actually quite a few fascinating stories surrounding Hercules and his feats, I imagine there must have been some factual influence for them.”

Blitzo let his head drop sideways to look at the other demon, who had put distance between them again, but their shoulders were still pressed together. Stolas’ eyes were still fixed on the heavens, eyes wide as he chattered on, every other word meaning nothing to the imp. It could be frustrating at times, but Blitzo had only seen this joy from the taller demon for brief moments, so he would savor it while he could.

There was a security in his interactions with Stolas by the nature of their statuses alone. Neither of them would blab about their friendship to anyone else. The primary reason being the consequences that could unfold with the supreme dick that was the Goetia’s father, and just royal expectations in general. Blitzo was pretty naive to what all that entailed, but he had enough knowledge to understand the risk that came with one of them consorting with a lowly imp. On the flip side, there were just too many issues that would be caused if his newfound friendship was common knowledge, and not even just from his family (especially Cash) and the rest of the circus. He had heard the kinds of things said about the imps simply working for the royals and could only imagine it would be worse to be “friends” with one.

Stolas was still rambling, “He was conceived into status, that of a king, but it was stolen from him before birth and that right was given to his sickly half-brother. When only a babe in cradle, he strangled to death two serpents that had been sent to kill him.”

“This guy has a beef against lizards.”

It was a joke, but the bird nodded in agreement, “Correct, it was a prophecy of his greatest battles!”

“So, who is trying to kill a baby?”

“Zeus, who sired Hercules, had a jealous wife, Hera, who wanted her son, the sickly one I had mentioned, to inherit the throne of Greece, which he was set to, but Hera held much spite towards Hercules. When this and other plots failed, she then drove him into a madness that caused him to kill his wife and children. As punishment, he was assigned to serve for his half-brother as an adult and completing labors to earn absolution.”

Blitzo hummed, considering this, “I think I like this Hercules guy, he gets me.”

Of course, he was no magical, strong baby, and there was no shared blood between him and Fizz, but Blitzø often felt he was in the other performer’s shadow in the eyes of his father and the public. He was often put in charge of helping Fizz with his practices and other tasks as well, and that kinda sounds like those labor things.

He realized Stolas was silent, only the sounds of insects and night birds washing over the hill. He was going to tell the owl to keep going but his words caught in his throat. Those stupidly graceful brows were pinched, beak edges downturned, and red eyes droopy.

“What’s wrong?”

“Blitzo,” Stolas sighed, “I worry for you. There is so much that is so wrong about your situation.”

This is a conversation that they’ve had several times, but it was always cut off by not-so-subtle changes of subject or direct refusals to speak about it by the imp. He had let himself slip several times, complaining to Stolas on particularly bad days about various things during their nights. Things like his frustration with the whole Fizz thing, despite being proud of his friend, and how belittled he feels by his father over his own performances. Stolas would try to pursue those threads, and he wouldn’t allow it, shutting down however he could.

“It’s fine. I’ve to—”

“It is not ‘fine.’” There was an emphasis on the ‘fine’ that spoke of frustration, “You are allowed to be upset. There is no circumstance in which these issues would be justified.”

Blitzo blinked. Stolas had never pushed back before, never lost control of his emotions about it. Red and yellow eyes narrowed.

“What issues? The Fizz stuff? It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Well, yes, that, but also everything else. The jobs your father sends you on, and the way he talks to you. You have to realize that none of it is right.”

Oh Satan, he did not want to talk about this, especially with Stolas. Blitzo sat up quickly, mourning the distance he put between them, but it was necessary. He felt cramped or trapped as soon as those words had hit his ears, speed of sound type shit, like a whip crack. The rush of cool air, unimpeded without the larger body to block it, did nothing for the heat boiling up inside of him.

“Stolas, stop.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything else.

Of course, his request went unheard or ignored.

“Nobody should be treated this way, not even an imp.” Blitzo flinched, what the fuck. Stolas didn’t seem to notice, well and truly in his speech, “To have your body sold by someone who is meant to protect you, and then to be told you’re still not good enough? Blitzo, that is so wrong I cannot even put words to it.”

“What fuck do you know?”

The words let themselves out before he could stop them. Shit, shit, shit. Stop fucking talking you moron!

“You say all these pretty words, but what the fuck do you know, really? What can a pompous, spoiled, royal know about what the fuck is right and wrong!?” He picked up speed and decibels, plowing over Stolas’ attempts to stop him, “Don’t interrupt me! You can’t fucking talk over me whenever you want.”

You’re hurting him, fucking shut up.

“You think you get to come into my life and play as a Satan damned savior? What are you even going to do about anything? I don’t want you to, anyway. Fuck, you shits think you can just snap your fingers, throw some money around, and make the problem go away whenever you want, but this if the real fucking world, your highness. You talk on and on about dreams, and you don’t fucking even have any of your own! And you go on about how mine are great and I’ll do them. News flash, I fucking won’t.”

Stolas had retreated physically at this point. His spindly arms were curled against his chest and knees drawn up. Wide eyes fixated on the shitnado in front of him, probably either disturbed by the monstrosity he unleashed or pitying. Blitzo didn’t know which was fucking worse and it was just gas on the fire.

“You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, do you? Why I have to do these jobs or why I stick around. I would leave that shitshow if I could, but if I do— If I leave—She’ll d—”

Nope, just no, definitely no! Blitzo paused, swiping at the stupid wetness on his face. Must be the rain.

“Doesn’t fucking matter. I’m gonna be there forever anyway. Get your shitty bird brain right. There’s no circus for me to run, there’s no big fancy building, there’s no world in which I am the owner of some stupid shitty company. I will fucking die there.”

“I will always be the pathetic hooker for him to pimp out for the right price. Fuck!” He threw his arms up, as if the cosmos were the bastards who caused all this, now shouting with his head tilted back to them, not able to look at Stolas anymore while holding onto his rage, “The only reason that daddyfucker does anything for me, is for his gain!”

He gestures to his mouth, the braces glinting in the moonlight as his fangs gnashed over the words, “But fuck, if I don’t do this…”

He trailed off, the fire doused, the smoke smothered, and there was no trace of it left. Even the night creatures were quiet, still cowering from the squall of emotions that had rocked the hillside. Blitzo finally looked again at Stolas and recoiled at the glistening eyes that watched him back. It could have been pity, or anger, or terror.

Another thing, ruined.

“I want to go home.”

Stolas finally moved, jerking forward, “Blitzo—”

“No,” one clawed hand pinched the space between his eyes and the other held between himself and the other as a pathetic shield, “Just… no. Send me home. I can’t…”

The portal ripped open beside him, and he was scrambling through it without another word. He decidedly ignored the way Stolas’ face had crumpled, running away from the prince and the familiar thing stalking him, making itself known yet again. His chest was heaving, he was gonna be sick. He had to get away from the beast, but it maintained pursuit as he dumped himself onto the other side and darted away when the portal didn’t close behind him.

Finding refuge between a set of trash cans and a hard-sided stand (for food, those were the only ones not made of fucking fabric), he crowded his body into itself. Breathing was fruitless. Sure, he was taking air in, and pushing it out, but it was better to call it panting. The beast stayed close, incorporeal, unseen, and he felt it looming over him, demanding to be acknowledged along with whatever was bubbling under the surface of its roiling form. Pounding his curled knuckles against his head as an attempt to keep it together, Blitzo refused to give the creature the chance. He couldn’t.

His face was wet again, eyes burning in a way which was well-known, though not so much in recent years. The feeling of them on his cheeks was too much, too much on top of the night. Trembling hands swiped at them, but they were soon replaced, and he could only grip the base of his horns, tighter and tighter, until the pain of it overwhelmed the stinging of salty water. He felt everything radiating off the monstrosity stalking him, so many different things jumbling together to create it that Blitzo could give no name.

There were no eyes, but it watched on, waiting for its moment to strike.

Waiting for something to collapse.

—

Stolas stared at the gateway between worlds, still open even thought Blitzo was long gone. Part of him was hoping, that if he did not dismiss it, that the imp would return. He imagined it, Blitzo walking back through with his hand rubbing the back of his neck, looking sheepish and with apologies to give. It was fantasy though.

Realistically, Blitzo was not the type to apologize with words, and even if he was, Stolas felt that he was not particularly owed one. He had been practically begged to stop talking about it. There was no please, but the way his name had been said may as well have been one. It had only been a month, and he already realized that Blitzo did not say ‘please’ or ‘sorry’, he said your name, pleaded with it.

With a sigh, he dismissed the portal, having known that there would be no return from the other. He had not yet seen Blitzo truly angry, uncontrolled. Sure, he was irritable and moody, and would talk loudly while not sitting still, but not this, not with those sharp words that hurt so, so much. Despite that, Stolas couldn’t find anger, only guilt.

Going home felt like too much work, so he instead laid down in the grass, staring back at the sky for some kind of comfort, dew soaking through his clothes. The presence of the moisture on the grass told him that it had been some time that they were out here. When they arrived, everything was still dry, and now cold condensation had collected on everything. He let it seep through his feathers and to his skin, warming from his own body heat.

“What do I know about anything?”

He was talking to himself, since there was no one around to hear it anyway.

Stolas knew only what Blitzo allowed him to know, that was fact, and he began running through the meagre list. His father, Cash, did indeed traffic him and regularly, usually two or three nights a week. He was an acrobat in the circus (there were a few fliers and posters to prove this) and no longer a clown. He had a twin sister, Barb, and best friend, Fizzarolli. The latter was something of a golden child to the circus, talented and often featured. Stolas remembered the disparity in reaction from the crowd to his jokes versus Blitzo’s from his visit eight years prior.

Then there were two more vital facts, the ones uncovered during Blitzo’s tirade. The first being that the imp genuinely believed that there was no way out, and that he would never achieve his dreams. That had hurt to hear, his heart crying for the other, at the idea that such a beautiful person would continue to be exploited and hurt so deeply.

The other one, he latched onto, it seemed incredibly important. There was some reason, unknown to the Goetia, that Blitzo felt like he needed to stay, needed to let his father hurt him. There was some leverage against him that Cash used. From what he knew of the older imp, it was unsurprising, he should have guessed sooner. Really, did he think that Blitzo let these things happen to him while lacking a reason?

That was the crux of it, was it not? Stolas had not even realized that at least some part of him thought that Blitzo was just letting it happen. It made the bird sick to realize that he had subconsciously been finding some way to blame Blitzo for the continuing abuse. Though, even if he did not have a reason, was it right for Stolas to accuse him then? The thought of it disgusted him. Of course, it was not justified for him to do so.

It was all such a mess now.

He wanted to text Blitzo, to apologize, but he could not even think of where to start. His thoughts were still racing and he felt frozen with anxiety. Like a deer, his fingers twitching like its hooves when it contemplated fleeing, but he was considering whether to reach out. He thought maybe this was the same adrenal dread.

The worst part was, he could not talk through it with anyone because Blitzo had been the only person with which he would have done so. Tracing through the constellations with his eyes, he thought, maybe Hercules would be an apt listener.

—

After getting himself under control, Blitzo finally allowed himself to go to the ‘room’ he shared with Fizz. It really wasn’t a room, but it was the best descriptor for the walls of canvas that portioned off their section of the living quarters that he and his family resided in. He ignored the shaking in his hands, ignored the still rapid beat of his heart, the racing thoughts about what the fuck had just happened. He needed to sleep, more than he ever had before. If he had to deal with anything else, he thinks he would just fall apart all over again.

As he walked through the cramped city of tents, concession stands, and game booths, his back prickled and spines stood straight, feeling as though he was being watched or followed. Every time he looked, there was nothing, but the unease remained. He knew why and what it was, he would rather it be anything else but that.

The beast continued to pursue him, unseen, and more of a threat than any actual demon could ever be. It fell back, further away, no longer crowding against him, still it made no difference. It was there, and that was dangerous enough. He pretended to ignore it. He refused to look back, dashing to the tent much like he would as a kid scared that the monsters in the dark would get him when the lights went out.

He managed to slow himself before he could crash into his shared sleeping quarters, not wanting to wake Fizz, but it was useless anyway. When he stepped through, one of the lamps was still on, low, but with enough light to see Fizz sitting up on his bed, reading a book. He was now looking over it at the imp who had just entered the space, eyes sharp despite the bags forming under them.

“What’re you still doing up, Fizz? You gotta sleep to keep your strength up.”

The pages of the book clapped together with the force that closed them. The star performer’s eyes were narrowed, his whole expression was something that Blitzo was familiar. It meant he was in deep shit. That must be the case, since this whole scene was like a wife waiting up for her unfaithful husband to return from the bar.

“I should be saying the same thing to you.”

Sometimes it was like Fizz was two different people. When he was upset or determined, it was like a switch flipping him from soft spoken and anxious to an unstoppable force of sass and bitchiness. Too bad, Blitzo was the immovable object to counter him and they would inevitably collide, usually with significant collateral.

Blitzo snorted, “I’m fine, Fizz, y’know I don’t have near the workload you do.”

“Bullshit.”

Blitzo raised an eyebrow, incredulous, “Are you fucking with me? I literally just have the two acts, that’s not even close to half of what you do.”

Fizz seemed to have caught onto what he was doing, “This isn’t about me. You’ve been constantly out late for like the past month, dude.”

“Uhh, that’s nothing new, you know that.”

A frustrated breath puffed from the smaller imp, “No, but not like this, it’s almost every night now and I can tell you’re exhausted. Where are you even going?”

“Doing those jobs for Cash, like always.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Oh Satan, he was yelling now, well this went about as he expected the moment he caught onto Fizz’s grump.

“Not lying. Why are you acting surprised? I’ve been doing them for ages.”

Fizz’s face pinched up, as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle but his pissed brain wouldn’t let him.

“Cash was complaining about you being gone, so obviously it’s not every night.”

“Shit. I mean— It’s just another part time job.”

Damn his horrible lying skills. Fizz fixed him with a flat glare, definitively not believing him.

“I’m worried about you Blitzo. Talk to me, please.”

Usually that would work, but there were several things that Blitzo could really never talk to him about and they just so happened to be the answers Fizz was seeking. Plan B time, piss him off until he drops it.

Blitzo scoffed, “No need to worry about me, Fizzy Roo, I can take care of myself just fine.”

He gathered every scrap of confidence to strut over to his trunk and started digging through it. He could practically here the creaking of Fizz’s clenched fangs, but he stayed silent. Blitzo felt the other’s burning gaze on the side of his face but decided to let him stew. He was probably trying to use his lack of answer to get Blitzo to say more, but this was something that couldn’t even be tortured out of him.

His hands were shaking.

Fizz probably noticed them when he pulled out the tattered clothing that constituted his sleepwear. When Blitzo glanced at him on his way to the curtained off space they used for changing, he looked distressed, following him with his eyes. Blitzo tried to smile, but it was tense and wobbly, he could feel the way his lips twitched with it.

He gave himself a moment when he was in the illusion of privacy, sure that his frantic breaths could be heard through the stillness of the night. Who knew what Fizz was thinking. However, Blitzo was more concerned with getting his shit together before he fell apart, and this time it wouldn’t be explosive anger, it never was with Fizz, could never be.

He could not put more on Fizz, never would be able to, when the clown did so much and was one of the only reasons he was still here and the rest of the family had a roof over their head, even if it was a flimsy one. No, this was something he could actually do on his own, and it was for Momma. Telling Fizz would put him at risk for the same fate anyway, as much as he hoped it wasn’t the case, it was a terrifying unknown, exposing him to how filthy and truly abhorrent Blitzo was.

Stop. Stop fucking thinking about it.

“Blitzo, you okay?”

“I’m fucking fine.”

His voice cracked on the words, but he refused to acknowledge it.

“You’re not and none of this is fine.” Well at least the anger was back, “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, going out so much and ditching on us to what? Go out and fuck around? You never take anything seriously. Do you even care about what happens to us, to Barb, to me, to Tilla?”

“Fizz, shut up.” But his best friend didn’t hear him, this whole thing a repeat of his conversation with Stolas. It was fucking happening again. Why couldn’t he just get a break?

“Also, what the fuck is with these jobs you’ll never tell me about? It’s not like you’re a hot sell as a clown. Cash won’t even let you be a clown.”  

Okay ouch.

“And I get it when you act like a jackass like this. Do you even care about how it affects the rest of us?”

More than you know, Blitzo thought, but his ability to speak had fled the scene. He felt the panic enveloping him. The beast watched him from the beams holding up their home, drooling guilt and rage and acid. He paused in his dressing, wrapping his arms around his bare torso. Fizz was quiet now, but his heavy breathing sounded loud in Blitzo’s ears.

A grumble of “unbelievable” floated into the cramped changing space before darkness enveloped Blitzo. The bitch had turned off the lamp and by the creaking of the bed, decided to give up for the night.

Truth be told, Blitzo was grateful for the inability to see his own body. If he had to see how his body had been wiped clean of the marks that should have been there, he really would fucking cry. Wait no, he already was, never mind. He ignored it though, yanking the shirt over his head and scratchy sweatpants up to his waist, vaguely realizing that he had to tighten the drawstring to keep the risk of baring his ass at bay.

The short distance to the bed was a struggle, not just because of the lack of sight (seeing as he was familiar enough with the room) but because he felt like he was going to fall over from pure exhaustion. He made it though, letting himself fall into the messy pile of covers, but not bothering to pull any over himself even if it was a bit cold.

Do you even care what happens to us?

Yes, Satan yes, Blitzo would die before he let anything happen to his family. It’s why he let Cash sell him off, why he let strangers dirty him, because it was better him than anyone else. It was better that he be useful than his Momma die because they couldn’t get her medicine. It was better than Barb or Fizz having to do it. He would never forgive himself if it was them or if his mother died because he couldn’t do what he had to.

Tears burned his eyes, the creature now hunched right over him, its hot breath filled with regret and despair. It was eclipsing, with how massive it was. Everything Blitzo had tried failed in some way, this was the only thing, doing these jobs for his father, that had managed to make a positive impact for so long. Years, it has been working for them, working for him, why the fuck was it a problem now? What else could he give?

His chest felt like it was going to burst with the sob building up in it. He ground his fangs, desperate to keep it in. It had to stay in. It had to! His claws curled into fists, piercing into the skin of his palms, but, while usually helpful, did nothing. He didn’t even feel it, just the fullness in his throat.

He needed to be better. He had to get his shit together. Momma needed him.

The memory of his momma’s tired smile did him in. The cry that had coalesced inside him didn’t burst out though, it dribbled from him like a keening whine. Was that roaring in his ears his blood or was the beast snarling. Was this its chance. He was breaking, and it was going to take him. He did not want to lose to the fucker, but his body and mind were out of his control.

He could see the beast now, a dark, miasmic thing, like thunderheads, swirling over him, maw gaping, ready to finally take its prey. He knew Fizz would hear him vaguely, but his sobs increased in volume anyway, as if to spite him, to please his monster.

He didn’t realize he was hitting himself again or that he was hyperventilating through sobs, or that his body shook like he was caught in a hellquake. Not until someone grabbed his wrist mid strike, and his breath caught in his throat, and he was thrown back into his body. He crashed back to earth by that grip alone, survival instincts kicking in, pushing at the body above him and snarling, words still gone.

He was about to put his claws in the mix when he finally registered neon yellow and hot pink eyes glowing through the void. Blitzo choked, tremors turning it into a weird vibrating gurgle. He stopped fighting, instead trying to flee. He pulled at his arms, but he wasn’t released.

Fizz was talking but it meant nothing. The sounds were there, he was highly aware of every noise, just had no idea what any of it fucking meant. Why was he trying to talk to Blitzo now of all times? When he couldn’t fucking breathe, why wasn’t he doing anything? Was it ‘cause he was still mad at Blitzo? Was this his punishment?

Blitzo tried to say sorry, but wasn’t sure how it came out, and suddenly Fizz’s entire body was against his own. It should feel worse, he knew that, but it was the opposite. He focused on the weight of his friend pressing against him, hoping that the hug meant that he was forgiven.

At some point, his breathing slowed along with his thoughts and his heart rate, now matching the cycles of the ones pressed to them. The shaking had mostly subsided, now barely noticeable, and mostly in his hands. He realized that a warm hand was running up and down his back, smooth and slow, repeating over and over again.

There was no talking about it, no more questions, just two barely adults, who still felt like children in so many ways holding each other together until their bodies gave up on staying in the waking world.

Chapter Text

The next morning, or what was only a few hours, Blitzo woke up still pressed to his childhood friend. Exhaustion had still sat heavy on his frame, so he allowed himself to sink back into the cramped mattress and press his nose into Fizz’s warmth for another indeterminate amount of time. Eventually, they both rose and not a word was exchanged. With only their expressions they came to an agreement to say nothing about it

They parted ways, as they usually did first thing in the morning, Fizz to go warm up for practice, and Blitzo to spend time with Momma. The familiarity of it was welcome, though there were still things which were off kilter with the morning, such as the lack of conversation with a certain royal bird, or Fizz’s tense smiles, or their stilted small talk.

That hung in the air for the rest of the week. All of it and more invaded his mind throughout his brain as he floated through each day.

The lull in interaction with Stolas was mostly his fault, and he told himself to suck it up. The Goetian had sent him several messages after the whole fiasco. He had not bothered to answer them at the moment, still feeling unreasonably frustrated with the pompous royal. As time went on, the thought of responding caused Blitzo to feel like he had swallowed rocks, a new one for each message that he received.

Fizz, for what it was worth, tried to act as if nothing had happened, and Blitzo returned the courtesy. It continued through the week, and the acrobat would think he was getting some weird form of a cold shoulder if it had not been for the worried looks and strained smiles he was given by the other imp whenever their eyes would meet. Fizz wanted to talk about it, Blitzo knew that, but he kept his mouth shut and it was reciprocated as well.

The beast had retreated for now, and that was a gift horse that Blitzo did not want to look in the mouth, the Pandora’s box he was steering way clear of. He felt that breathing was a bit easier, despite the continued feeling of weight on his shoulders and in his gut. On top of that, he was still fucking exhausted, but he didn’t feel like he was at risk of losing his shit. He would feel it’s gaze on him sometimes, when talking to Cash or when with a client.

Through it all, Fizz’s accusations from that night kept coming back to him. Making themselves known throughout the day as both a reminder of how shitty he was and as a motivator to get his shit together. He kept his head down, doing his chores and other responsibilities, even biting his tongue when Cash decided to send him out two nights in a row.

Both had been some lower-class royals that he had managed to snatch some decent shit from to bring back for pawning. The places had been more well-guarded than his usual thievery targets, but it had paid off as he was able to add more savings to his stash that he refused to count. But next to the stash in the duffle he used to store whatever he didn’t want found, there was an empty space still, waiting for more of something. He didn’t entertain it.

Stolas continued to send him messages throughout the week, trickling to one each day for the last two. They clearly were written to look like casual check-ins but screamed anxiety and impatience. He still read them, over and over and over again, but his fingers would always freeze over the keys until he flipped the phone shut and shoved it in his back pocket.

Blitzo told himself that he had too much going on to respond to him, but also, he had no idea what to say. There were of course apologies in the messages, but those just caused irritation to flare up. Of course, aristocratic manners would dictate that the owl should apologize to him for overstepping. They were meaningless, since it seemed like he still didn’t understand what the actual issue even was. Blitzo just didn’t have the mental or emotional energy to explain to Stolas all of the ways he was a spoiled asshole. That wasn’t even considering the overwhelming shame that had plagued Blitzo, the pain every time he thought about how crushed the other looked by his outburst.

You think he’s living a perfect life, with his arranged marriage? Selfish prick.

He wanted to push that far under the bed, not really in the mood for any charitable thoughts at the moment. The guy was a bitch, and his problems weren’t Blitzo’s to deal with. He absolutely did not care that Stolas was betrothed against his will or couldn’t even bring himself to have his own hopes and dreams. He didn’t get to come in and meddle with Blitzo’s life when it was fine the way it was. Also, it’s not like the guy had to worry about having food on his table or getting the medical care he needed.

What would talking about it even do, anyway? Stolas would just get more worried and Blitzo would probably just get pissed at him again and lash out. At the end of the day, he would still be stuck at the circus, working these ‘side jobs’ and being a shitty performer, because he had people who needed him, and he wasn’t about to leave his Momma to fend for herself, couldn’t abandon Barb or Fizz. He would die here, but he had accepted that.

“I can hear you thinking from all the way over here.”

The comforting voice pulled him back to the surface of reality where he had been wringing out a rag so long the weave had frayed in several places and was nearly dry. He breathed and dipped it back into the water, forcing the most natural smile he could back onto his face. He looked up to meet her eyes across the cramped bedroom, “Sorry, Momma, just thinking about the new routine we’re practicing today.”

The look she gave him made it obvious that she didn’t believe a word of it. One eyebrow was raised and her mouth screwed in a way where it was downturned on one corner and upturned on the other. However, she didn’t push, letting Blitzo ramble on about the choreography and costuming planned for the upcoming act he would be participating in.

He heaved the bucket across the room, now that the temperature had become reasonable and took one of the wrung cloths from the side. At first it had been awkward helping the woman who bathed him as an impling with washing her own body, but now it was a familiar ritual for her bad days. He disregarded that those bad days seemed to be coming more frequently. He just tried to appreciate how he was able to return the care she had given to him for so many years.

Sometimes he would start humming the impish lullaby she would use to help him sleep and she would join him, and there was no better part of his days than the times he got to spend with her in the quiet cordoned off area of their tent. He was able to feel her warmth and breathing as he passed the rag over her back, assuring and tangible despite her increasing weakness. His favorite was washing her hair because then Tilla would hum happily as the soaps are massaged in and rinsed out, and she usually got some of her usual energy back. Even better was after that was done and he would get to braid it to keep it as neat and clean as possible.

“Blitzo, my darling, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

He was helping her guide her arms into the sleeves of a clean nightgown when she had broken the silence. It wasn’t a question. She stated it as a fact, with no other potential truth and his chest folded over itself at how wrong it truly was. No, as much as he wanted to, there were some things she could never know. There was no telling how she would react to learning who exactly her son was. Would she feel guilt or pity, disgust or shame? Regardless, she had more important things to worry about.

“Of course, Momma. There’s just not much of anything to talk about.”

He shuffled back to the chest of drawers and to the vials lining the top in their neat little rows. They were innocuous things, but so very precious and a painful reminder at the same time. He knew what put them there, what he had to do to make sure they kept appearing as they should. They stared back at him, eyeless, but more threatening than anything else he could imagine, real or fantasy. It was easy to forget that they were just objects, things that felt nothing and dismissive of what he felt about them. He loved them for keeping his Momma with her family and hated them for what they forced him to do.

Do you even care what happens to us?

“I think there is plenty to talk about.”

The vial nearly slipped from his hand as he fumbled for the ones that were for her morning doses. He hummed as if that was a suitable response to her statement, since all his focus was on stabilizing himself, on protecting the precious contents of those little bottles. The idea of one shattering as it his the wood floor was sickening. He cradled them in his hands, close to his chest, three of them. They couldn’t afford to lose a single drop.

Do you even care about how it affects the rest of us?

Yes, he screamed in his own head as measured each pour of liquid into the unsteady spoon over a cup, to catch any spill. He reminded himself that he did care about all of them as he made his way to back to his momma. Told himself that he would do anything. He forfeited parts of himself with every step towards the bed dropping pieces of his nonexistant soul behind like a trail of crumbs. If it did exist and the shards of it could be seen, they would probably be grotesque blobs that left stains. He tore off the bits and let them fall to the ground anyway, with that little vessel of goo balanced so carefully in his disgusting claws. The same ones that he sullied for her.

What right did he have to bring her this when he was so abhorrent. Would it eventually infect her, too? More than the illness already had. Would his rot seep into the concoctions that kept her breathing and take over her body? Was it just the vehicle to him ruining her?

When he presented the mix of chemical life to her, instead of taking it, she rested her frail palm over the back of his hands. He hadn’t noticed when the shivering had begun, but now they were both aware. The gesture didn’t soothe the physical reaction, but he could feel his chest expanding as he looked at where they touched. When, after several silent moments, he looked up to her, he saw that beautiful face contorted in a way he had never seen before. Her eyes were steady, though glassy. She was pleading with every part of herself.

“What is going on, love? What’s got you so afraid.”

One secret was better to expose than the other, so he said, “I don’t wanna lose you.”

Her face softened; eyebrows drawn up. She adjusted her hold, sliding the cup from his hold and the relieved sigh slipped from him unbidden. After swallowing the liquid, the clink of glass on the wooden table broke through the room. She lifted her palm to his cheek, thumb stroking under his eye and he could only lean into the touch, reveling in the dry warmth. He watched Tilla, unable to look away for want to burn everything into his brain, even the painful parts. Her smile was a backwards thing, not comforting, but spoke of safety anyway.

“I know, Blitzo, but you can’t keep all that trapped inside of you. Please talk to me. Talk to anyone.”

“Nobody can understand, Momma.” He sighed the words out, bringing his own hand up to rest against hers, sandwiching it between his palm and face.

Her laugh was brittle, and she managed to curl her claws enough to pinch his cheek, not enough to hurt. He chortled at it, but she was being serious. He quieted down as she spoke, always hanging onto her words, “No, they can’t, not if you don’t help them try to understand. You have to actually tell somebody what’s happening.”

That spoke of her knowing it was more than that. Of course she would know, she did see him in every phase of his life. It was more than her illness. She told him as much with just a look, even if it wouldn’t be acknowledged to the space around them.

He knew always carried more than he would ever let on, until it exploded out. She was familiar with it, had scolded him many times in his younger years for doing it. She would know how much of himself he was giving away for her even if she didn’t know how they were ripped from him piecemeal. She knew he would keep it close to his chest, so close it wormed into his heart, until someone forced it out. He thought of Stolas and his pleas for the imp to just talk to him. He was so afraid to give anything away, but still blamed the owl for being naive about it.

“Blitzo, baby, it hurts me more to see you sacrifice yourself for me more than this disease ever could. You and I both know I’m dying.”

He let himself fall to his knees. Hearing the words out loud for the first time, the hellephant in the room he had tried desperately to ignore, took his knees out from under him. He clenched her hand in his as he went down, eyes wide and watering as he begged her.

“Momma, dont—”

“Shh, listen to me.” Her command was as gentle as the strokes she began laying over his horns where she could reach, “I am dying. I don’t know how long I have left…”

Tilla took a deep breath here, pausing to make sure she was still being heard, “…but I can’t die at peace knowing my darling son is suffering.”

“I promise Momma, I’m not suffering. I want to be here, with you.”

He was begging her to understand, and she did, but deeper, below the mask where few could see, “You are, Blitzo, you are suffering, and I know it’s more than my illness, but I’ve accepted that you’ll not talk with me about it.”

She pulled her hand back and patted the bed beside her, the space usually reserved for Cash. He was unable to ever deny her though and scrambled up until he was sitting pressed against her. He let his Momma guide him down until he was leaning with his head on her chest, and he could hear her thready heartbeat through thin layers of skin and bone. He wrapped his arm around her middle, settling in like he would as an impling after a nightmare and would sneak to their bedside and ask to be held. She had never denied him the comfort, not even now with him too grown to be fully cradled.

“You’re not happy here are you, Blitzo?” Her bony arms pressed into his back, pulling him tighter to her. The question rumbled through her and directly into his skull. He could hear the crackling of her breathing now, playing the melody to the bass of that slow thump, thump, thump.

He couldn’t lie to her about this, not when she asked it so directly. In lieu of speaking, he shook his head, trusting her to feel the movement where he was bunkered down.

She returned to petting his horns, the rasping of the motion rhythmic in the quiet space, “Can you do me a favor? This is the most important thing I will ever ask of you.”

It felt like he was trying to swallow glass. His entire body locked up, but he dared not pull away from her, hanging on for dear life and memorizing the feel of her against him. He knew what she was going to request, but he nodded anyway.

“Please be happy, find a way, for me. The rest of the family can take care of things for a while, please don’t tear yourself apart for me. I love you and your sister more than anything in this world and nothing would make dying easier than knowing you’ve found happiness.”

The dam he didn’t know had formed broke at that moment, wrenching a sob from deep within and he clung even tighter to Tilla. She didn’t complain, only hummed and soothed, and rocked him the best she could. She let him cry and hiccup and soak her fresh nightgown with salt and water. She, for that moment, made herself his anchor once again as he thrashed in the sea of everything he had not let himself feel, all of the guilt, rage, betrayal, shame, grief, and every other unnameable thing that tied all the twists and knots together. The ropes they formed did not release him but did loosen their grip, so he could break up through the waves and gasp in yet another lungful of air.

Eventually, he would agree to fulfill her request, but not on that day. He could not deny her, he knew he couldn’t. However, as he laid against her slowly wilting body, being comforted by someone who should be comforted instead, he could not accept the task she laid out for him. It wasn’t a matter of if he wanted to because he certainly did, and not just for her, but he could not. Not when it would be the thing that killed her.

He told her he’d think about it and she allowed that as well.

——

He stayed with Tilla longer than he usually would that morning. After he had calmed, she talked him into playing a card game with her. He had duties to attend to, but she was stubborn. People would assume Blitzo got it from Cash, but it was actually Tilla who passed that trait along. She told him she would give his father the third degree if he gave Blitzo shit for skipping out, so he stayed.

She kicked his ass, as usual, but upon leaving the tent, he felt more settled than he had in a long time. His options still ricocheted around his head like snot nosed kids in the bouncy castle, but breathing was easier. Even if he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, having his Momma’s blessing did ease some of the guilt of even considering escape.

Sadly, the moment didn’t last. Like a bubble popping, everything fell flat in an instant when Cash fell upon him, “Where the fuck have you been, boy? You’re slacking on your work!”

Blitzo scowled, “Momma asked me to stay with her today. She said you should talk to her if you have a problem.”

That seemed to appease the older imp for a moment, but he still huffed, “Well, you have a job set for tonight, so go get ready.”

Blitzo thought about pushing back for a moment, with his Momma’s words still fresh in his head, and feeling bolstered by her love. He managed to bite his tongue. She still needed her medicine.

“Christ, fine.”

He stalked away, his father yelling something at him that he couldn’t care enough to hear. Frustration buzzed through him, tingling on his skin and singing in his blood. There was other malformed things swimming along with it. He pretended he was numb.

Tilla made it sound so easy to just leave. She didn’t know though, how the medication was being bought. Him running away would sign her death warrant. When she died it would be his fault for not being there for her. Could he have Momma’s blood on his hands?

A low growl was rumbling over him, nothing anyone would hear, not even himself. The feeling of nonexistent eyes leering at him had once again made itself known.

Pushing through another flap opened a familiar scene with Fizz on his bed reading some book, the only difference being that there was still daylight. The clown was clearly surprised to see him, putting down his book and sitting up.

“Where were you?”

The tone could have been accusing, or something else. Blitzo didn’t have the energy to put bite in his returning words, “Momma asked me to spend the day with her.”

“Oh” Fizz lost whatever wind was in his sails, “How’s she doing?”

“Worse.”

If he was caught off guard by the sudden honesty from Blitzo, he didn’t show it, “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Blitzo grunted and continued into the space, and over to his trunk yet again, Deja vu tormenting him, putting him on edge for shit to go sideways again. Fizz remained quiet as he watched the acrobat dig through his trunk for a change of clothes. He had little that was considered suitable for these jobs and his dad had told him jack and squat about the client, so he would just have to wing it.

“You going somewhere then?”

Blitzo decided on a pair of black jeans that had fewer holes in it than most of his pants and a plain loose tank top. He learned to go simple, no accessories, or even a belt, it made the whole process easier. He was about to just start stripping in the shared space, an action he had avoided for so long now he had lost track. He had gotten comfortable with being able to do so again with the healing he had been receiving from Stolas. His untouched bruises from earlier in the week throbbed. As a last-minute thought, he grabbed a jacket from the messy pile that was his trunk.

 Straightening up, he looked back to his friend, who was playing with the cuffs of his own shirt, fidgeting where he sat.

“Yeah, got another job for dear old dad tonight.” He pushed on when Fizz’s eyes narrowed and his mouth opened to say some bullshit, “I’m not lying, you can fucking ask Cash if you don’t believe me.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything like that, fuckwad.”

Blitzo fixed him his best bitchy unimpressed look, it wasn’t as effective on the person he had learned it from.

Fizz returned it with much more potency, “I was gonna ask if you were sure you should take this job. You’ve looked like shit all week, dude.”

“Nah, it’s already set up, and we need the money.”

He kept his tone aloof despite the old resentment blooming up. Fizz really had no idea about the cruel realities of the real world, and every time it became apparent it was like some old god was spiting him. He ground his fangs on it, chewing and swallowing it as always, as he made his way into their changing area. He felt two set of eyes on his back as he retreated, one concerned and the other carnivorous until the flap closed and only one pair remained, undeterred by any logical obstacle by it’s very nature.

“Just tell Cash you don’t feel well, and the fuck you mean we need the money?”

Blitzo scoffed, “It’s an imp circus in greed, of course we need money dumbass.”

“No, we don’t. I just did a performance for some meetings with the Deadly Sins, they paid out the ass for it.”

What?

“When?”

“Like last night? I thought you knew since I did tell you about it and I wasn’t home until late.”

Of course, Blitzo had figured it was a private show of some kind, Fizz got quite a few of those, but for the Sins? Maybe Fizz had mentioned it, but Blitzo had no memory of the conversation, the whole week had been hazy. Why the fuck was his dad sending him out on a job with that kind of payday? Whatever he would get for Blitzo would be pocket change compared.

To pay for her medicine fuckstick.

Everything was too mixed up to even begin to sort out the tangled fuckshow that was his life. He looked down at the jacket in his hands, the flimsy armor he chose to hide his secrets, as he considered everything. Even with the money Fizz had already made for them, he couldn’t back out, couldn’t risk the consequences.

“Oh well,” God he really was a terrible liar, even Blitzo could hear it in his own voice, “It’s good spending money for me and I’m fine, just tired.”

“I would believe that if you actually spent it on anything.”

There way to answer that without opening a whole other can of worms.

He pushed back into the sleeping quarters, not stopping or slowing as he dashed through the flap and away from the whole mess he didn’t want to address. Just like with Cash, Blitzo fled with words blocked from his ears chasing him from the scene.

What else could he do?

——

So, obviously, this was not a high paying pervert, given the shitty motel that was chosen as the meeting space with his client. Either that or he was just a cheap bastard cutting costs where he could. Thankfully, it had been close to the circus, so Blitzo was able to walk rather than have the client drive him somewhere where it would be harder to get back home on his own terms. He hated when he was stuck at the will of random perverts getting to decide when he can go home.

He looked back down at the slip of paper his dad had given him before he had left. The room number was a messy scrawl that was barely legible, but Cash had also said the number, and it wasn’t hard to guess which one it was since there was only one car parked in front of the dingy building and only one room was lit.

Blitzo grumbled, shoving the paper in his pocket and drowned out the disconcerting squealing of the metal stairs that lead to the second floor. I better not get dumped through these raggedy bitches. He hesitated at the door to the designated room, breathing and collecting himself for whatever shit he was about to have to put up with. With a look over his shoulder, he lifted his fist and pounded on the flimsy wood. It took way longer than it should have for the door to open after he knocked on it, and he had to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

The demon that was on the other side was some shark demon, lanky, but taller than Blitzo and an impressive tail. He wore whatever shark demons typically wore, meaning tacky biker shit, and his hair was a effortless disheveled mess. The whole effect was ruined by the obviously anxious demeanor. Has this guy never done this shit before? Maybe he’s a tweaker.

“You Blitzo?”

Man sounded like he was trying to complete a drug deal. Okay, yeah definitely a tweaker.

“Yeah, you Terrence?”

What a stupid fucking name for a shark, but the demon nodded and opened the door more, letting Blitzo into the garbage pit of a room. The beast close again, following him into the space, the proximity heating the back of his neck. The place was a total dump, with cheap furniture complete with lopsided drawers in the dresser and end tables. The wallpaper was peeling, and it smelled like moldy carpet, oh and look at that, mold…. On the carpet. At least the sheets and bed seemed clean enough.

Terrence walked to the bed, standing in front of it, twiddling his claws like an idiot. Man, what’s with these inexperienced fuckos?

“So what’re you wanting?”

“Ah, well. What I paid for I suppose.” Terrence rubbed the back of his neck and glanced back at the bed behind him. This drew Blitzo’s attention to something glinting on the nightstand. Focusing in, Blitzo examined the space again, noticing a coil of rope on the bed as well. His pulse fluttered before kicking up in gear.

“Two things first then. One, I do not do ropes on the first session or usually ever, only if you tip real good. Second, you’re gonna have to move your little friend there,” He gestured to the knife and the fucker had the audacity to act surprised, either because he forgot it was there or didn’t think Blitzo would notice.

“You are a clever thing huh?” What the fuck? This guy was weird as heaven. Blitzo took a step back towards the door, not yet feeling the need to GTFO but there was something brewing. The unseen monster drew closer, panting like the blood now rushing through his ears, and feeling like it was standing right over him.

The Shark still seemed nervous, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling, “I guess it makes sense you would charge more for the kinky stuff. I can pay you up front.”

He picked up the knife, fiddling with it, but not moving to put it away elsewhere. Black blood dripped down the blade from a clean slice the idiot had left on his own thumb. Terrence didn’t even seem to notice though. Blitzo’s spines began to raise, shifting his weight, the beast moving with him, subconsciously as if preparing for something. He wasn’t sure what.

“No can do, bud. The no ropes is a firm rule, same with the knife.”

Slowly, things were changing, but much too rapid for Blitzo’s tastes. Terrence did put the knife down, but he had seemed to lose all the nerves. Now he just looked pissed off. Sweat started pooling in the small of the imp’s back, blood back to buzzing in his veins as the shark straightened himself, and fuck he was a tall bitch.

“I already paid for you, whore. You don’t get to tell me no.”

Shit. What was this guy’s problem? He’d had pushy clients before, but this guy was on another level of intense. Of course his idiot dad would get him stuck with the freak with a knife fetish, either that or he was some Jack the Ripper knockoff. Ever eloquent, Blitzo blurted out, “Uh, yeah I do fuck stick.”

The tension burst open, Blitzo made it to the door by the time the shark had snatched the rope from the bed. When he yanked on the knob, it didn’t budge. When did he lock it! He tried the deadbolt, but then the chain was slotted into place to, and his hands weren’t cooperating. He had just caught his grip on the chain lock when his tail was grabbed and yanked.

“Fuck!”

He was thrown off balance, feet slipping from under him as his lower half was pulled from under his chest. His chin hit the ground first, and pain bloomed in his mouth. Weight was on him immediately, claws scraping at his wrists. The cry that erupted from Blitzo was loud in his own ear, amplified by the roar of the monster gathering itself in his gut forming into a miasma too large to fit in his body. Maybe it was finally getting its moment to strike. He flailed, trying to push the shark off him. Claws dug into his biceps, piercing flesh easily, spurring more fighting from the smaller demon.

His arms were wrenched behind his back, and he snarled, his tail thrashing against the heavy body on top of him. With him stuck on his belly, there was not much leverage to angle his the spikes of his tails at the cocksucker, his spines were useless with the distance from any meaningful target. The vacuum inside his stomach grew, stretching upward, but the energy of it had no outlet as he was.

Then he felt the weight shift forward and he threw his head back as hard as he could. His attempts to completely gore his assailant were unsuccessful but he did manage to get one stuck in a meaty shoulder. He grinned at the howl released by the other demon, and he was able to squirm from the weakened grasp. His self-satisfaction was short lived, and he was literally thrown by the kick he received to his gut. Dummy was stronger than he looked.

“You fucking slut!”

He heard the cracking of bone where his ribs hit the corner of the nightstand. The wind was knocked out of him by the dual kick and furniture smashing. He was aware of the other demon stalking towards him, but he could do little more than cough and gag on his own blood while trying to get any kind of air into his lungs. His heart felt like it was going to explode from inside of him, and his gut twisted, the monstrosity, his intangible stalker, having melded with him, creeping up his throat with the blood he tried to expel. It didn’t come out his mouth though, it started a low roar in his head, pushing against his skull. He fumbled as he tried to gain a grip on the nightstand, but when his hand brushed cool metal, everything zeroed in, adrenaline working overtime.

The monster went for the kill, striking in the same split second that Blitzo had made his decision.

He gripped the knife and lunged at the shark before he could get any closer, knocking the fucker on his back with the force of impact. Blitzo let himself fall with the other body, pushing all of his weight onto the sick freak. When he brought the knife down, instead of hitting its target of a chest, it sank through an outstretched hand. The shark snarled and seemed to just eat the pain.

Using the leverage of the blade embedded in his flesh, the pin was reversed so that Terrence had his head pushed into the floor and the knife already in his other hand. He gagged at the overpowering stench of blood being smeared directly onto his cheek. He slashed with his claws at the arm holding him down, but adrenaline wasn’t only friend to the imp. Unnatural sounds tore from deep inside, sounding more like the monster than himself.

The grip slipped down to his throat, choking off the cacophony of growling. Just as before, his attempts to tear the hands from him were futile. Sparks and black spots danced in his vision, but he could still see the wild spiral eyes stared down at him. In fact it was all he could see, this deranged fucker would be his last view of life.

With imminent death staring him in the face, desperation was all that pushed Blitzo into action. That, and that the fucker looked like he was enjoying this, his rotting fangs bared in a uncanny grin. For some reason, Blitzo clung to that, and anger was fuel to the rest of the fire, feeding the beast he let take control. With another wild screech, so powerful pushed past the weight on his trachea, he lunged forward just enough from the hold to jam his claws right into those nasty fucking eyes and hook into the sockets. If there was a lot of blood before, the amount that gushed out from the shark's skull was a waterfall, pouring over both of them. Heat splashing on his face and chest.

The demon tried to pull away, dropping the knife in the process, but he just pulled Blitzo up with him where he had sunk his grip in deep. He snatched the weapon with his tail where it had stuck into the floor, hilt up as his world tilted again until he was back on top of the shark, still growling and snarling and digging his claws deeper.

He pulled back one hand, snatching the cool grip from his tail, holding it so tight there was no way it would slip no matter how covered in blood he was. His limbs that were no longer his own holding a strength unknown to him previously.

“I’m the fucking whore that’s gonna kill you, bitch!”

He didn’t let himself fight against the control he had given up as he slammed the knife into the chest below him, feeling the give of a ribcage with the force of the downward blow. The monster below him gurgled, and that was unacceptable. Pulling the knife back, the sucking of it from the wound satisfying. He thrust the knife again, cursing Terrence in any way that would come from his mouth.

“Fuck you, you disgusting bastard!”

Another blow…

“Prick!

… and another, until the blood stopped bubbling from that foul fucking mouth. Finally, he let the blade slam into the body’s groin with no words in that last scream. His grip remained tight on the hilt of the knife, trembling from the force of it as he panted and came to the slow realization that the threat was eliminated. He uncurled his fingers, the motion trailing a few seconds behind the mental command, but back under his own will. Leaving the weapon sheathed in the shark’s crotch, he finally rolled off what was left of Terrence. The mass of adrenaline began to drain from his body, letting a chill sweep in behind it. Nausea that had been building up took over and he threw up on the remains before him.

After who knew how long of dry heaving, he looked at what was left of the client, at what he had done.

“Christ on a stick…”

It was a fucking mess. Black blood smeared over every nearby surface, and there was barely anything recognizable left of the slain demon. Trying to stand to move himself away resulted in him nearly face-planting into the mass of gore he had created. He caught himself and dug his hooves into the carpet and pushed, scooting backwards until his back hit something solid. He couldn’t take his eyes off the scene in front of him. He had done that.

It felt like hands were back on his neck, squeezing his windpipe until it was a straw, still letting air pass, but it whistled from him. However, this time it wasn’t that familiar predator crushing him. It had gone with the adrenaline, leaving him feeling carved out and alone as it retreated back to wherever it had spawned. He gripped the base of his horns, and allowed himself to look away, curling into himself, but it only brought the stench of blood on his… everywhere… closer, flooding his nose, and he could taste it.

He lost time then. Looking back, he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what had happened next, not even himself. By the time he regained awareness he had made it to the bathroom, numb in feeling but thoughts still racing and his phone in his hand and a familiar voice filtering through the speaker.

“Blitzo?”

Oh shit, why had he called him of all people.

“Are you there? Is this what they call a butt dial?”

He knew why. Who else would he call? What else could he have really done. He only knew one demon that could possibly help him with this shit and he hadn’t even consciously made the decision.

He tried to answer Stolas, but the sounds vibrating on his nearly crushed trachea were like cut glass and he only coughed, dry and wheezing. It took all his focus to stop the natural reaction to continue hacking because fuck that hurt!

“Are you okay, Blitzo? If you don’t answer I’m coming to you.”

Even if he could get the words out, he wasn’t sure what he would even say. He doubted he could even lie about how deep in the shit he was, especially since the room spun around him. He wasn’t so stupid that he thought he could do anything himself when talking alone was agonizing. Besides, it would be nice to have something to distract him from the gaping emptiness that had taken up residence in his stomach, not hunger, but similar.

“I’m coming to you.”

He did not have the will or time to decline, to say no, because the sound of a portal opening in the cramped bathroom was deafening and then Stolas was there, having to hunch in the small space not designed for tall Goetia. Blitzo somehow managed to smile but there was no joy that he could feel, no relief.

“H-hey.” Followed by more coughing, but it was easier this time, still hurt like a bitch, but manageable.

Stolas looked horrified by the sight in front of him, slipping to his knees, either not caring or not noticing the how the blood streaked across yellowing tile soaked into his clothes. Blitzo couldn’t really blame Stolas for his upset, it probably looked like a horror movie up in this bitch. He laughed, sounding neither amused nor anything else, but it was a laugh. It just made the other look more… something.

“What happened?”

He was already using some magic, but it wasn’t healing as it felt different as it ran over him.

Blitzo chuckled, it sounded wet and sticky to his ears, the words slurring as he answered, “You should see the other guy.”

Fuck it hurt to talk, in all the ways it could hurt.

He gestured to the door, and Stolas pulled back, eyes wide, and his head doing that freaky turn to follow his hand. He didn’t even have to stand to look out into the main room of the motel. The hand he used to balance himself smeared through the black sticky pools littering the floor, as he leaned over until his head peeked around the corner. Blitzo didn’t have to see to know what was there, since it had branded itself on the inside of his eyelids. He watched idly, not being able to summon any kind of feeling about how grey feathers stood on end, vibrating as if they were being tousled by the wind.

He heard a retch, but Stolas seemed to manage to keep himself contained, his hand over his beak as he straightened himself back into the room. Blitzo figured he should have been feeling something about this whole mess, but more of the physical pain that finally, thankfully, started to seep into his awareness, the rest of his body coming back online. That was more than enough for him at the moment even if the rest of himself was nowhere to be found.

“Thanks for comin’, Stols.” The words slurred, taking the ‘A’ from the royals name, but honestly, it sounded nice to Blitzo.

Maybe it would make him seem like less of an atrocity.