First and foremost, the biggest of thanks to Snow_Punk over on AO3 for beta-reading this. This story is all the better for his efforts, and my writing has only gotten better since he's lent his help to me. Round of applause for 'em!
Second off, bigger chapter than I'm used to, though not by much. A heaping helping of atmosphere, angst, and a touch of fluff to round it out.
Hope you all enjoy Ollie's suffering. ;)
With that said, feel free to leave a comment, or a kudos! Maybe even a follow, if it please you! But most importantly, maybe go give Snow's fic a look-see if you haven't already! It's truly a joy to read.
This chapters been up for a while on AO3 but I somehow forgot to upload here, sorry 'bout that!
It's a cold Saturday night in the middle of October. Somewhere in the pines, on a dusty backroad nestled further in the wood, an old bar lies. The air inside is half cigarette smoke, choking its inhabitants. A few curmudgeonly old men sit at the bar, sipping away at cheap whiskey, skin weathered with age. They chat amongst each other, bartender included. He's glad to see his regulars having a good time.
Besides the regulars, it's sparsely populated. Most folks have gone home by now, on account of the hour. A few patrons sit at tables, either drinking by their lonesome or wiling the hours away, shooting the breeze with friends.
The radio gives a shrill static sound, eliciting groans from the patrons. The bartender pounds it with his fist, causing it to begin playing music again. "Damn thing..." He mutters, casting his eyes to the small stage at the corner of the room. It hasn't been used in years, not since Marv moved away to Fiji, the bastard.
He missed the sound of live music.
The bartender gives a glance at the door, spotting movements as two men walk in. One is a mountain of a man, sharp-dressed and oddly enough, wearing sunglasses after dark.
The other is less impressive, dressed in old jeans and a tan work jacket. They trade a few words, stalking towards a bar before taking seats at the end of the counter. They flag him down.
"Howdy, what can I getcha'?" The old man asks. The man in the suit peeks over his glasses, scanning the shelf. He settles on a bottle of whiskey.
"Old No. 9, please. Leave the bottle." He orders, sliding him the money. He obliges, leaving them the bottle as he walks back to his regulars.
"Ole' 9? With all the vodka we always have I figured that was all you'd drink." Ollie jokes, pouring a shot. Taker hums, pouring one for himself.
"You know that's just because Malina won't drink anything else besides." Taker shrugs, tapping glasses with Ollie, before they tip the shots back. Ollie coughs a bit, while Taker watches, unfazed.
"Oof, fuck. Think I gotten too used to Rokita." He grimaces, pounding his chest. "Y'sure we'll be fine leaving the others at home?" Ollie wonders, mind flooding with the endless possibilities of all the things that could go wrong in the span of an hour.
"I wouldn't worry about it too much." Taker shrugs, leaning against the bar. "Let's just chill. It's nice to enjoy a drink without worrying about Pandemonica trying the maim me."
"Or Zdrada."
"Her too." Taker smirks, "Besides, Judgement and Justice can rein in the rest if something happens."
"Pft- yeah, if they don't trick Justice to get in on it." Ollie chuckles. "How can someone so old be so gullible? Isn't she literally older than like, every current country?"
"Don't ask me, I have no idea." Taker pours Ollie another shot, along with himself.
"Fuck, another so soon? Guess we're in it to win it tonight, huh?" Ollie questions. "Who the hell is gonna drive us home?"
"Eh." Is all Taker offers, with another half-hearted shrug.
Ollie sighs. "After all the times Malina's made me drink cheap shit with her, I don't think I can even get drunk anymore. I'll drive."
"Oh right, how are things between you two?" Taker asks, amused at Ollie's face rapidly turning red.
Ollie sighs, tapping his glass on the table before knocking it back. He lets out a ragged breath, feeling the warmth of the alcohol as it burns it's way down his esophagus. "Things're good. We get drunk and play video games, what else is there to say?" He tries to shrug it off.
"Zdrada told me-" Taker begins, before Ollie slaps his hand over his mouth.
"Don't listen to Zdrada, she exists only to torture my mortal soul."
"Oh, I'm sure it's just Zdrada yanking my chain." Taker drawls sarcastically, a grin splitting his face.
"Ugh, fine." Ollie groans. "So we're dating. So what? She can be grumpy, but I l- like her." He stutters. "She's... she can be sweet, sometimes. We spend all night playing games and bothering each other. She puts up with my stupid jokes and my First-Person Shooters, and I drink myself blind with her while I suffer through her strategy games." He scratches at the scruff beginning to collect on his chin. He makes a note to shave it tomorrow, before continuing. "And y'know what? All the liquor can't be good for me, but I'm happier than I've ever been. I guess that's kinda sad, considering I'm happier in a house full of literal demons than I ever was with... mom and dad." He finishes, desperately pouring another shot for himself.
"Aww, I'm glad you're doing better kiddo!" Taker laughs, ruffling Ollie's hair. The interruption makes Ollie spill some on the counter, and he growls.
"Alright, alright. I get it." He mutters, ducking away from Taker. "So 'Mr. Helltaker', how's things with the harem?" He jokes, offering the bottle to him, which Taker refuses silently.
"Well, we're one demon less than before." Taker smirks. "But things have been pretty smooth sailing recently. We haven't had the police show up in weeks, and I haven't been stabbed, bludgeoned, or lit on fire in at least a month." He beams, as if that were an accomplishment.
Well, when you live in a house full of infernal beings, it could be counted as a win Ollie supposed.
"Damn, not even Monica snapping your fingers? I bet she's starting to get real pent up." Ollie jokes, motioning to the Bartender. "'Scuse me sir, you got a rag, or a towel or something? I spilled a little." The Bartender nods, tossing a rag to Ollie, whom mutters a quiet "Thanks."
"You know she hates being called that, right?" Taker quirks an eyebrow. Maybe Ollie was settling in well, after all. Tempting fate like that, at least.
He shudders, perturbed at the thought of Pandemonica setting upon Ollie. She was not a force to be trifled with, in the least.
"Yeah, well maybe I can trick Zdrada into calling her Monica. That was Z gets punished, Monica gets to torture Z, and I get some peace and quiet for once."
"Yeah, I noticed she's taken a liking to you. Going for the sisters, huh?" Taker teases, nudging Ollie elbow.
"You call that a liking? She's been giving me hell since I arrived." Ollie complains, resting his head in his palm.
"Nah, she just wants you to give her some kind of punishment. She's into that."
"Yeah, believe me, I know." Ollie shivers, aghast at the memory of the 'bottle incident', as he dubbed it. "I'm not interested in Z in the least. Not my forte, uncle."
"Well, that's one demon I won't be losing anytime soon." Taker chuckles, pouring Ollie another shot.
"Fuck sake, uncle. Are you trying to get me hammered? Three more and I ain't gonna be able to drive." Ollie eyes the glass, before shrugging. "Won't say no though."
They toast, glasses clinking as they tap them together. They tip back their shots, tapping the glasses back down on the bar with a 'cl-clunk!' At the rate they're going, he just begins to feel the effects of the first few shots, head beginning to swim.
They sit for a minute or two, sharing a companionable silence as they both think amongst themselves. That is, until Ollie breaks the silence.
"So... about Azazel." He begins slowly, gauging Taker's reaction. He withers a bit, as though the mere mention of the topic aged him by a dozen years. "I know, I know. We're supposed to be relaxing. But it's a pretty bad situation she's in. Figured we might as well put our heads together and try to come up with something."
"What's there to think of? If she stays, she stays. If she leaves, she leaves. I'd rather she stays with us, but that's her choice, not ours." He explains, running his hand across his face.
"Yeah- fuck, I know. I know. But what if she stays? She falls, that's what. Changes. Becomes a demon." Ollie offers, shaking his head. "All I'm saying is, from what I've seen, her entire personality is that she's an Angel. She's Pure. All that stuff. I'm sure there's more to her, but it's all buried under that Angel shtick." Ollie explains, considering taking another shot, but deciding against it. "She's... she's gonna need help."
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, kid." Taker promises, resting a hand on Ollie's shoulder.
"Yeah." Ollie sighs. "Can't plan for complete unknowns, I guess."
Their critical thinking is interrupted by the radio acting up once more, filling the room with the dire screeching of static. The bartender, annoyed, slams his fist on it, shouting profanities. One of the hits seems to do the job, as music begins blaring once more. After a moment however, it dies out again. This time with a whimper, instead of a screech.
"Damn piece of shit!" The bartender shouts, smacking his fist to the bar.
The patrons begin to stir uncomfortably, let down by the dying atmosphere as a result of the radio petering out. One by one, they begin to stand from their seats, gathering their belongings. "Oof, bad luck..." Ollie groans, getting up from his stool and approaching the bartender. "Mind if I take a look?" He asks, fishing a multitool from his pocket.
"Can ya' fix it?" He grunts, placing the radio down on the counter.
"Well, I ain't know much about electronics but I can give it a shot?" Ollie offers, prying the face of the radio off. Immediately, he notices the problem. "Well shit, you smashed the circuit board. Nothing you can do about that but replace the thing." He shrugs.
"An' how do you know? You said you dunno nothin' 'bout electronics!" The old man complains. Ollie gives him a look of disbelief.
"Wh... dude, I don't gotta be a chef to know when the fuckin' toast is burnt." Ollie grunts.
"Well, that's just great." The bartender throws his hands up, placing the radio back on the shelf behind him. "Guess the nights over."
"I mean..." Ollie begins, an idea forming in his head. "I can take care of the music problem?"
"An' how ya' gonna do that? Got another radio, radio man?" The bartender leers at him.
"Y'got a stage, right? I can play a few songs?" Ollie proposes. The bartender scratches his beard, before agreeing.
"Hell, I'll bite. Ya' any good?"
"Well, I'm not gonna be signing with a record label anytime soon but I've been told I'm not terrible?" He smiles, cocking his head.
The bartender sighs, slumping his shoulders. "Alright, kid. Go fer it. How much is this gonna cost me?"
"Is 100 bucks good?"
"Hell no!"
Ollie groans, looking to Taker for help. He's disappointed when Taker seems more interested in pouring another shot, only offering him a thumbs up. "Right. 50 bucks and some free drinks?"
"Y'got a deal, kid." The bartender agrees, offering his hand. They shake on it, and Ollie swipes the keys from Taker, retrieving his guitar from the van.
'Damn lucky I forgot to bring this in...' Ollie thinks to himself.
It's a few minutes before Ollie's ready, spending a few moments tuning his guitar. He pulls a stool from one of the tables, lugging it up on stage with him as he plucks the strings. Satisfied with the acoustics, he clears his throat.
"'Right folks, the radio is dead for good this time. No worries though, cause I'm here to save the night. Hope you like country, cause that's all I know. If not, too bad." He jokes, getting a couple chuckles from the regulars at the counter. "This first one's called 'Hard Times', by Tyler Childers. Hope you enjoy." He introduces the song, as the patrons turn their gazes to the stage at last. He soaks in the attention, peering through the smoke-laden air to Taker's spot. He gives a nod of encouragement, prompting Ollie to begin.
"I bought a house at the mouth of the holler, a ring at the pawn shop and a crib for the kid."
"I heard some word, there was work up in Hindman, I'm going tomorrow and hope that there is."
"My sweat and my wages they don't seem to weigh out, I'm gettin' more aches than I'm gainin' in gold."
"Whoever said you could raise you a family, just workin' your ass off knee deep in coal?"
He begins the song strong, keeping pace the entire way through. As the song progresses, he manages to hold onto his focus, not making a single mistake the entire way. The customers seem pleased with the live entertainment, some stopping their conversations to listen to the song. As the song begins to wind down, he spots the bartender standing near Taker, both chatting back and forth as they watch him perform. If Ollie didn't know any better, he'd say Taker looks proud. Which is tough for him to place, considering Ollie never really knew what having a proud family member looked like.
"Well, the sign at the church says I'll reap what I'm sowin', but I ain't lost sleep. Cause it'll come in due time."
"And if the Lord wants to take me, I'm here for the taking.
'Cause Hell's probably better than tryin' to get by"
"You can see me on the front page, it'll be out tomorrow."
"A boy in his 20s, shot down in his prime."
"For trying to hold up the Texaco station."
"They'll say I was desperate, they're probably right."
A few scattered applauses emanate from the small, inebriated crowd. A sense of pride wells up in Ollie, as a smile graces his face. 'It ain't a stadium, but it'll have to do.' He thinks contentedly.
"Enjoy you drinks, folks. I'm gonna have one myself and then I'll be back to play another." He nods, hopping down from the stage as he trundles over to the counter.
Maybe one more shot wouldn't hurt, after all... right?
…...
One more shot did, in fact, hurt. So much so that Ollie awoke the next morning already clutching his head.
"Ohhh, okay..." Is all he splutters out, rolling over and falling off his bed. Colliding face-first to the floor with a loud thud, he shouts.
"FUUUCK!" His shout rings out through the cramped space as he slowly peels himself from the floor, clutching his crooked nose. The only word he can think of as he stands there alone in his room to describe how he feels is 'disgusting.' The stink of alcohol radiating off of him, body sticky with sweat. He could tell it would be one of those days, today.
One of those days that left him unsatisfied, like getting a handjob and not getting to finish. Or dropping the bite of his breakfast on the ground. It wasn't a lot of food, but it felt incomplete without that last bite.
It was one of those days where he had a hair trigger, and anything could set it off. Uneven amount of bread slices left? He'd swear up and down that he would bludgeon the fucker responsible. Only leftovers? Fine, he'd fucking starve, then. Who cared if he did anyways?
It was one of those days where Ollie was at his worst. He wanted to be alone, but he already knew he'd lament about being lonely. One of those days where he'd act like a monster, but wonder why in the Hell he was so mean. One of those days where he'd let everything get under his skin, then wonder why everything was out to get him.
One of those days...
And he was hungover, just because it wouldn't be fair otherwise, right?
And- Lord forgive him for saying this- it just made him all the more goddamn angrier.
Swaying around from nausea as he laments his current situation, he holds his hand underneath his dripping nose. Squinting both at the pain, and from the sweaty locks of hair drooping over his eyes. Deciding against waiting a minute longer despite his nostrils practically overflowing with blood, he stumbles from his room in search of Azazel. He loses balance halfway, tumbling down the stairs. With a loud crash, he lands back first at the bottom of the stairs which knocks the wind out of him. "Guh!" Ollie wheezes, curling in on himself. 'At least I didn't land on my nose this time.'
A few minutes pass where he decides to pay there. Nose geyser be damned, he needed a minute to tell which way was up. All good things come to pass, as so he once again scrambles to his feet. Pretty battered at this point, he shuffles to Azazel's door, last on the left next to Judgement's. He knocks, and after a few seconds the door creeps open, revealing the little angel, looking a bit worse for wear.
"Oh, hello Ollie." She greets rather plainly, voice lacking its usual pep. He notices that her halo looks rather dim, as well. "...Are you well?" She inquires, noticing the slowing flow of blood dripping from his nose.
"Do I look well?"
Azazel simply sighs, reaching her hands to his face. "I'll help you, please move your hands." She orders, letting her palms linger inches from his nose. They glow, his nose rapidly mending and cracking back into place as though it were reset by physical means. He turns away, snorting the blood from his sinuses and spitting the wads of blood onto the door across the hall. Zdrada's door. Turning back to her, he pats her atop the head.
"Thanks, Azzy. What's going on today? You doing okay?" Ollie asks, as gently as he can manage in spite of his foul mood. She looks troubled. Dim. As though the act of even being outside her room is crushing her.
"I'm... I've made my decision. And I'm nervous about telling everyone else." She admits, casting her gaze to her feet.
"Don't gotta be nervous, Az. Things're gonna be just fine, I promise." He comforts, pulling her in for a one-armed hug, careful not to smear the blood on his shirt onto her crisp white uniform. "When you telling everyone?"
"After breakfast."
"Okay, that sounds good." He nods, releasing her from his embrace. "I'll see you then." He bids adieu, stepping away from the doorway and making his way downstairs. With every step a small jolt of pain shoots through his ankle, and he winces as he does his best to hide the limp. Azazel clearly wanted to be alone right now. He'd be fine healing like a normal person, for once.
Taking it step-by-step, Ollie descends the next set of stairs as carefully as he can. This time, he's sure not to let himself lose balance, as difficult as that is in his current state. Eventually he finds himself in the kitchen. As he sits there in the living room eating a bowl of cereal, some of the others give him strange looks. Some even look shocked. Chalking it up to the fact that he's clad in only a pair of boxers and a bloodied white tee, he shrugs it off. He wasn't sure why it was so strange, after all the times someone's been stabbed, or beaten, or lit on fire in this house.
The looks had begun to get irritating after the third time, though. Lucifer sits across from him, enjoying a plate of pancakes and looking at him with an eyebrow cocked.
"Is there any reason you're eye-fucking me, or do you need something?" He growls, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth grumpily. Lucifer looks even more confused by this point, as if the reason she's staring was obvious. "Look, I'll be careful not to get blood on the couch, okay? I fell out of bed and busted my shit, now leave me be."
"That's... not what I'm looking at, dear." She utters, narrowing her eyes. Her gaze focuses on his neck, and she asks him "What is that? On your collar?"
It's his turn to be confused. Turning his gaze downward, it takes him a second to notice a spot of color on his skin, peeking out from underneath his shirt. He pulls the bloodied cloth away from him, exposing a new tattoo.
In crude lettering, looking as though it were carved into a picnic table with a pocket knife, rests the name 'Malina.'
Yelping in surprise, he pulls his shirt back over himself in hopes to conceal the ink. "I- wh- when the fuck did I get that?!" He pants, hurriedly placing his bowl down on the coffee table.
An amused snort emanates from Lucifer, then a laugh. "Now, for what reason would you happen to have dear Malina's name permanently etched into your skin, boy?"
"Not your business right now." He seethes. "If you've got half a brain, you can figure it out yourself. If you do, good job. Don't tell anyone else. Not the time for it." He hurries out, making a beeline for the stairs.
Already Ollie can tell that his and Malina's secret was compromised. If it wasn't already compromised by Zdrada.
Either way, with his sense of balance finally regained, he runs up the stairs, careful to hide his collar in case anyone else happens to be on their way down. He passes by Cerberus waving them away aggressively as they attempt to mob him, begging for him to play fetch with them. "Later, now move." He grunts, pushing past them.
Not bothering to knock, he opens Malina's door and enters as fast as his feet will let him. Surprisingly, she lies there on her bed, asleep. That, or too drunk to react to stimuli. Carefully, he inches the door shut behind him, before leaning against it. He slides to the floor, sighing. He rests his head in his arms for a moment, deciding whether or not to rouse Malina from her beauty sleep.
Deciding his current situation to be urgent, he tiptoes over to her bed, nudging her shoulder. "Malina." He whisper-shouts. "Mal!"
All she does is groans, batting away his arms as she rolls over, facing the wall.
"Mal, wake up! This is serious!" He tries once more. It seems to do the trick, and she rubs her eyes, turning back to him. She blinks wearily, squinting as her vision returns slowly. As he comes into focus, the first thing he notices is his blood-soaked shirt.
"Holy shit!" She yells, shooting up fully awake. Pulling him closer by his hands, she looks him over. "Are you okay? What happened?!" Malina panics, frantically searching for any wounds.
Grabbing hold of her wrists and sitting down beside her, he desperately attempts to calm her. "Hey, hey. I'm okay, I promise. I broke my nose falling out of bed, Az took care of it." He whispers, holding her close. "Look, we got another problem though."
"You're... you're alright? Then what's the problem? I was having a good fucking dream." Her expression morphs from concern and worry to her signature sour scowl.
"You remember how me and uncle went out for a few drinks last night?"
"Yeah, so what?"
Fidgeting uncomfortably, he reaches to his shirt and grasps it in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he pulls the shirt off, laying it in his lap. "Well, I woke up with this." He sighs, brows knit together as he gestures to the tattoo.
Malina's face heats up, and Ollie fails to gleam whether she's flustered or furious.
"You got my name tattooed?! How many of them saw it?!" She begins to raise her voice. Ollie can already feel his temper beginning to rear its ugly head, even if only a little.
"I-I dunno, Lucifer saw it? I think she's the only one. Some of the others caught a glimpse of it, but it was covered by my shirt!" Ollie defends.
"You realize everyone's gonna know we're dating now, right?" Malina growls, crossing her arms and hunching over, her sour mood beginning to worsen with every tick of the clock.
"That such a bad thing? Are you like, ashamed of me or something?" Ollie points an accusatory glance at her, making her flinch.
"No, you dumbass! But I know that it's all I'm ever going to hear about from Zdrada until Hell freezes over!"
"She already knows, for Christ's sake! She saw you hugging me yesterday! If she hasn't already said something then I don't see the need to make a big deal over it!" Ollie retorts.
"And you didn't tell me?" Malina hisses. "Now everyone is going to know, not just Z! I don't m-mind that you got it, but why did you think getting it there was a good idea!?"
"I- wh- Mal I didn't exactly plan to get this thing done! Hell, I don't even remember doing it!" He complains, facepalming. "I have GOT to stop drinking liquor for a while."
"The fuck are we gonna do together, then?!" Malina complains, throwing her arms up in outrage as though the only thing they ever do is get drunk. That wasn't too far from the truth, really.
"We can play games! And you can still drink, I'm just not going to!" He argues, beginning to feel his temper begin to boil.
"Drinking isn't any fucking fun alone!" She shoots back, stepping a bit closer.
"Well I'm sorry, but I can't drink myself into a stupor every night! At the rate I'm going I'll die before I even hit 50, not that I mind all that much!" Ollie grouses, his temper teetering over the edge, just a step too far. Malina seems to take offense at this, looking hurt.
"What?!" She screeches. "Don't fucking say that! Don't you ever say that shit again!" She scolds him, smacking him across the face. At first, he was beginning to feel bad. But with the raging hangover and the hand-shaped splotch of pain on his cheek, he only gets angrier.
"Why not?! You don't know what I been through, Mal! Not a fuckin' clue! And you know what? I don't know what you've been through either, but you don't know what my life's been like! So don't you ever judge me for feeling like punching my ticket is better than the alternative, 'cause you don't know a fuckin' thing about me!" He rants, throwing his shirt to the ground as he grows all the more infuriated. His heart aches, upon seeing Malina... tearing up?
She sniffles, eyes watering and face scrunching up as her composure withers and dies. She gives a sniffle and a sob, as she shoves him away before sitting down on her bed. "Then tell me! Tell me, so I can understand!" She pleads with him.
His flame is snuffed out as quickly as it was lit, and he falls to his knees before her. Desperately, Ollie wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her lap as he too, begins the waterworks. He can feel her arms shake as they wrap around him. Moments later, he pulls himself up to sit beside her, arm holding her face against his chest. He can feel her hot tears against his skin, as she breathes shakily alongside him. "Okay, Mal... you wanna' hear my story?" Ollie whispers to her, quietly. Silently, Malina nods.
"Okay. I'll tell you. But I need you to do me a favor. You can't tell anyone else. And I need you not to judge me. Please, promise me." He demands.
"I promise." She agrees, voice soft and frail.
"Alright... this is a bit of a long story. Bear with me." He begins, deciding at what point to begin his tale.
"I was born over in the Northeast, where it's shitty and cold half of the year. And the other half of the year, you have to deal with filthy addicts wandering all over the place. My father and mother were two addicts. They met at a homeless shelter. Uncle is my father's brother. My ma had immigrated to the US from Ukraine a few years before I was born, and from what I heard, fell on hard times. They got clean together, but a few years after I was born ma fell back into shooting up. Of course, early on, dad was always busy working to keep us in our shitty apartment. Barely ever had food to feed us, sometimes. Anyways, ma would take it out on me when she didn't have a fix. Whip me, cut me, chain me to the radiator, stuff like that. So... I started sleeping on the streets. Stopped going to school. Fell in with the wrong crowd, got a rap sheet for committing vandalism, theft, petty crimes and such."
There is a lull in the story, in which Ollie takes a few seconds to compose himself, and maybe gauge Malina's reaction. He finds that she has further buried her head into his chest. Once she realizes he's stopped talking, she looks up at him. He gives her a look of reassurance, one which is shared between them. She returns her head to his chest, listening for his heartbeat as she tightens her arms around him. Taking this as a cue to continue, Ollie draws a few deeps breaths and carries on.
"Eventually, I got sick of the bullshit. The arrests, dealing with my fucking junkie mom, all of it. So, I decided to run away. One night I sneak into the apartment, and grab my shit. On the way out though..." He hesitates. "My ma notices me. Starts screeching at me and asking where I think I'm going. I start arguin' with her and dad, goin' off about how I'm getting the fuck outta' there and never comin' back." Malina's grip around his waist subtly tightens. A little smile graces him, despite the tough memory. "It was business as usual. Ma's swinging a pot at me, and knocking everything in the kitchen over, dad's watchin' her do it without a care in the fuckin' world. And guess what? She gets a lucky hit in, clocks me in the head with it. So I go down, and I'm expecting that's the end of it. I guess somewhere along the line ma decided that if she couldn't make my life miserable anymore, I wouldn't get to live a life, period. She climbs on top me, grabs my neck, and just leans into it. Starts choking me. And dad. Doesn't. Do. A Fuckin'. Thing. Watches her, doesn't call the cops, doesn't pull her off me or shout at her. He just looks at me on the floor, gasping for breath and reaching for anything I can get my hands on."
Malina looks up at him, her beautiful red eyes piercing his as her lips curl into an angry snarl. No words come from her, but the silence is tenuous at best, tension in the room so thick that you could cut it with a knife. "What next?" She urges him, prompting a far-off look as Ollie stares through the wall in front of him.
"I grabbed a knife that she knocked off the counter. And I stabbed her." He states plainly. "The cops arrived at some point, but at that point you couldn't even tell who she was anymore. They pulled me off of her, slapped me in cuffs, and threw me in jail until my trial. The neighbors testify in my favor, I go up there and plead self-defense, and get found not-guilty. My dad though? He testified against my sorry ass. Wasn't happy that I wouldn't be spending my life in the can, so he disowned me and ran back to Poland, without even telling me. Didn't have anywhere else to go, so I came here." He finishes the story, struggling to stuff all his emotion down as he scoots to rest his back against the wall.
"I... I'm sorry, dude. That's..." Malina begins. "That's fucking horrible. I hope you know this doesn't change things... between us, I mean."
"Thank you, Mal. But it's okay. I'm the one who should be sorry. It's my baggage, and I shouldn't take it out on you." He brings her hand to his lips, planting a small kiss on her ashen skin. "Despite everything, I don't regret any of it. Because at the end of the day, it brought me here. With you. With everyone. You don't deserve me laying into you because I had a fucked-up home life."
"I-if you ever wanna talk about it... you can, you know?" Malina offers, and is greeted with a thankful smile from Ollie, tears pricking his tired eyes. "I'm sure it wasn't easy, but I'm from Hell. I'm used to death. It will take more than that to drive me away."
"Thank you." Ollie's voice wavers, his veneer of stoicism crumbling fast.
"Of course, dumbass. I know I give you shit, and we haven't been together for long but... I love you." She admits, voice low as she turns away from him, failing miserably at hiding her rosy cheeks.
He already knew that, but it warmed his heart to hear her finally say it.
"Love you, too..." Comes his reply, uttered just above a whisper.
With all said and done, he pulls her into him and falls to lay down. With her head against the crook of his neck, all he can smell is raspberries. Not his sweat, not the liquor from last night, not even the blood staining him.
He knows that he'll always be haunted by the past. So many have lived worse lives, that much is true. But with the weight of his mother's life and his father's hatred on his shoulders, he knows it's a weight he'll never shed.
All in all though, he was glad it wasn't a weight he'd have to lift alone.
That thought breaks the dam, and tears begin to flow freely. Both of sorrow, and of joy.
Ollie supposed the tattoo could stay, for now.
...
The pair is awoken about an hour later by the sound of the door opening. When Ollie sees Judgement standing there, he already has an inkling about why she's there.
Such suspicions are immediately proved true, as Judgement ordered them to gather in the living room at once. Ollie had to appreciate her professionalism, in lieu of her making a big deal of seeing him and Malina spooning, not to mention the new coloring on his collarbone.
Hell, the secret was pretty much out at this point. It's not like it wasn't obvious already. To say that subtlety wasn't either of their strong suit would be a vast understatement.
After a short, frenetic moment where Ollie rushes to his room and hurriedly dresses himself in his dress shirt and slacks, he regroups with Malina in the living room.
And so there they sat, side-by-side on the sofa as they waited for the last of the household to appear. Azazel is already there, prepared to give everyone the verdict on whether she'd be staying, or saying goodbye. Before long, the living room is full, and some wait on-edge in anticipation. Judgement nods to Azazel as she wrestles Zdrada into submission, throwing her onto the couch while swaddled in glowing white chains. "You may begin." Judge assures her.
It's the moment of truth, and the atmosphere only darkens as Azazel gives a somber nod. "I've spent these last few days, debating between staying, or returning to Heaven. It was not an easy choice to make, but in the end, I came to a conclusion. You all have been good to me. And I love each and every one of you." Ollie's shoulders slacken, releasing some tension he wasn't even aware he was holding.
The tension is replaced with dread, when she utters her next words. "But as much as I love you all, I cannot stay here."
