For those of you wondering where the comfort part of Hurt/Comfort was at: It's this chapter.
It might read a bit awkward, since I tried to keep it as close to the first chapter as possible.
Note that this is an alternative Version, not a continuation to chapter 1.
How had he gotten himself into this? Did he actually deserve this?
After the Desasteroid, he'd had nowhere left on earth to go, so when a ghost portal had opened up in space, seconds before the comet would have hit him, he didn't stop to think about it and just went through. He had found himself in a part of the Ghost Zone he had not been familiar with, but hadn't that seemed all the better, since it might diminish the chances of Daniel finding him in here?
So he had just flown off, aimlessly wandering, exploring. Searching for something that could be useful to him. Or someone.
Oh, and he had found someone, quite soon. But that wasn't true, was it? Because he knew by now, that they had found him.
And he had been too full of hurt pride and anger and, oh god, shame, so much shame, that he would have listened to anyone, would have followed anyone who seemed to be willing to help make things right.
Vlad couldn't even remember for how long he had been here. Was it months? Years? His sense of time had never fully worked inside the Ghost Zone, and after the first few times he had fallen asleep here it had failed him completely. All he knew was, that it had been long enough for him to get used to the atmosphere here, even when in human form, because he barely felt its effects anymore.
He was pensive.
They would usually come to check on him every once in a while, but also seemed to know when he'd need time for himself, as he did now, sitting on this bed – his bed.
They were accommodating and gave him whatever he needed. He could bathe and clothe himself. Feed himself with actual human food, wherever they might get it. They also talked to him.
Vlad had soon lost his reluctance to speak with them. He had actually been relieved to have someone to talk to, especially in those first days, when the natural silence of the Ghost Zone made him feel like he was going insane.
But these talks always ended all too soon, and they'd leave him to himself again.
However, they had given him back the only thing that had ever made him feel safe: Control.
He had control over his body, as it no longer randomly changed back and forth between his ghost form and his human form, trying to adjust to the permanent change of environment.
He had control over his voice, after he had spent several hours on the first day yelling in rage, his cries echoing from the walls, being shoved back into his face.
Most important of all, he had control over his thoughts again, could keep a clear head once more, stopped to just want it to end and mastered his turbulent emotions.
And after some time, all he could think was: why?
Why were they doing it? He had never met this entity before, and he never got an answer when he asked. Who were they even?
Why would it be him? Why would he deserve to receive so much? Why would somebody help him?
Why would they? Literally everyone on earth hated him.
And all the ghosts he had met did, too.
He had no one. No family, no friends, no allies. Nobody to care for him.
And was that not why he had always lost all his battles in the end?
But it was too late for that insight now. Nobody would look for him, even if they knew he was still alive.
They were right to. All he had done all his life was lie and steal and hurt people on his pursuit of power.
So, did he really deserve this?
.
.
.
.
No.
He did not deserve this, none of it. He was useless, worthless, weak, laughable, disgusting. Undeserving of mercy. Undeserving of affection.
The door opened. They walked in, came to a stop in front of him, crouched down. Looked at him.
Lifted up his chin with one hand, gently, caring.
He looked into their eyes. They were intriguing. Cold and warm at the same time. He couldn't explain it.
„Vlad." They said softly. They had always known his name, right from the start. They had planned this, had wanted him to come to them, had saved him from death.
He flinched, still lost in thought, when they lifted their unoccupied hand to stroke a strand of hair out of his face. They noticed and stopped. Then they sighed.
„It does not have to be like this, you know that."
Vlad knew. They always came, always told him he had a choice, that he did not have to let guilt take away his happiness.
All the shame he felt had stopped him from giving in until now. He was not going to be happy here. All he deserved was pain, wasn't it?
But after all. What did it even matter? This could go on for eternity. He was not missed by anyone.
And he was, in his heart, a coward. He was afraid. He was convinced he didn't deserve this but truth was he wanted it, wanted to live in this room, wanted to feel this safe all the time, didn't want to suffer any longer. Even after all this, he wanted to live. To the fullest.
They spoke again.
„So, what is it going to be, Vlad? Do we have to start over? Or will you try to believe me from now on? Try to leave the past behind you?"
He was sure he felt something inside him flutter, as he kept staring inside their eyes and heard his own hoarse voice rasp out.
„I...I will try. I promise. I promise."
Comments and Corrections always appreciated.