Okay, guys, you got me. I'm busted. DuMort is a brilliant tidbit from the Mortal Instruments. I was inspired by that series (my favorite of all time) and (pay attention, guys, this is the answer) Hades & Persephone for this story, maybe a little Beauty and the Beast as well. Just thought I'd throw it out there.
Why haven't I been updating? I was busy, for a while, and then I just didn't feel like it. Then I didn't like the first type up and started over. And then my laptop was acting up. Sorry.
And thank you, to the very few who got my Blind Prophet reference. Y'all are just brills.
Summary: Through an unfortunate turn of events, Max falls into the hands of a man who is not only evil in every sense of the word but hell bent on burning down the world if it meant keeping her safe. But all Max wants to do is get away from him. Can Fang change that?
Disclaimers: I don't own Maximum Ride or any other previous mentioned inspiratory stories. This story in no way reflects the view of fanfiction, the Christian Church, myself, and so on.
_X_
There wasn't much you could keep the king of hell from doing.
Even if the living had no business being in hell, even if it was an unjustifiably cosmically wrong, Max was still here. Fang wasn't even sure why she was here anymore, or what broken functions had clicked under his skull to make him even wanted her in the first place.
Fang usually tried to keep out of people's thoughts, for his own benefit; nobody else's. But at that goddamn meeting the mortal's thoughts had screamed out to him, two words laced with panic and disgust. Unborn child.
He knew the workings of minds –a few years at this job will do that to you – and knew his own self to know he hadn't taken the child as a pity case. He was the devil, for hell's sake. It would be a miracle if he still had pity to muster. And never mind that sissy shit about him wanting company.
Fang swallowed. The thought was just too pathetic.
This job had too many assets to name – girls, sex, drugs, revenge. He could get it all whenever he felt like. But as had Fang skimmed over just those two words in Jeb's minds, a sense of greedy want had ached over him.
The wanting grew to torture – an agony packed into less than two decades as he watched the child cry and smile and laugh, changing and growing into what she was now. Which was Max.
It was like God's hand was choking him, the tangled knot in his throat as he tried to swallow again. The reasons behind Max being here were just as twisted as her being here at all. It was all kinds of wrong.
She was…she was human. Fang could hardly remember being human. But he needed her in the same lost way he once needed air, trapped under the water and unable to breach surface.
It felt like his lungs were burning, hoarse and aching, and he needed to put it out the fire inside his ribs. But of course he knew he couldn't, that it would kill him. He was trying, so hard, to find the air and sunlight ovehead. His lips were locked, arms and legs spasming desperately until his mouth stopped listening and opened, searching for what wasn't there. He tasted black poison, filling and twisting inside him. And he died.
The ghost of that memory made his lungs ache. He needed that air now, and dying wouldn't stop him this time.
He couldn't give her up. Future be damned, he wouldn't let her leave. Whether it was this strange possessive need, or something else, Fang didn't know. He'd rather tear his own useless lungs out.
A twinge of regret bit his side, as his coarse fingers ghosted over his ribs. She probably doesn't want to see me anyway. He doubted he'd want to see someone either, if they had crushed his already battered bruises.
Besides, he had work.
It was an incredibly morbid job – keeping Hell's population and punishing it for its favored sin in life. But someone had to do it, and Fang was there to make sure it got done.
There were nine layers of hell – and with each a new grimacing torture. But the level Fang lived on was his favorite; Limbo. There was less pain, more chaos – but Fang could deal. A little darkness, a little suffering: but, hey, it was home.
Sometimes the sinners below could work their way into purgatory – once they got what was coming to them. And like reverse clockwork, Limbo's residents could get tossed into one of the nine layers just as easily. Just because you die doesn't mean you stop sinning.
It's a good thing boredom isn't a sin, Fang mused, strolling through his least favorite layer. Or else Max would be in trouble.
He knew perfectly well, when she wasn't sleeping or eating, she was pacing past the red walls. She'd already taken a look at the rest of the top floor, one of his demons had told him, but there wasn't much to look at. So now she was practically bouncing against her room, itching to get out.
"You can't just lock her up in the hotel like a cage," His friend ran a hand through his orange and blonde singed hair. "She's not a pet."
Fang hated when Iggy was right. But it was safe in the hotel. Hell's citizens couldn't hurt her there – and they would definitely try if they discovered a lifey in their mist. They might kill her, out of jealousy if not just for kicks.
If she died in hell, could she still go to heaven? What would Fang do if she did?
"What would you suggest?" Fang snarled at his best friend, who was walking over the rock and dirt covered road without trouble. Iggy probably knew his way better through hell than Fang himself, blind or not.
Iggy grinned, looking pleased. "I'm glad you asked! Now, picture it: A night on the town. A night of drinking, gambling, and some good old fashioned unadulterated fun. Her in some snazzy little dress, a handsome fellow on her arm…oh, and you can come too."
Fang glared. "You're hilarious. Really. Keep going."
"I'm just trying to service her the crazy night in Vegas she deserves. You know…the one you viciously ripped from her hands." When Fang ignored this, his friend sighed, "She might actually like you if you tried to get to know her; maybe spend some time with her."
"Yeah? And how would you know? You've never even met her; Max doesn't even know you exist."
"I know chicks, man. Which is why I know for a damn fact that she's bored out of her fucking mind in that hotel room you locked her up in. All lonely. Probably begging for some company…a friend, of sorts."
Fang spun, glaring at the prophet and trying not to scream. "Iggy. I can't just drop every-fucking- thing for Max."
Iggy blinked. "What? Not you! I meant me. Gosh. Full of yourself, aren't you?"
Fang snorted. "You wanna go be buddy-buddy with her? Sure. Go for it. I doubt she'll like you anymore than me."
"So…is this you saying I can have the day off?"
Pinching the crook of his nose, Fang sighed. "…fine. See how she's doing. Go make friends." His gleeful friend had already turned to go, but Fang snatched his shoulder, bringing him back. "But do not tell her about all this."
All this, of course meant, That I'm the devil. That she's in hell. That everyone here but her is dead. That her dad sold her.
"Sure, man."
_X_
For days now she'd wished she would dream of home, but every morning when her eyes opened she remembered only blackness. Except last night, still prickling against her subconscious in vivid flashes, was a dream. It was random, but whatever. She'd take it.
Her mother smiling at her in the kitchen, making breakfast, and her forever distant father bowing his head to his coffee across the room. Jeb shooed her off to her grandmother's house, insisting she walk and not take the bus. And then, Max was in the woods. Burning leaves smoked about, and twigs snapped under her naked feet, and she wasn't sure what was going on except that a stranger was smiling at her, wicked and charming and familiar, coaxing her into taking his hand and following him into the city.
"Oh," Max groaned in shame, tightening herself into a ball as the shower water sleeked over her. He's everywhere. Even in my head. It had been a few days since she'd showered, and though she knew she was getting rank, she'd put it off. Like, what if he had hidden cameras in there?
But the sliminess coating over her overwhelmed her will, and now she was trying to scrub the feeling away.
It didn't help.
Her hair curtained over her shoulders and bent head, curling and streaming in the way she liked, like it never did when it was dry. It did nothing to improve her mood, though.
It was just a stupid dream. But she hated that he was ghosting over her subconscious already. It was such an intimate and private thing, it felt wrong that he had touched it, whether he meant for it to happen to or not.
At least I don't smell now, Max shrugged, trying to cheer herself up as she shut off the faucet. She still felt slimy, and her stomach was churning, but maybe Fang had sent up breakfast.
Cocooning herself in a white towel, Max stepped out of the bathroom, and, remembering her dream, managed a smile when she smelt toast.
She stopped short when she saw someone was already eating it. She surprised herself when, seeing he had strawberry blonde hair and not black, she didn't relax. "Who are you?"
The boy turned, his cheek puffed out from chewing and crumbs dusting his mouth. Although he was facing her, his eyes were staring at a spot just behind her head and not meeting hers; she didn't think it was to protect her modesty. Other than that he was fairly ordinary, willowy and tall with scruffy cropped short hair.
He swallowed, dropping the toast. "Uh, hi. I'm Iggy." He held out his hand to her, his direction slightly off. Max stared. "I – uh – I'm a friend of Fang's."
"Oh." Her mouth soured.
"No! No, I'm not like Fang – not that there's anything wrong with Fang. He's a good guy – "
"He's an asshole who's taken away my life, freedom, and my safety. But yeah. Great guy."
"I brought breakfast," He said after a pause.
His cheery awkwardness was setting Max off her game – it was hard to be angry, he was like Gazzy in some ways, she could already see. But any friend of Fang's was an enemy of hers. And who the fuck does Fang think he is? Sending this Gazzy-clone to do his dirty work?
Max plucked the half eaten toast off the ground between two fingers. "Helped yourself, I see."
"Sorry, I was hungry and…I am not making a good first impression here, am I?"
"No. But why would you want a good one?"
"Fang told me about you – "Iggy sat on the bed, speaking quickly before Max could cut him off. "And I figured you might be lonely."
"Maybe I wouldn't be lonely if my douchebag kidnapper would let me go – or let me off this floor. Or visit or something! He can't just leave me here to rot."
"Look," Iggy looked in her direction, not looking unsympathetic. "I'm sorry about all this, I really am. It's shit. I'd be pissed if I were you too. But it can't be helped; what's done is done."
Max's face was red in anger; she opened her mouth to scream at him to get the fuck out of her room. But he cut her off quickly. "And for the record, he does want to visit. He's just busy, is all."
"Could've fooled me," Max muttered.
"Anyway…breakfast?"
"Breakfast."
"You gonna eat? Fang'll kill me if I let you starve,"
"Let's make a deal…" She trailed off, waiting.
"Iggy."
Weirdo. "Let's make a deal, Iggy. I'll only eat if you answer my questions."
Iggy paused, remembering Fang's warnings. Then, "Deal. But they have to be yes or no questions only."
"No – "
"And you can only ask twenty questions."
"No - !"
"Fine. No questions then."
"I'll take it."
After dashing to the closet with surprising eagerness, Max returned, dressed and hungry. She swallowed, tentatively approaching the bed where Iggy was sitting.
Remember what happened last time you met a stranger?
Shut up.
Max grabbed some toast, still standing. They ate mostly in silence, but when Iggy finished, Max pounced. "What city are we in?"
"Yes or no only, remember?"
She huffed. "Are we in Vegas?"
"No."
"Are we in America?"
Iggy paused, as if he didn't know how to answer. "No."
"Are we in the UK?"
"No."
"Middle East?"
"No. You're wasting your questions."
"Oh. Right. Is Fang really a hotel heiress?"
Iggy choked, before bursting out laughing. "Is that what he told you?"
Max nodded, stunned. "So it's not true?"
"Of course not!"
"Is his name really Fang?" She asked faintly; her stomach was rolling again.
"No – okay. I get it; you want answers. But are these really all going to be about Fang? 'Cause not that he isn't a very fascinating guy, but I'm here too."
But I'm not interested in you. "Um, okay. Is your favorite color...purple or something?"
"Blue, actually."
"You broke the rules. But okay. Are…are you blind? Oh, my God. I'm sorry. That was rude."
Iggy grinned loosely, looking stoned. "Ah, don't worry about it. And yeah. E-may O-nay Ee-say. Comprende?"
"Si." Max laughed, and found herself wondering if she had people like Iggy around, maybe she wouldn't be miserable here. And then she felt the feeling in the back of her throat.
She didn't remember running to the bathroom, but she was there the next second, bent over the toilet and puking her guts and breakfast out.
"Oh, sweetie." She felt Iggy behind her, sweeping back her hair. He looked worried. "You're not pregnant are you?"
Max puked again.
"Was that a no?"
It kept coming, terrible lurching and heaving. Spit and vomit and… "Iggy," Max whined, "There's blood." So much blood.
Iggy froze. "Shit." Shit indeed. "What's wrong with you? Are you allergic to muffins or something? Oh shit. What do I do? I'm not prepared for this – I never went to med. school!"
Max was trying not to lick her lips, she didn't want to taste it again. Her fingers were white, gripping the edge of the seat. She didn't want to, of course, but here Iggy was clueless. What else should she have done? "Get Fang,"
He straightened, glad for some direction. "Right. Okay. Uh, are you gonna puke again?"
Max shook her head no, and Iggy tried picking her up. He only half managed it, with her half on his back and hobbling along him to the bed. "Right." He said at last. "Just…lay there okay? Try and sleep. I'll get him."
Max nodded, falling to her back so she could see the ceiling of her four-poster. It was black, without anything there. But it provided some comfort; it wasn't difficult to concentrate, and it let her head stop spinning. She decided she liked it.
"What happened?" Max saw, yes, they were here already. Iggy was hanging back a few feet; what with Fang was standing right over her, his eyes dark as always but with so much rawness in them.
"Hi." Her head tilted, and she squinted. What color were they? I thought they were just black but…
"I don't know! We were just talking and then she started puking blood and shit." Someone was saying behind him. Max couldn't remember his name.
There were three Fang's over her, rotating like the hands of a clock, all with that same furious expression. "Fuck. She lost a lot of blood, Ig. Just look at her." The first Fang was saying, while the third shoved her feet under the covers of the bed.
The second had his hand over her forehead, brushing away hairs from her sweaty forehead. She decided she liked the second Fang best.
_X_
It's been just over a month since my last update. And wow that was a shit ending to a chapter. I don't really like this chapter in some parts, it's sloppy, but I refuse to rewrite it again.
I struggled a lot with Fang in this chapter – mainly because I wanted to make him more human. Which is basically selfish in nature, vulnerable but doesn't show it, and generally clueless as to what the fuck is going on. Of course, he couldn't be too vulnerable. He's the devil. You can see I struggled. And now I'm like, "Crap. What if he's not vulnerable enough now? Ugh." So tell me what you think. I'll try for some actual Max and Fang interaction next chapter, get that chemistry rolling.
To sum it up, Fang he feels like he needs her there. She's a practically a bodily function; that air that he's been burning to breathe in for centuries. Like sure, he could live without her – but he doesn't want to.
As far as Iggy goes, he kind of disobeyed Fang because – Fuck it, he's Iggy. For those of you who don't know Pig Latin, Iggy says. "Me no see." I'm sorry, I was planning on having a more Max and Iggy bond moment but then this crappy chapter happened. And Max was kind hallucinating at the end, seeing triple because of blood loss, in case you couldn't tell.
l'm so I'm so fucking tired I didn't preview this, so If there are any mistakes I'm sorry! REVIEW PLEASE.
Here are the layers of Hell:
1. Limbo
2. The Lustful
3. The Gluttonous
4. The Hoarders and Spendthrifts
5. The Wrathful
6. The Heretics
7. The Violent
8. The Fraud
9. The Traitors