No one in Hell was classified as a pleasant personality. No one. If you were in Hell there was something at your core very wrong with you. It wasn't necessarily an extremely negative trait, though in most cases it was. Most cases were passed over as another random idiot moving through the system. Their names could be filed away in the Big Book of Hell and forgotten about. It wasn't like anybody was going anywhere.
However the word 'most' denotes that there will be some who are exceptional. Exceptional in sinning, in being an asshole, in being annoying...whatever. But when Dillon died he was labeled as 'exceptional'. Honestly this had made him laugh, he'd never been exceptional before though figured if he was ever going to be, than Hell would be the place he would be so. For the life of him Dillon couldn't really see what he'd done that was so blasphemous in his life. He supposed it was something remarkable that he'd just blocked out of his memory. Like murdering somebody. Dillon could easily see where he would murder somebody. It would be a hot bloody kill, they'd have to taste their own organs...yeah.
In truth he hadn't done anything worse than anyone else in Hell. He'd made fun of a few kooks in his life, beat up a couple kids (as a kid of course), banged some hoes, done a little weed but honestly who hasn't done something like that? He wasn't sure. But he sat in something like a completely metal room. He supposed this was to intimidate him, but among the steel he sat calmly, being restrained by his wrists neck and waist to the wall by simple though heavy and effective metal locks. They were the twisting kind, and brought a sick feeling like he'd been in locks similar not long ago. Other than that he was reminded of a submarine and seeing cows prancing around every so often.
After some time passed and he was half asleep trying to block out a distinct ringing in his head and the fiery shoots of pain that went through his body every so often, a man in a white coat and bloody looking rubber boots came in. He looked like a butcher, the white coat was also brown with old blood and he carried a clip board. "So.." Dillon started, "Admiral will we be sinking the Lusitania any time soon?" The man could barely tell time but he knew what triggered the World Wars.
"Don't be a smart ass you fucking punk. Eh...I mean...you have questions my son?" this guy was an enigma. He cast off his bloody clothes to reveal a flesh toned scaly naked body free of any definitions of gender and bony looking thorned wings. A clawed hand Dillon hadn't noticed before tore off a latex face and cast it on the floor within the pile on the floor. The thing's face was plain with bulging fungus green eyes and a mostly prehistoric look. He seemed to want to play the part of the supernatural omniscient awful badly, but wasn't very good at it.
"Yeah. What the fuck is this? I hardly expected Hell to be the nuthouse."
The demon gave him an irritated look. "Hell is what you make it. It has no one definition, it becomes whatever you hated most in life. I take it you had some poor experiences in a place like this."
"Well golly gee demon dude, aren't you supposed to already know this?"
"Nope. Hell hardly gives a shit what the run of the mill fool's life was like. You however are here, sooo that means you're not the run of the mill fool. We want more like you. More...how can I say this politely... we want to know how to wire people's lives to make people more like you. Its part of the Devil's takeover, really none of your concern. We figure it'd be more interesting and easier than filing all the papers with Heaven, just to ask you what your meaningless life was like."
"I see..."
"You don't but its in your nature to think that you do. Now... I've an eternity and so do you, we'll start with the run of the mill line up. What's the earliest memory you can recall?"
Dillon's steel-blue eyes rested with the demon for a moment. "Don't bother trying to see what I'm getting at, I've already said. Besides I don't exist. This is a projection of your mind. You've had all this in your head all along and dying in shedding your body and releasing your soul just painted this picture with your brain meats if you will. What's giving you the power to be here is the fact that the Devil set this whole process up. You're talking to vein of the Devil right now, your vein."
"Yeah...I was going to ask what the fuck with the live stock, but you're voice is so irritating explaining all this BS." This made the demon laugh, a strangely calmly sound like rushing water over rocks. "Ok...so my first memory..." Dillon thought for a moment. "I don't remember the event per se, I just remember how I was at the moment if that makes any sense. I remember my father...he looked a lot like me only... I dunno different. Calmer I'd say but I didn't exactly know the guy well. He was like, twenty I think when he died. Anyway I remember being real short in this memory and my dad just kinda shoved me in the back room in a closet. Then I waited a few hours...I don't remember the noise but I guess from what I was told it was a bunch of gun shots and screaming. Then the idiots went through the apartment and found we basically had nothing... then two guys opened the closet door, one was getting really sick over what they'd done. I remember that guy really well. He looked like he was having a nervous break down and the other guy hit him...then nothing then I guess I was knocked out or fainted. My aunt said I had a habit of fainting when I was little. Then I woke up and the sick fucks had put me right on my mother's body and her face was all shot out so I don't really remember what she looked like."
The man's cyan gaze fell from where it had been boldly meeting the demon's down to the seam of his jeans. He licked over his lips tracing it with his eyes. "Hey fuckhead why don't you undo these things?"
"Undo them yourself," the demon replied mildly. "You put them there remember?"
"Fuck I can't."
"Why not?"
"What the FUCK DOES IT MATTER? Why the HELL did you make me tell you that?? Why in the name of FUCK did you need to know that?"
"You haven't remembered it with that much vivid detail before have you Dillon? You could puke right now, but won't. One reason why you can't undo those steel bonds around you."
Dillon fell silent for a few minutes. The demon continued to torment him.
"You didn't remember before how her eyes were brown did you? How you could tell that from the one on the.....right was it? Dangling from the socket. She had a pug nose, the broken cartliage denoted that... pretty woman really but they had to have a closed casket funeral. Your aunt cried a lot. They were best friends. That's why she hated you, you reminded her of your mother too much. That's why she hit you and wouldn't defend you when your parents entrusted you to her family and she laughed at you when that nasty--"
Dillon couldn't remember being more angry in his entire existence. He struggled against the metal, screaming obscenities just to block out what the demon kept repeating over and over again. This continued until he heard the deafening crack of his left arm yielding to the steel...his denial, in three places; one separating the ball joint and the other two in rapid fire breaking under neath it. The pain helped, it brought him back to himself...made his mind and stomach settle unable to differentiate if he'd been sweating a lot or just sobbing. He'd done things like break his own fingers and pull out all his back teeth himself to achieve this effect before. It worked, his heart was still pounding but he was collected.
Dillon shut his eyes and lay back, expecting his coal black haired head to smack off of hard steel. Instead it was soft. Eyes still closed he tried this a few more times, wondering what exactly was going on. Had he won against himself? Had he loosened the bonds and ended up on some sort of fluffy patch? Maybe...this made him feel relieved for some reason, and good. Just plain good to let it all go in those three seconds before he opened his eyes. He realized he was in his apartment, and he felt warm breath on his face. "Are you ok?? What the hell...Dillon you were screaming in your sleep what's wrong honey?" He felt the anxious grasp of his boyfriend's thin fingers on his shoulders and felt the light poke on his cheek of Jimmy's thin pointed rather long nose. Dillon swallowed, the feeling had not dissipated, he still felt pretty damn good considering all of what had happened in the dream. It was a fragile uneasy kind of good and it felt like his heart would just pound right through it... but the feeling was still there, in his arms.
"I was...screaming in my sleep? Holy fuck heh... sorry I guess I woke you.." Dillon's voice trailed off, he could feel Jimmy swallow concernedly and peer at him through the darkness with a rather 'wtf?' look. However the boy also latched onto him, in their usual death grip, Dillon burying his face in Jimmy's chest for comfort. He stayed like this, looking up at Jimmy's features illuminated somewhat by the city scene outside...the position was a little eerie, he'd been in it before with much more sinister contents though now he found it oddly comforting. In a way Jimmy was rather parental, fretting over him continually. He kind of liked this, but then he kind of felt Jimmy should worry about himself more. In any case...he knew that Dillon preferred to talk about these kinds of things in the morning rather than eerily in the night, or with all the lights on only to look out the window and see they hadn't entirely escaped darkness. Dillon knew he had to get it out at some point, out there...in the open or else he'd start getting sick like he always did when not fulfilling that little ritual. In some ways hours like these were on borrowed time where he hadn't fully taken in everything from the dream...it was just idling on the surface of his mind; a mental dodgeball. For now he just lay there in the darkness, eventually lured back to sleep by Jimmy's warm skinny body and gentle hand going through his hair. Heh for someone that skinny he gave off a remarkable amount of heat. The boy was responsible for his few moments of peace, the pillow feel if you will in their little pocket of warmth in the cold grey room. Jimmy still wasn't asleep, Dillon could tell this...he wouldn't sleep until he did. Dillon wasn't sure how long his lover's wait would be...but Mmy made it liveable with his warmth and that constant calming motion through his hair, wordless knowing it was all too fucked for lack of a better word, to discuss at the moment. But they would. The man had no idea what he'd do without him and only him. But it wasn't like they were going anywhere. They were both in Hell after all, the reason still undefined though that seemed paltry at this point.