Breaking the Altar
(A good ending story)
āI need my arm for a moment, Kitten.ā
D hesitated before releasing his grip on H's limb. The emperor closed the obnoxiously thick report he'd been combing through and shuffled a few objects on the table. He opened a much thinner folder, tugging out a few sheets of paper and setting them on the desk before him. With everything in place, he returned his arm to his side, where D could wrap around it once more.
D hadn't been feeling well recently. Heād been trapped in the sort of all-encompassing grief that felt like a physical injury. Learning, finally letting himself learn that his god had been nothing more that a demon who had stolen half his life was. Difficult. It sapped him of his will to speak, move, liveā¦ D didn't know how long he'd been stuck in the thick of that malaise. No one seemed keen on telling him, and he wasn't particularly interested in learning, himself.
He was making an effort to pull himself out of it. It was hard to know why, exactly. The fact that other people seemed to want that for him was the clearest argument he could muster. H and Stan, in particular, had both seemed elated that D was leaving his room again. They both hovered about him, as if they were scared he would disappear again, or perhaps shatter entirely. That was good. D didnāt want to be alone anymore.
D didnāt realize heād been dozing until a thin finger poked his nose.
āYouāre drooling on my arm, Kitten,ā H said, his voice sweetly teasing. D responded with a pained frown.
ā... Māsorry,ā he murmured.
āNo- ā¦ no, youāre fine,ā H reassured him. āYouāre just tired. Please, go to bed.ā D squeezed his friendās arm tighter.
āI donāt wanna be alone,ā he confessed after a pause. H twisted awkwardly to pet Dās thick, gray curls with his free hand.
āI donāt want that, either,ā H said. āYou can sleep with me in my room tonight. Iād like it if you did.ā D hummed, unconvinced. He knew how late into the night H worked. He didnāt want to be alone for that long. In Hās bleak, sterile room, with nothing to look at, to distract himā¦ D usually didnāt mind the other manās taste in decoration. In fact, its understated elegance suited him well. It was just too bare for him right then.
A gentle kiss brushed Dās cheek.
āPlease,ā H said, his voice a soft rumble. āI wonāt be much longer. I promise.ā With a long, deep sigh, D unwound himself from his friend and stood. He trudged to the door, pausing to look over his shoulder at H. His companion smiled and made a shooing gesture. With another loud sigh, D exited into the main hall of Hās suite. He stared at the floor as he made his way to Hās bedroom. A mane of gray hair hung around his shoulders; he hadnāt bothered to tie it back. He didnāt really like touching it, or thinking about it at all. Bill was dead, and Pyronica was in prison, so there was no reason to keep it at its current length, butā¦
It was another change.
An unexpected scent met D as he opened the door to Hās bedroom. It was fresh, light and floral. It smelled nice. The second thing D noticed was the twin blue flames dancing in the dark.
They were so familiar.
Heart hammering, D flicked on the light. Fear and revulsion burned up his spine, through his veins, scorching him. There, on a table across from Hās bed, was an altar. Blue-flamed candles burned on either side of a terracotta axolotl. Sweet, verdant smoke flowed from its mouth like a waterfall, curling around the other pink-brown figures, depicting the aquatic god in various poses. Cool candlelight flickered off a small, shallow offering plate filled with clear water, pearls and lotus petals.
It was a fucking god. There was a god in Hās room; it had been let in. It was going to eat his life, spit him out, use him-
A scream ripped from Dās throat. He charged across the room, to the table. A line of choking smoke cut the air, and the axolotl was on the floor, smashed. The smaller ones were next. D chucked them against the floors, the walls, or simply crushed them with his fists. The offering plate was upended, soaking the woven mat. *The fucking god was on that, too.* D tried to tear it in two, but it was too sturdy. With a furious growl, he dashed it to the floor and stomped on it.
D was panting, shaking, staring wide-eyed at the mess on the floor. A small, strangled noise sounded behind him. He whipped around to see H in the doorway.
āWhat- what did youā¦ā Hās voice was choked, his face a mess of lines that scrunched into something, something-
D was too furious to say what it was. He gestured wildly at the sundered altar.
āWhat the fuck was this doing here?!ā he screamed, panic turning his voice keening and grating. āDid- did someone put it here? Did you notice before now??ā H was silent for several long moments, his face going blank. He stared at the shattered terracotta. Dās frantic heartbeat thundered in his ears.
āItās mine,ā H said at length. āIām sorry it upset you.ā His voice was small and toneless. D grabbed wads of his own hair and tugged it. He hardly registered the pain in his scalp.
āWHAT?! Noā¦ no, it wasnāt here before! I remember! I-I would remember that!ā
H made for the closet, his movements stiff. He pulled out a broom and dustpan.
āI would remember that!!ā D insisted as H moved back to the mess. His face remained blank as he swept the broken expressions of faith into the dustpan.
āI set it up recently,ā H explained as he headed for the trash can. The sound of clay falling against metal joined Dās labored, rasping breaths.
āWHY?!?ā D shrieked, storming to Hās side. He didnāt understand. He couldnāt understand.
H gripped the dustpanās handle a bit harder. He took in a long, slow breath that D could scarcely hear.
āIām sorry,ā he said. āI thought it would help you.ā
āWHY?!?ā D screamed again. He was hunched, clawing at his shirt. He needed to grab something. āWHY DID YOU THINK A FUCKING CULT WOULD HELP ME?!?ā
H flinched. He was staring at the floor, his face twisted.
ā¦ He was scaredā¦?
No. No, no, no. D stumbled back, his heel crunching bits of shattered clay. H couldnāt be scared. Not right now. D needed him, he needed someone, and H was so strong, and so loving, and he had called out to a fucking god in his bedroom, where it was supposed to be safe.
Dās head spun. He felt like he was going to throw up. H stood still, like he was dead, like he was never going to talk to D again, staring at the floor-
D choked out a strangled, incoherent sound and bolted into the hall. He clawed at the handle of the door that separated Hās suite from the rest of the compound, tried to open it, but it was locked. D slammed bodily against the door, which didnāt budge, before he remembered that he could simply unlock it from this side. He did so with shaky fingers and exploded onto the stark, bright hall of the compound. He slammed into Stan, his Stan, who staggered back, a lungful of air forced from him.
āWhat the hellās goinā on in there, Ford?!ā he barked, grabbing D by the shoulders and looking him up and down. āThe door was locked. We couldnāt get in! Are you okay?!ā D shook in his brotherās arms. Was he okay? Was he okay? Was H okay?
He wasnāt.
And he wasnāt.
Dās knees went weak, and he slumped. Stan moved to hold him up.
āPhospho!ā Jean-Paul cried. D hadnāt noticed him.
Phospho, Phospho, D, Fordā¦
He didnāt want to be him.
D pushed out of Stanās arms and pelted away from his brother, down the hall, back to his room. He slammed the door shut; didnāt turn on the lights. He crumpled to the floor, clawing at his face. People outside were shouting for him. He shakily locked the door and crawled down the hall, to his bedroom. He curled up on the floor and tried not to think.
ā------------------
D sat on the floor, with his back against his bed, poking morosely at the lunch Jean-Paul brought him. He couldnāt tell if he was hungry, and he really didnāt feel like eating. Jean-Paul was perched on the edge of the bed, his tail brushing against Dās shoulder. D rolled a cherry tomato across his plate with a fork. The roomās dull lamplight cast a warm sheen on its smooth surface.
āThere are a lot of people out there who want to see you, yāknow,ā Jean-Paul said. D hummed noncommittally. He hadnāt left his room since he ran from H. He thought it had been a few days, but without a natural light cycle, it was hard to tell. Jean-Paul lapsed into silence for several long moments, his tail twitching. āThis isnāt the best way of handling stress,ā he said. āOr guilt.ā Dās frown deepened and he tightened the ball he was curled into. āItās okay if you canāt help it,ā Jean-Paul added quickly. āBut I think you should try.ā
The tomato rolled off the plate and bounced to the floor. D stared at it.
āIt can beā¦ hurtful. To other people.ā Jean-paul continued. āTheyāre left ruminating on what happened. They donāt know how bad you feel; if you feel bad at all.ā
āI do,ā D mumbled into his knees.
āIt might help H to hear that,ā Jean-Paul said. āTo know that you didnāt mean to hurt him.ā D gripped the rumpled fabric of his pant leg (he hadnāt changed since the other day.)
āI didnāt,ā he murmured. āD-didnāt mean to. Iā¦ I didnātā¦ā
He still didnāt understand. Couldnāt understand. The altar, the blue flamesā¦ in his bedroomā¦
āI know,ā Jean-Paul said, shifting his tail to brush Dās cheek. āIām sure H knows, really. This is justā¦ difficult for him. Because of his past.ā
D finally looked up, staring with curious concern at his polymorph friend. Jean-Paulās ears flicked.
āItāsā¦ not the first time something of his has been broken by someone he cares about,ā the raccoon said, hesitating a bit at first. āHe probably, um, associates it with being in trouble. Doubly so if itās followed by being left alone. I know you didnāt mean to, butā¦ā
Oh. Oh, no. Dās stomach dropped and his eyes widened in horror. That was what Bill had done. That was what Bill had done to H. D scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking Jean-Paul back onto the mattress. He had to fix this. He couldnāt be like that. Couldnāt be like the god. The demon. He flung the door open and strode through the hall. He had to fix this. He had to get to H.
āāāāāāāāā
H ford belongs to @alexthebordercollie
Pet guy is @is-it-cute-gf-au-edition
