epitaffio | IC Inbox

No. Don't. [Diavolo pleads, a knee-jerk impulse rushing free as thoughts of being alone again swarm his mind, and, as soon as he realizes what miserable part of him the demand comes from, he lapses into flustered silence. It takes a moment for him to compose himself, and once he does, he pulls himself away just enough to look at Doppio. His hand still lingers, warm against cold.]

Or if you do, at least allow me to come with you. The thought of you going somewhere on your own is... unnatural. [Alarming. He's sent Doppio out alone before, and, only weeks ago, Diavolo dashed off himself to prove some worthless point. It's an exercise in futility. Once separated, something always goes wrong.] Yes. If the need to travel arises, we will go together — as we should.

[If only saying that could make it true. He could promise a thousand times not to repeat the mistakes of the past and never to leave again, but how can he stay true to his word when the very world fights against him? It isn't always overconfidence that tears them apart. When things turn perilous, so often the first thing to go is Diavolo's mind, and fighting against instinct in that state is nigh impossible. The past has wormed himself into him, vicious and unrelenting, poisoning him and pushing him to the brink of madness.

(He's alone, he thinks, when he slips into the past. Doppio is not— cannot be real, with his gentle eyes and his caring words, so far removed from where he ought to be. He could only ever be an illusion, like everything else, meant to break him down, and he can't allow it to taint his memory. No wonder his first impulse is always to run.)

If he could cling any tighter, he would — carve himself close and stay there until all is right again, but he can't. So he leans in as close as he can — eternally too far apart — and sighs against Doppio's neck, and another terrible little thought slips free.]

I fear I may never get used to this. I don't understand how others live. Their entire lives spent alone... how did you ever manage without me?

I'm not running off without you. Don't worry.

[A quiet interjection in the middle of the Boss's silence. Doppio hopes it's comforting. "If he asked him to": that right there is what his statement hinged on. He does understand, at this point, why the Boss would fear otherwise so intensely - so many reasons for it, so many things he's been through, and Doppio may never know what some of them felt like but he doesn't need to. All he wants is for the Boss to never feel alone again.

That thought draws another confession out of him. He freezes with apprehension as his lips move -]

... I'm glad we want the same thing. It makes me feel less selfish.

[- but relaxes, if only slightly, because he could have said so much worse.

The Boss brings himself even closer somehow. It seems impossible, and all at once he remembers he knows they used to be so much closer and he wishes, somehow, that he could give himself over to the Boss's lips and he fears that he can't stop himself from saying it - but the Boss's words redirect that train of thought. There is something else that he must voice now.]

I didn't.

[It doesn't feel great to remember. It doesn't feel great to admit it - that he wanted to just give up - even though--]

I-I thought I already told you. [Didn't he? Maybe he dreamed it; maybe he only imagined it, and stored it somewhere far away.] I... didn't wanna be here. I didn't think there was any point.

[Just like that, a rush of distant memories flood back, of the pair lying together and softly spilling secrets until the life faded from them both. The topic had come up then, too, of loneliness and despair and all the time they'd spent apart — all those dark details best suppressed, only ever drawn out by force.]

I know how it feels. Truly, I do. [The part of him slowly dragged to the surface wants to lash out and carve every agonizing memory into Doppio until the pain is shared between them both, and it's only with a deep breath and a moment's pause that he stifles the urge.]

I didn't mean to imply that it was ever easy for you. I know it couldn't have been. You lived, but you were desperately... lonely. [That was what Doppio had said, wasn't it? Diavolo was falling to pieces long before Doppio came home; everything about that day is shrouded and hazy. He can only reach out and catch bits and pieces of it, and perhaps it's better that way.]

Do others feel the same excruciating loneliness we do as they go about their lives? Or is this a unique torment, reserved only for us? I wonder.

[Doppio nods. Lonely - that's exactly it. A cold, deep loneliness that began in Rome and lasted until he found the Boss again. Or maybe it lasted longer and he didn't even know it - maybe he only truly stopped being lonely in Felfri, when suddenly he felt alive and whole and fulfilled again, only to find out why in a matter of weeks. He isn't sure. Standing here, now, with the Boss so close, he isn't alone - that, he can say for certain. But there was something more in Felfri, wasn't there? Something that almost made it feel like he was home again?

So, if he's completely honest - and whatever's in the air today isn't giving him much of a choice, apparently -]

I dunno, Boss. I don't really know anymore.

[Complete honesty.]

... But... I'd still rather be with you like this than not at all. I know it's not like before, [theoretically, conceptually, abstractly; anything more concrete still feels wrong to even think about,] but I'll take it. No doubt about it.

It isn't like before. It could never be the same — not as long as the gods here lack the power to bring us back together. But...

[He can wallow in misery all he likes. He can think of the future and envision a thousand different disasters, but that doesn't mean a single one of them will come to pass. He struggles to find words that don't ache to say, that aren't lies and desperation. Eventually he finds some.]

...but we can do our best to forge what we have left into something comparable. I was not meant to live my life without you, and so I won't. This world has done its best to pry us apart, but I will not allow it to sever us completely. We can take it one step at a time, and we can start here — this place that is ours alone.

[Theirs and the strays', at least. The cat is unbothered — until Diavolo shifts again to gesture at the building beside them.]

Would you like to go inside? It's... chilly out here.

[Sort of embarrassing to say aloud — a blow to the pride — but he has little choice in the matter.]

Oh-- Oh, yeah. Yeah, sorry. I, uh, forget you get cold sometimes. I mean... Because I don't, so... Uh...

[It sounds stupid when he blurts it out. It might sound stupid no matter what. He can't help it sounds even worse said to someone who--]

I-It's weird, if I think about it too much, [he mumbles.] Weirder, knowing... about us. Or maybe it isn't? I, I don't know if you could feel it when I got hurt - shit, I hope not - but-- And I don't have to think about it! It's just... I'm thinking about it now, I-- I guess.

[... He's going to chalk that particular pile of incoherent nonsense up to The Compulsion (tm) and do his goddamn best to move on.]

Um, I really need to put down your laptop anyway.

[INSIDE HE GOES.]

Sometimes, it hurt. [Comes Diavolo's confession.] But not nearly as much as it hurt you — as though you were shielding me from the brunt of it. It allowed me presence of mind in the heat of battle. Up the stairs, Doppio.

[A hand nudges Doppio's back, directing him the right way where the path splits. The soft patter of feet follows behind them. Up stairs and down corridors, around corners and through doors, and eventually they arrive somewhere modestly liveable. A little on the plain side for his liking, and with far too many crucifixes for comfort, but these things can be altered.]

Set it down anywhere you like. Somewhere secret, perhaps. I don't want to be tempted while I'm so loose-tongued. [And then, with undue determination, he ducks his way through a door. Clanking and shuffling ensue, and soon he emerges with hopefully-clean towels that once belonged to some nameless human a world away and now belong to him. There's little time to react before one is pressed firm against Doppio's hair to catch the rain that clings to it still. Meticulous and gentle so as not to snag against the small antlers, but still there's a clumsiness to the motion. He isn't used to this sort of contact with another person, wholly external — and neither is Doppio, judging by the way he shies away from it. So Diavolo allows him to part, under one condition: as soon as Doppio's hands are reasonably free, the towel is chucked at him so he can finish drying himself off. Catch!]

Edited 2023-06-23 14:04 (UTC)

[Sometimes. It's enough to make Doppio wince, even if sometimes doesn't mean always and even if the Boss is right when he says Doppio took the worst of it. If he had known, he would have been so much more careful. But... they've already talked about this, haven't they? Just a little, on the very day the truth was forced upon them? Maybe that's why he doesn't feel compelled to spill it again.

Regardless, his back is tense as the Boss places his hand on it, relaxing only slightly as he guides him.]

I never got this good of a look at this place before... Guess I have plenty of time now, [Doppio mumbles. He's still wondering where exactly to put the laptop that the Boss won't immediately find and he won't immediately forget when he feels a towel soaking up all the rain that had slowly but surely seeped into his hair.]

U-Uh, you don't have to! I mean, it's kind of... [Embarrassing, weirdly embarrassing for the Boss to be drying his hair - no, maybe that's not the word -]

... Intimate, [is what he ends up saying, quietly and not entirely of his own volition, and then he decides he needs to put the laptop in a drawer right away.

When he comes back, he catches the towel with his face first and his hands second.]

[Diavolo can't help but softly laugh at the fumbled catch.]

Intimate? This hardly scratches the surface. I have been far more intimate than this with our body... my Doppio.

[Is he going to elaborate? No, he's going to let that hang in the air, for now; whatever dark magic is at play here has seen fit to drag that out, but nothing more. More pressingly: Diavolo is soaked to the bone, and not even the largest towel in all the monastery is enough to make a dent in the dampness, but he can at least try to tackle hair and feathers and fur before he drips everywhere. If the barriers he conjures were not so limited (and not so taxing) he would have deeply considered using one to protect him from the rain as he worked outside. As for the mud dirtying his clothes... there's nothing to be done there until he can get back to the apartment and change.]

[Doppio doesn't have a whole lot of blood left circulating in him. The Boss knows this, surely, from the many injuries he has witnessed - even serious wounds bleed little more than small cuts. In the past, severed appendages have left him with barely-dripping or even dry stumps, which... makes sense, he supposes. If he doesn't have a pulse, his blood probably can't get around much.

Somehow, when the Boss's words set in, most of the blood currently in Doppio's body must rush to his face, because he goes very red.]

Right, [Doppio says, or he thinks he says, because it comes out awfully quiet but he swears he moved his lips. He scrubs his hair with absolutely none of the grace the Boss attempted moments ago.]

—and so have you.

[The disjointed thought tumbles free, and with it comes more. He only takes the briefest glance at Doppio before looking away.]

I preferred to leave these sorts of menial tasks in your hands alone. There is so much to— to tend to. How are you not exhausted by it all? It never ceases. Eat. Clean. Sleep. At least I am no longer forcibly burdened by the latter—

[But there are times he wishes he at least had the option.]

—though I dearly miss the peace that a decent rest could give me... Ah.

[A small longing he did not want to confess to, and so he shies away, turning as he towels his wings. Were he plagued by animal instinct, he would shake them out; as it is, he has the common decency to not splatter rain all over the building.]

[The thought is... No, actually, he doesn't think he has a word for how the thought makes him feel. But it's true, it's evidently true when he's forced to face the truth of their shared existence. How many times did he clean their body? How many times did he prepare himself a proper meal, sometimes at the Boss's insistence, without knowing he was feeding the two of them all along?

At any rate, the Boss's next admission shakes Doppio out of his stunned reverie. A confession of his own stumbles free just as easily:]

I'd help you sleep if I could, Boss.

[It's silly, but sincere. If he'd known it sooner, he might have... Okay, he doesn't know WHAT he can do to make a monster sleep when they expressly don't. But he could have started thinking about it, at least.

Now that he's thinking of what he CAN do, though... He's dry enough already. The Boss has a lot more surface area to cover.

He puts his own towel down and grabs the end of the Boss's towel instead.]

Actually, can I help right now?

I don't doubt you for a second. But, short of locking me in a dark room until my consciousness erodes to nothing, there is nothing you can do to help. And you wouldn't do that to me, hm?

[And then Doppio's small hands are tugging at his towel, and it gives Diavolo pause. Blink and parse the intention behind the action — and as soon as he does, he glances aside.

There are so many things he wants to say. Deflect, deny. "Do you think me helpless, Doppio? I can handle this myself." It's one thing to be cared for when they are together, but, apart like this, it's just... strange. Unnatural. Wrong. Accepting this help would mean accepting what they have become. It would only prove how far he has fallen. He can't.

He could act as though the very thought doesn't make his heart race in his chest. Play it off as some gracious indulgence, some tender closeness not for his benefit. Never his; it is nothing he needs. "I'd allow it, my Doppio, if it would make you happy," and leave it at that.

It would be so easy.]

Please.

[He can lie to himself as much as he wants. His voice still betrays his true feelings.

There is no way to recover from such a small, desperate admission with his dignity intact. All he can do is loosen his grip and let the towel in his hands drop, and he lowers himself along with it, down to the floor in a slow kneel. His eyes close, his heart pounds louder, and he turns quiet and still.]

Edited 2023-07-09 18:34 (UTC)

[Maybe it isn't what the Boss would have normally said. Maybe, in different circumstances, Doppio would have heard a noncommittal answer and backed down, embarrassed that he even thought of suggesting something so intimate. But then again, would he even have offered, in different circumstances? He would have wanted to, no doubt. But there is so often a hard line between wanting and doing, and Doppio can only imagine that whatever force is pulling the truth from their lips is eroding that line as well.

~~Or maybe it's just a convenient excuse - a little push that allows him to act.~~

It isn't as if Doppio feels all that bold. When the Boss kneels at his feet-- well, first of all, it feels just plain WRONG, so much so that he has to fight the urge to lower himself in turn. But more importantly, his hands shake. He's holding the towel and his hands are shaking and he hasn't even started yet.

He tries. The towel hovers near the Boss's head. He tries a little harder. He's touching the Boss's head now. Suddenly, his arms can't move.

Which feels extremely fucking silly, considering this was his idea in the first place.]

... I've pretty much done this tons of times, right? Taken care of your... our... hair? And stuff?

[Maybe he can do it if he reminds himself. If he's reminded. If it's the most natural thing in the world, then there's no reason why he shouldn't be able to.

He just... thinks it might be easier if he hears it again.]

Ours, yes. Washing, brushing, braiding — you were always so meticulous with it. I never quite mastered your technique.

[He runs his fingers through his damp hair, pauses to tuck a strand behind his ear, then presses closer to the towel and Doppio's hand behind it. It's a small, wordless encouragement. Permission has been granted. Go on.]

You may not be the most coordinated — but you have always been gentle where it counts. [It isn't an insult; he says it with a distant fondness.] There were times I unraveled the braid you made, and when it was time to put you right, I could not begin to tie it back properly. I'd let you believe it was you who made a mess of our hair.

[A soft sigh.]

And our body, too. Stained in blood from my battles, worn out and run down from lack of sleep, aching, famished — you were always with me to pick up our pieces and put us back together. And I—

[It's embarrassing. It's shameful to reveal how needy he was, how needy he is, after years of suppressing his feelings. But how could it ever be wrong? He was never meant to stand alone.]

...I never had the chance to tell you how deeply I appreciated every moment of it.

[It's okay. The Boss is encouraging him to do it, so it's okay. The Boss is saying things like our hair and our pieces, so it's okay. Shakily, gently, Doppio presses the towel against the Boss's hair, and then he moves his hand, and then he just has to keep doing that. Less shaky. Still gentle.

The continued confession is making his cheeks go red again. Not because it's embarrassing - but then again, he's not sure what he'd call it. It's real and it makes his chest flutter and his limbs feel light, it's genuine and it comes from somewhere vulnerable and he can tell, but embarrassing? No, he doesn't think it's that.

He doesn't KNOW the Boss feels embarrassed, either. If he did, he'd try to reassure him - somehow. The details are irrelevant; he would simply try. What he does know is...]

Well... I had to be at my best for you, Boss.

[Which doesn't sound that great, now that he's said it out loud. Sure, he did it for the Boss, but he didn't do it for the Boss, did he? His brow furrows.]

I-I mean... If I'd known what I was really doing, I... I'd still have done it! But it'd be different, right? The way I did it, it was more... I was doing it for me, so I could do it for you, instead of really doing it for you?

[... He's a little confused now. But the point is -]

So-- So you don't have to thank me for it.

I'll thank you all I want, Doppio. For everything you've done for me in the past — in those days that you knew exactly what we were, when all I had to do was ask for your help, and... and in the time after, when you didn't understand, and couldn't even begin to remember us. Even when I was nameless, faceless, untouchable, you still...

[It bubbles free, and there's no stopping it. He can sigh and bite away this train of thought. Another one takes its place.]

—And I'll thank you for every single day, every moment we shared... and for every time you did your best, for you, for me, for us — one and the same. I couldn't have asked for anyone better to share my life with.

[He tries to swallow the feelings, but it's no use. He gasps as heat rises to his face and a tinge of pink marks his cheeks beneath his freckles.]

And I am so thankful that — that you've stayed with me, despite everything that we have suffered — that I have suffered. I may never be the same. I may be beyond repair, but here you are, faithful as ever, and I...

[He leans in close, buries his face against Doppio's neck, nearly toppling him over with the movement. He presses himself flush against Doppio and murmurs words warm against his skin. Quiet. Desperate.]

...I hate this. I want it to stop. Make it stop, Doppio. Please. Could you do that for me? Turn off the lights, lock me in a room until I can't speak any longer or — or tear open my throat with your teeth and end this. Something. Anything. Not — not like this. I don't want it to be like this.

[The words keep coming, so much so that he barely has the time to process them. The days when he knew, the days after - maybe Doppio should consider himself lucky that the neverending flow of confessions doesn't leave any room for him to wonder if he even wants to know more. He doesn't need to know, not so badly as to pry it from the mouth of someone helpless to stop it. And there's more, and more, making his blood traverse to his face despite how little it travels these days, and when the Boss blushes too the most absurd thought - Do we blush the same? - crosses his mind for the briefest of moments -

And then the Boss presses himself to Doppio. The towel jammed between them is at least more comfortable than the laptop was before. The rest of it is not.]

B... Boss, don't say that! I don't want to lock you up or-- [His voice hitches. When the thought continues regardless of his tongue, another painful cramp assaults his stomach.] Ow, fuck!

[He winces, tries again.]

Don't... ask me to bite you.

[The cramp passes.]

Why not? It would be — so easy...

[Something flares up in Diavolo, bright and furious and ashamed. Desperation gives way to frustration; if Doppio will not act, he must make him act.]

If you refuse my requests, I won't stop until I find something you will do. Bind me and leave me somewhere well lit, if it displeases you to imagine me falling apart, or... muffle me, gag me, whatever it takes so that I don't...

[He heaves a deep breath, then, shaking with rage and fear and something harder to place, presses himself as close as he can to Doppio's neck, and — snaps down. Teeth against cold skin, biting as hard as he can; if something breaks or ruptures beneath, so be it. The force is nothing compared to that of a carnivore's jaws, but it's more than enough to hurt. And all the while he dares silently (and what a relief it is that he can't speak with his mouth occupied like this), his eyes flashing green, his tail whipping behind him — go on. Fight back. Do something.]

[It would be very easy, no matter whether he wants to admit it or not, and that's precisely why the Boss shouldn't be saying it. What is he thinking?]

I... I mean, if you really want it, then-- then I can gag you, Boss, just--

[But before he can elaborate on what he would or would not do on the Boss's command in this particular instance, a blunt, dull ache strikes his neck.]

What--?!

[Doppio's legs shake, not so much from the pain - which is there, yes, but quite likely not as bad as it would be if he were alive - but from the force the Boss is exerting. His knees begin to buckle, and all he can think is-]

What the hell... is this supposed to accomplish?!

[He's not thinking when he presses his hands against the Boss's chest, trying to push him away. He's thinking even less, if that's possible, when his claws pierce skin.]

[Diavolo holds himself steadily determined until the moment Doppio's claws rake rough against flesh that has been lacerated before. His old scars sting beneath the touch; he flinches away from the sudden, piercing pain on reflex alone. His mouth opens to gasp for air, and his shaking hands grasp at Doppio's wrists, shoving away in turn. All instinct, no rationality, body and mind locked in battle.]

The point is... that you silence me. [He chokes out, his tail lashing harder against the ground.] At any cost. I needed to... ensure you understand the severity of this. To incite you into action.

[And then some logic settles back into him. There was a point to this exercise before fear gripped him tight and made him weak, hesitant, unsure. He tightens his hold against Doppio's wrists, and drags his hands and his claws higher — closer — against his throat.]

Edited 2023-07-19 09:45 (UTC)

[His immediate reaction, when the Boss pulls away, is relief. Thank goodness, Doppio makes the mistake of thinking for a second. He hasn’t completely lost it.

Then the Boss puts his hands on his neck. This time, Doppio is the one who pulls away.]

No! Will you fucking stop that?! I’m not going to kill you, one of us needs to remember!

[... Doppio is also the one to say more than he intends to, this time.]

[He doesn't grip tight enough, and that is his flaw. It only takes one rough jerk away for Diavolo's hold to slacken. He can't commit wholeheartedly; he cannot see his will through to the end. Perhaps he doesn't want death, but—

But something flares up in him regardless, something bright and blinding, a rush of heat and a jolt of static that sets his hair on end.

Memory... is that all this is about? Is that why Doppio disobeys his orders?]

Oh, Doppio? So why does it have to be me? [His voice comes in a low, accusatory rumble that pieces the silence.] It is always me. It has always been me. Every fault, every mistake, every burning memory is mine alone to bear, while you press ever forward, unchained by our past in a way I could never be. I envy you more than you could imagine.

[He regretted his words enough when they were fresh out of his mouth. The Boss's response only makes him feel worse. Now it feels like a betrayal, like what he meant to say is that he isn't willing to relieve the Boss of a burden merely because it would inconvenience him.]

That's not...!

[It isn't what he meant. That's no lie.]

D-Do you want me to remember? I-- [He minds. He doesn't know why he minds, but he must, because he can't bring himself to say he doesn't.] I-I'd do it for you. [If he had to. If it was an order.] I just... I...

[But there's another burning truth desperate to come out, and he finds himself unable to form a single word until he gives in to it.]

What's... What's gonna happen if we both forget? What'll that make us?

If we forget... what? Forget everything? Everything we have been through, everything we are...?

I know this to be true: you, my Doppio, would be the same as you have always been, even lacking a past to guide you forward. At your core, you are... unshakable. I know you, and I know your soul, and I know that you have never been anything but your most genuine self. Even with every memory stripped away from you, with time, you would piece yourself back together — precisely as you should be.

It has happened before. It could happen again. But there is nothing—

["To fear", but the words die in his throat, his confident speech fizzling away to a noncommittal murmur. How miserable the past truly is. Memories that should have been theirs to share are now only his, and the thought of pushing through the same loss again fills him with an aching loneliness.

If Doppio alone were to forget himself, then Diavolo could mold himself into someone new to match, share only the pertinent details of their history and leave the rest of the wretched past behind where it belongs. But he would still remember the version of himself that suffered alone, that was a coward, weak and worse in every conceivable way. And he would still remember every victory, every joy, and he would be unable to share any of them with Doppio — not the same, never the same again.

But that wasn't the point, was it? The question was not about Doppio alone. If they both forgot, then—]

You would be fine.

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im going to assume this is early enough that doppio hasnt yet taken a Full Tour

o7

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cw: description of injuries

oozes forth from the sludge. a crusty underbaked tag is better than none tag

i echo your words and make them mine

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hey so. i'm sorry for this

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"yeah just uhhh kill me" "no NOT LIKE THAT"

today in tags that went in a specific direction on a whim

im also taking this on a whim

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made u wait. is this too intense a convo to be backdating? waves hands. its fine

it's fine!!!!!!! also suicidal ideation cw

is it normal to still have brainbees about stuff that happened years ago.like for me ya but DIAVOLO?

heeheehoohoohee

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