Chapter II; Part III: The Weight of Truth
jesus three parts for one chapter… this one will be shorter dw
but hope you enjoy! things are gonna get pretty lore breaking soon…
ps: it isn't as short as i thought it would be. oops this is actually like the longest one… this one is basically the climax into chapter 3 so expect a lot of drama in the mid - end part.
and also IDK why but I think that the chapter name is too long bc it wont let me post all of it so the chapter label for this will look a bit weird the one in here is the correct one. (with only The but still it bugs me that I cant add all of it LOL)
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The quiet night embraced them as they made their way down the side of the gravel road, their feet crunching through the grass and nature beneath them. It was dark, silent, unsettling. The chill in the air seemed to warp around them, and even the wind carried an eerie contour.
Damien yawned, glancing up at the moon. "So," He drawled, "Now we're walking all the way to Pip's house—which is like miles away?" A touch of irritation creeped into his voice.
Gregory raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Well, unless you plan to conjure up a functional bus, it's our only option," He replied, eyes flicking to the treeline as he kept an alert watch.
Christophe looked around as well, adjusting his grip on his shovel. "Besides, Damien, I zink you could use ze exercise." He teased, glancing behind to check the children who still clung to Damien. "You've been in zat 'ouse een South Park for too long, oui?"
Damien rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. But if this turns into some long ass heroic trek, I'm fucking ditching you all." He then looks down, "Except you guys."
"Fine by me- you only cause us trouble." Christophe growled back. He kinda gave up on the mission by now.
The two children smile before Elisa's grip on Damien's hand strengthened. "Sir…" Elisa began, grabbing Damien's attention. "Will they come back?" She looked at him, and he could see it in her eyes, he could see a part of himself he didn't want to think about.
Damien's face darkens, fists clenching in irritation. "If he sends more of them, they'll only be wasting his time." He grits his teeth, the glint in his eyes sharper now. "I'll send every last one of them crawling back to the pits they came from."
The girl faintly smiles, as if it hurts her. Before she could comment Christophe snorted, rolling his eyes. "Zen I suppose zis walk will be worth ze trouble eef I don't 'ave to fight. Because I don't want to fight anymore demons, especially on a bus."
Damien only scoffed, mumbling a quiet, "Yeah right."
As the night continued to drag on, every passing second grated on Christophe's nerves. The whole walk to Pip's house felt absurd. Damien by now walked beside him, who was whistling a quiet tune as if they weren't about to nearly get their throats ripped out by illusions. Christophe shot Damien a narrowed glare, feeling his frustration bubble up, but Damien just maintained that smug look, seeming to savour every ounce of Christophe's irritation.
"So," Christophe began, his voice low and sharp, "Are you going to explain why ze demons are coming back, but weaker? Why would zey come back weaker if ze stronger ones were still available? Or should I say, why would your fazzer bring weaker demons instead of stronger ones?"
Damien looked around, sighing before a sly smile creeped its way on his face. "Why are you so curious all of a sudden, Christophe? Thought you were never one for 'ze details', as you call them."
A scowl twisted onto Christophe's face as he tightened his grip on his shovel. He hadn't wanted to rip someone's head off this badly in a long time, but Damien seemed to know just how to get under his skin. Shoving the damn shovel up his ass and calling it a night felt like a suitable plan. But the children—they came first. He could deal with this smug bastard later.
"If ze details involve more creatures crawling out of 'ell to kill us, zen oui, I want to know. Or ees zat too much to ask from ze cocksucking asshole beetch zat you are?" Christophe muttered, wishing desperately for a cigarette. This entire situation was too much to endure without a moment's peace.
Meanwhile, Gregory moved more beside them, sword poised and his hand settled around the handle of his sheathed weapon, gaze sharp and vigilant. And Christophe could feel Gregory's tension, heightening his own. Even silence wouldn't keep them safe.
Damien, of course, acted like nothing drastic was occurring, as if he couldn't be bothered with the gravity of their situation. He looks towards Christophe, catching his slightly saddened gaze. Or what looked like it. "Don't get all sentimental now, Christophe." Damien's lazy nasalised drawl broke the quiet, his eyes flicking back to meet Christophe's. "I thought you preferred straightforward solutions. Hit, kill, move on. Isn't that your style?"
Christophe's jaw tightened as he shot Damien a glare. Damien knew damn well there was more to it than that, but he kept taunting, withholding just enough information to drive Christophe up a wall. It was as though Damien wanted to see how far Christophe would go—how many times he'd repeat himself before snapping.
But Christophe wouldn't. At least not yet.
"You zink zis ees funny, Damien?" He muttered, stepping closer, barely able to contain the heat of his temper. "You're hiding somezing. Zis," He gestured at the dark, empty road ahead. "All of zis—you planned it. Didn't you? You cocksucking beetch."
Damien's smile didn't falter, though something flickered in his gaze—something not quite regret, a look more focused on confusion, but close. Yet he kept that look, his expression another twisted joke that only he seemed to understand. Christophe wanted to crack it off his face, to force him to drop that damn mask, but Damien held steady, infuriatingly calm. The heat within Christophe simmered, waiting for any excuse to flare.
"Trust me, Christophe. I really don't know anymore than you. As of this situation, at least."
Christophe wanted to egg him on for answers, but the height of the situation made him think differently.
The ground glistened from light showers of rain from earlier, black puddles reflecting the scenery surrounding them, making the place feel even hollower. Farther ahead, where the road sloped towards South Park, a soft mist—a fog clouds the path, turning the area into an eerie blur, like a memory refusing to stay in focus.
"Gregory, where ze 'ell does zis Pip live? I don't zink zat ze children can walk at zis point." Christophe looked back towards Damien, who was now holding both Jackery and Elisa in his arms, they cuddled into his chest, nuzzling their heads in the crook of his neck. Their eyes shut as if the night's horrors had finally caught up with them.
Gregory glanced over, a hint of exasperation edging his voice. "Well I didn't plan to be going to his house so suddenly," He replied, eyes briefly meeting Christophe's before darting to Damien, whose gaze was looking disinterestedly at the ground. "But because of… recent events…" His eyes continue to linger on Damien who continues to look disinterestedly at the ground. "It really leaves… well, quite a lot unanswered." His voice lowered as if hesitant to bring up the unspoken tension between them all. "If I'd known we'd be taking this detour, I might've find us a faster route. But here we are, I'm now just hoping that these children will be alright in a new environment. In a new space despite everything that had just happened."
"Well you didn't find anything faster, so let's just get to Pip's house. I just know he can't wait to see me again." Damien grumbled before a smirk came across his face, "Oh, and Christophe," He continued, throwing a sidelong glance, "Did you ever think about how intimately this whole setup favours you?"
Christophe gave him a withering look, annoyance flaring in his dark eyes. What the fuck was this cocksucker on about? Especially during a time like this? "What ze fuck are you babbling about now, Damien?" He really wishes he could have the power to kill him.
"Now we're always together, you being close to danger and—of course—close to me. Isn't this what you call destiny?" Damien's smirk deepened, that maddening glint of mischief layered in his gaze, and Christophe felt goosebumps prickle on his skin, his gaze hardened, in complete confusion to Damien's words.
But Christophe scoffed, rolling his eyes as he adjusted his grip on his shovel. "Ze only arrangement I'm enjoying," He retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Ees ze one where you get ze 'ell out of my life. Zat ees what I'm looking forward too. Not 'aving to see your cocksucking f*ggot face. So stop zinking wiz your dick, and let's just get zis over with."
Damien stepped back a bit, biting his lip before leaning in, his voice dropping to a low murmur only for Christophe to hear. "Are you sure? Because you seem kinda invested in this whole 'side mission', instead of focusing on the actual mission."
Christophe bit back the sharp retort he wanted to throw back. Instead, he took a larger step forward, leaving Damien to his musings with a dismissive glare. "You're testing my patience, Damien. We'll deal with Pip, get ze children safe, and get zis over with. Keep the games to yourself."
Though it wasn't the answer Damien was expecting, he smiled, letting it place in for now.
And Christophe couldn't lie, he felt extremely uneasy around the Antichrist. But so far, the man didn't seem to threaten them any harm, and he seemed to be just like any normal human being (especially dealing with kids). So Christophe felt somewhat comfortable (which was a lie). But not to the point where he'd let his guard down.
But he was scared. What would happen to the mission? He had always finished every mission. Now matter but. He had always accepted it with confidence, but now? He didn't want to admit he was starting to regret it now.
He was really scared.
Gregory, walking quickly ahead, cleared his throat. "Could we maybe focus on getting there first before we start going at each other's throats?" His exasperated gaze flickered between them, his breath visible in the freezing air, he tightens his grip on his sword. "Because last I checked, this isn't about either of your egos."
Christophe rolled his eyes, "I don't 'ave a ego, Gregory. You British sheet."
"Oh, you very much do," He replied, a smug smile dousing his lips.
Christophe's grip on his shovel tightened, he gives Gregory a dark glare. "Eef we get ambushed out 'ere, I'll take zat smug smile of yours and bury it in ze snow. And both of you need to stop ganging up on me. I'm seriously going to shove zis shovel up your asses."
"I'd like to see you try, mon cher."
Christophe looked away, towards the oncoming trees that created a large mass of forest. The gravel dirt road was nearing its end, the borders of Denver slowly transforming into South Park.
"But zis Pip," Christophe watched the road as he kicked a pebble into the ditch nearby. "He 'ad better be worth zis walk."
Gregory looks behind towards Christophe and smiles, "Trust me, he will be."
And so, Christophe kind've trusted him.
They passed the city's edge, and something about it felt unsettling. Gradually, the border of Denver's familiar steel and harshness gave way to an untamed landscape. Grass sprouted in patches along the road, still green but surrendering to creeping frost. Ahead, snow blanketed the earth as they neared South Park, a white expanse swallowing the last traces of the dark ground.
A chill goes through the air. Gregory kept his eyes trained on the treeline. Everything here was darker, different—not just from a lack of light but from some sort of tension. And he couldn't tell if it was his own, or the town.
Reaching the edge of the gravel road and the start of forestry, twisted trees cast shadows over them, branches clawing at the sky. Fresh, pale snow blanketed the ground, swallowing any sign of warmth, like nature itself had tried to erase any mark they might leave behind.
"This way." Gregory resounded, his voice hitting across multiple trees before he took Christophe's hand in his, guiding him through the trees. Christophe wanted to yell at him, scream at him for dragging him wherever he pleased, but he didn't want to make a scene. Not right now, not in front of Damien, or Jackery and Elisa. Because it will only remind him of earlier.
Quickly, the forest grew denser, their breaths turned into visible clouds in the crisp air. Snow thickened, with each step, harder than the last. The biting cold seeped through their clothes, but they kept moving, following the faint glint of moonlight on fresh snow as their only guide.
The branches snagged, gripping onto their already torn clothes, while the broken pieces crunched beneath their boots, snapping. Christophe's gaze drifted over to Gregory, his focused glare on concentrating where they were going put Christophe on edge, Gregory didn't normally look too focused—serious. But something about this moment, it felt right and wrong all at the same time, but the brunette couldn't get his finger on it.
And Christophe looked behind, Damien was lost in his own world, sluggishly trudging behind—careful with the children in his arms.
He looks back towards Gregory, his throat feeling dry, his lips cracked and bruised and his voice feeling fearful that it would come out wrong.
"By ze way," He said, casually, as if what he was going to say was something ordinary. "When ze building was about to collapse. I did get hurt but-" Gregory's hold on his wrist tightened, but for only a moment, and Christophe knew Gregory was intently listening to his words. "But ze Antichrist- Damien 'e… 'ealed me, just like what 'e did to you and me back at ze bus. But…" The words were clutching in his throat, desperately trying to claw their way out, but he couldn't bite them out.
Gregory looks at him. "Take your time Christophe, I can sense this isn't easy for you to talk about, and I understand—being with this man brings me on edge-"
"'E kissed me."
Gregory whipped his head around, his body abruptly stopping the walk. And Christophe thanked whoever that Damien was far behind. Gregory's eyes narrowed, looking as if he might snap his blade in two. "He kissed YOU?! That bloody son of a-!" He stopped, glancing toward Damien as if the devil himself might overhear. "I swear, Christophe. I'll kill him myself if he so much as-"
"Relax." Christophe muttered, unsure as to why he had just disclosed that to Gregory despite all that is going on. "Eet eesn't a big deal-"
"A big deal? Seriously, Christophe. This man—the man you're supposed to kill, just kissed you, and all you can say is that 'eet eesn't a big deal'?"
Christophe hated when people mocked him for his accent, but he could only clench his hands into fists, his jaw tightening, "Because eet eesn't. You shouldn't care so much-"
"Then you shouldn't have told me. You know that I care about you."
Silence.
A loud silence envelops them, and Christophe was unsure of what to say- how to respond. He feels the bristled leaves scratch at his face, the small sticks attached to the trees block his view.
Damien kissing him hardly ranked as the worst thing they'd seen tonight. Yet, the look of indignation on Gregory's face worried Christophe. He knew he shouldn't have said it, but something overcame him, something that he normally didn't possess enveloped him.
And he wanted to talk about something that bothered him.
He never does that.
Snowflakes fell faster, colder with each one. It felt mocking. Christophe watched Gregory's silhouette cut through the haze, seeming to belong to the bitter cold that didn't touch him.
"'Ow far ees zis place, really?" Christophe mumbled, his voice gargling out after the prolonged silence of awkward tension from the previous conversation. His breath hit the cold air and turned to frost, but he'd be damned if Gregory wasn't up for his complaints. "You never said we'd be trekking zrough ze tundra just to see a dead man's 'ouse."
Gregory lets go of Christophe's hand. An indescribable expression covering his face, it bites Christophe's heart as much as the cold did. "Not much farther, I suppose," He replied, his voice barely rising over the silence. "We're almost there. Don't tell me, you're tired, Christophe?" He glances towards him, but only for a faint linger. Turning his gaze back towards the area ahead, through the cutting trees scratching at their tender skin.
"Hardly." The brunette shot back. "I'll outlast you, believe me. I just don't want ze children to freeze zeir asses off." Christophe worried, he wasn't sure if it was a fleeting emotion of something that would stick with him for a long, long, time. But he worried for the children, and he wasn't really sure why. Maybe… maybe because of before. A long time ago. Something he pleaded to the skies—despite hating them—to forget. And here that same feeling resurfaced, stronger, more permanent.
Gregory rolled his eyes. "Christophe, I understand. I want them to be safe just as much as you… but if you could stop complaining for just one moment-"
"Complain? No, no. I'm simply pointing out zat zis detour could 'ave been avoided if our fearless leader 'ad just told us what ze 'ell we were going to walk zrough, and so we could prepare for ze children a bit more." Christophe sneered.
"Would it have mattered?" Damien replied smoothly, interrupting the banter between the others, he shrugged as if their venturing was a mere inconvenience. "Besides, a little chill never killed anyone."
"Tell zat to ze cold bodies I'll be leaving behind if zis doesn't end soon." Though Christophe's words were lost to the wind, he noticed the amusement in Damien's gaze and that's when he realised Damien had finally caught up with them, he turned his focus back to the front.
Pip's house was really deep in the forest. And Christophe was dreading every moment having to spend with Damien. And maybe Gregory.
After what felt like hours, days, months, the trees thinned, revealing a clearing where the snow-covered remains of a house huddled against the night, nearly buried in the white drifts that appeared visible in the black night. The place looked abandoned, desolate. No feelings of a presence, no warmth—just a crumbling skeleton of stone and wood, frozen in the winter's grip.
And they finally made it to Pip's house.
"Zis ees eet? Zis ees where ze children will stay warm and protected?" Christophe asked, giving the place an unimpressed look.
"It's better if it's an isolated area, less predators will be wandering these forests."
"Eet doesn't look like anyone's been 'ere for years."
"Well then, I guess that makes it better. No one would suspect someone living here then, right?"
The house loomed ahead, the wood dark and mossy- though it was covered with the snow, you could still see hints of green. And one of the crystal frozen windows sparked with a small warm glow, Pip must've been inside, awake. And for a moment, the warmth almost doused Christophe in a reminiscence of a forgotten past.
"Well," Christophe scoffed, hands tightening around the handle of his shovel. "After you, Gregory. Since you're ze one who suggested zis place, go ahead and get cosy with Pip."
Gregory didn't respond as he approached the door with a disappointed, unimpressed sigh. He brushed the snow off of the handle, murmuring a low, almost reverent, "Welcome" Without another word, he knocked on the door, it reverberated and sent a hollow noise.
With haste the door opened and the house seemed to swallow him whole, darkness yawning back like an open maw except for the small dim light in the corner.
A figure pops out from the now opened door, and a light flickers on. Somehow in this place in the middle of nowhere it had electricity.
"Oh! What jolly good fun, what a pleasant surprise seeing you lot here!-" Pip basically exclaims with delight, quickly inviting them in before he stops. His eyes staring straight at Damien.
"What… what is he doing here!?" He slides his foot back, it creaks the floorboards from underneath before a strange glow covers his hand. And Christophe stares much longer than he thought. What the fuck?
But the light dies down once Gregory takes a step forward, "Unfortunately Philip, due to some circumstances. We might have made a hopefully temporary truce with the Antichrist himself. Apparently, some things might be happening between his father, and it just so happens to have dragged us into it—but perhaps, we are also involved in it, somehow. Though I highly doubt that-"
"Then what about the mission?"
Gregory's blank face flashes with acknowledgement and he places a hand under his chin, as if thinking about what he himself had just said. Then he looks up at Pip, finally realising what Pip said.
Damien cleared his throat. Interrupting Gregory. "Yea what about that- weren't you supposed to kill me, or did you give up already?"
"Shut ze fuck up Damien." Christophe pushes Damien to the side, nervous about the children overhearing their conversation, and the other only glared. "Zat eesn't important anymore. Ze sender will understand zat we are een a devastating circumstance."
Damien smiled, as if knowing more than he let on. "Yea, I'm sure the sender will understand."
Pip, shaking his head dismissively, snarled. "Whatever, it doesn't concern me as of now. But I won't allow the face- or presence of filth to walk around shamelessly in my humble abode. If you would like, please see yourself out, Damien."
Damien chuckled, walking in front of Gregory this time, and Pip's eyes glanced towards the children in his arms.
"What are you doing with these little ones?"
"Zere was a battle at our place, and zese kids need a place to stay. We will leave zem 'ere in your care until we find a proper place for zem." Christophe sheathes his shovel and gently takes the children from Damien's grasp, lifting Jackery and Elisa into his arms, his expression softens as he holds onto them.
"Well then, that explains why your clothes are barely hanging on." As he mentions it Christophe looks down at himself, realising that his shirt was by now non-existent, only remnants of his pants which covered his upper legs were there. Most of the fabric was burned off.
Gregory's blouse was strangled into shreds, the orange cloth stained red in an impurified colour with a mixture of black swirled in the mix. And by now, Damien had no shirt to begin with, only a part of his sleeve hanged on his arm. His pants have long been turned into shorts.
Pip's eyes continued to linger warily on Damien, watching him with the suspicion of a man letting a fox into his chicken coop. Though he didn't say a word, the wariness was clear—he seemed to expect Damien to pull some trick or mockery any moment. But Christophe's explanation softened his stance, if only slightly. Finally, Pip's gaze settled, and he offered a short nod.
"Very well," He said, voice stiff but resolute as he walked towards a modest lounge just off the entryway, he went to one of the red, luxurious looking seats nearby and sat down. "Come in, but remember this is a temporary arrangement." Christophe and Gregory both knew it was directed towards Damien, but the words still lingered in their heads.
They enter the home more fully with a mix of relief and tension, the warm air inside feeling calm, like a balm against the cold that had followed them from the edge of Denver.
Christophe walks towards the lounge and loosens up as he spots a fireplace warmly crackling in the hearth. The flames threw a comforting glow over the room, softening the dark wood walls and old furniture. Like the fire was welcoming them in a way Pip couldn't quite manage. Damien moved to the edge of the room, standing close to the wall, his gaze alternating between the flames and the tense faces around him. Pip's wary glances didn't go unnoticed, and Damien's faint smirk betrayed his amusement at the unease.
Christophe sighed and set the children down onto the largest sofa, their stirring bodies shivering against the new source of warmth. And he turns his head around, spotting a blanket. He throws it protectively around them, wrapping them in a familiar embrace of safety before sitting down next to them.
Gregory sits in the chair closest to the flame.
Pip looks around before abruptly getting up, "I'll get some refreshments."
And then, he leaves. Wrapping the group in another wave of silence which was quiet from the cackling of the embers of the fire.
After a few moments, Pip returned with a tray, carefully balancing a teapot, a few mismatched cups, a pitcher of milk, and a bowl of sugar. He set it on the low table in the centre of the room, the steam rising up between them.
"Some tea, to settle your nerves, I hope." Pip murmured, pouring each of them a cup with steady hands, though his eyes strayed back to Damien, who now seemed more interested in his surroundings than the tea. "It's rare I get guests, let alone under circumstances like these."
The warm, inviting scent drives Jackery and Elisa to rise up, covering themselves properly in the blanket before cuddling into Christophe's side. The other visibly tensed up, unsure how to react. He glances at Gregory who only gave a small smile back to him.
And in that moment, he lets them cuddle into his warmth, and he feels something. Something that was fabricated into a lie. But this time, it felt real.
Carefully, Christophe took his cup with a slight nod. "Merci, Pip. Believe me, we'd 'ave left ze children somewhere safer eef we could, but apparently zis ees ze best option we 'ave right now." He sipped slowly, his gaze drifting to the fire, and his voice was quieter now, almost lost in the crackle of the flames.
"Oh well, I assure you, my home is plenty safe."
Then the silence came back, between people who had no comfort to share, they were all exhausted by the journey and the uncertain safety of this brief respite. Gregory leaned against the arm of the chair, his hand idly gripping the hilt of his sword, his expression distant as he stared into the fire's depths, as if trying to find answers in the shifting embers. He takes a deep breath before engaging in the contentments of the warm tea in his hands.
Damien leaned back against the wall, his gaze moving slowly between the fire and the faces of his reluctant allies, and then he looked at Christophe with an unreadable look on both of their faces. The tea in his own hands felt cold despite the steam rising. And he wished, yearned, longed for Christophe to understand. And indeed, there was a way he could make him understand. But not right now, not at a time that held them so close together, to where they felt connected. He hesitated as he brought the tea to his lips, he then looked towards Pip.
"This isn't poisonous for me, right?"
But there was no answer to his question, Pip acknowledged his words but ignored them, engulfing himself in his own drink. Pip watched him warily between sips of tea, his shoulders tense and his fingers twitch near his pocket, as if ready to retrieve something if Damien decided to turn their truce into a twisted war.
And then, there was silence again.
Until.
Elisa, who was right against Christophe's side looked up at him, he was still in the midst of sipping his tea but she tugged at the hem of his ripped shirt, he made a grunt in response to tell her she could talk. She manoeuvres her small, frail body towards him, quietly mumbling in his ear. "Are you and that dark haired boy dating?"
He spits the tea out, splashing it a bit on the table and carpet and everyone in that room stops what they were doing to stare at him. He chokes a bit, the remnants of tea sticky against his throat. He places the cup down on the low table in front and stares at her for a moment, to see if she was joking.
But then it hit him, both Jackery and Elisa were there when… that happened. And he wanted to stab Damien in the head with his shovel at that moment for his stupidity. But he didn't, because they were in a temporary alliance apparently. Bullshit. But also because he didn't want the children to see.
But it also didn't matter since Damien was like ten million guard dogs against him. And he hates guard dogs.
And then he also realised that they don't even know their names.
"Fuck no-" He cuts himself off, realising how harsh he sounded, he covers his mouth, trying his best to prevent the ever brightening blush appearing on his face. What an embarrassing thing to talk about, to a seven year old especially. He clears his throat, trying his best to get rid of the liquid. "Zat. Zat ees impossible. No way- don't ever bring zat up again."
The girl looks sullen, dragging her gaze down in denial. "Oh, I'm sorry… it's just that he was-"
"Do you want some tea?" He quickly grabs one of the mismatched teacups, hastily pouring in the transparent-like flavoured water from the teapot before holding the full cup in front of her small hands.
She looks up at him, quickly catching on as she gently grasps the cup, bringing it to her lips with a smile before handing it to Jackery who drank it as quickly as he got it. She was bright. And Christophe quickly understood that, thankful.
"Oh, thank you, sir."
"Christophe."
She looks up at him confused.
"Call me Christophe."
She pauses for a moment before smiling. "Thank you, Christophe."
And his chest tightens with an unforgiving feeling he knew he didn't deserve.
"Christophe." He looks up to stare at the blue eyes of Gregory's. "Are you alright? Being caught off guard like that isn't like you."
Christophe stays silent for a moment, flusteredly mumbling—averting his gaze from the other. "Eet's fine- I'm fine. Don't worry about eet, Gregory. Just, some little man to girl talk. Zat's all."
And then there was another long, annoying silence that wrapped the room in an awkward environment.
Gregory cleared his throat, breaking the silence as he set the cup on the tray. "Well…" He began, noticing the way to quiet atmosphere. "Once we find a more permanent arrangement for the children." His voice was low but firm, Elisa and Jackery listened contentedly, wondering what was going to happen to them. "We'll need to focus on protecting the other survivors. If she has finally made it there, I doubt she would be able to handle the pressure." He hesitated, his gaze darkening. "We're going to need more than just a safe house I feel."
Pip set down his cup as well, a flicker of concern passing over his face as he met Gregory's eyes. "You're right. But making them run won't get us anywhere this time. We can't keep them all in the same place, not when the demons—or in this case, Satan could easily get them. If he wanted to. We can't hope for the best." His gaze shifted, landing on each other then lingering on Damien for a beat longer. "If we're to survive this, we'll need a solid plan… and a few more people we can trust."
Christophe's jaw clenched as he listened, the familiar look of hard resolve leaked into his features. "Oui… we will 'ave to work togezer for now. Every one of us," He said pointedly, giving into himself. He didn't want to do this but, by now, it looked like he was left with no choice. His gaze narrowed as it rested on Damien. But Damien only shrugged, "But for more people to 'elp us? Zat seems impossible."
The silence returned, thicker now, as if every word spoken had added weight to the air around them. The fire crackled, its light playing across their faces as they all drifted into their own thoughts. They each take sips of tea in tense, pensive silence, feeling everything close around them, diminishing their options.
Pip, uneasy, looks around the room, his eyes lingering on the vulnerable children huddled together by Christophe's side. "For the children… what do you say I train them?" He suggested, his voice thoughtful but firm. "There could be a time where I cannot protect them and they would just be vulnerable to the world again. In worst case scenario, at least they'll have some way to defend themselves."
Gregory considered it for a moment, crossing his arms with a slight sense of fatigue, though it was hard to tell. "It's sensible, Pip," He replied, his tone measured, eyes steady on the children. "Better that they're prepared, even in some small way. We can't always be sure when they might attack next."
Pip nodded, his resolve strengthening at Gregory's approval. "Then, it's settled. Early tomorrow morning, I'll begin training them. It'll be light, but enough for them to at least-"
The small blonde was interrupted by a strained knock that resounded against the wooden door, it shook the area of its tension, and made the children jolt up as everyone then stared quietly towards the door. It was a sharp, heavy sound, like metal against a hammer. They waited to see if the knock persisted.
A second knock, harder this time, more desperate, filtered the room, and then silence. It felt electrifying, the firelight casting shadows that flickered ominously over their faces. Pip's eyes darted towards the entrance, his body tensing as he looked between Christophe, who had risen to his feet just like the others (except the children), but his gaze fixed on the door with sudden, uncharacteristic focus.
There was no point pretending to be away, the bright light radiating in the area made it obvious.
Pip cautiously moved towards the door, he tried to look out the window, but it only left blurred figures standing in the doorway, and it scared him. It made him wonder if they were even human.
His hand hovers at his sides, fingers twitching near a concealed blade strapped to his hip. "Who on earth…" He muttered, glancing back toward them, his eyes wide with a mixture of suspicion and fear.
Christophe shifted, his grip tightening around the handle of his shovel as Gregory readjusted his stance, his hand steadying on his sword. Whatever was on the other side of the door was either a new threat or another passerby lost. Trying to resort to the nearest shelter.
"See, Gregory… zis place eesn't safe. We shouldn't leave ze children 'ere-"
"Quiet, Christophe!" Pip whispered in a high pitch. His eyes darted between the brunette and the door.
Christophe ignored the other, turning to look at Gregory who had an unreadable look casted on his face. "Be ready," Is all Christophe said before bringing his gaze back towards the door.
The eerie tension that arises in the room quickly heightened as Pip latched his hand onto the handle of the door. Slowly, he turns it, it creaks with lethargy before he clicks the rusted door open, it groans, filling the prolonged silence.
He looks up, his eyes widening with a sense of worry, relief? Christophe couldn't exactly tell but his face hardens as he watches the figures emerge into the warm light radiating from the fireplace.
"Dude look…" One of them began, his voice tinged with an edge of apprehension. "I was thinking about what you said earlier today, and there's something really important we have to tell you-" The voice stops, words halting as they catch in the man's throat with recognition of the other group settling behind Pip, and the man's blue eyes linger on Christophe for a while. It triggered a sharp, prickling sensation down Christophe's spine and it made him uneasy. But there was something residing in him, something telling him that he knew this man, that he recognized this face. Yet it was a connection he couldn't quite place.
"Who's this?" Another voice cut in, sharp and suspicious. Red hair jittered in sparse clumped directions. He eyed each of them carefully, his expression darkening and his eyes narrowing briefly with a piercing gaze which was clouded with a quiet, tightly-wound energy. "And what the hell are they wearing? Did you invite homeless people over again because of your good-natured heart?"
Pip looked at them with a carefully measured smile. "Oh no, of course not…" He warily looks over at the others who visibly tense. Quickly formulating a plan in his head. "Fortunately, I was able to save them from another one of those North Park gangs. If you remember, the last time I helped homeless people they ended up being…" His voice trails off, his eyes showing his consideration for the words before he drops it, shaking his head. "Enough about that." He motions behind himself, gesturing to the three behind. "I'm sure you remember these lads," Pip replied smoothly, though his careful smile betrayed a hint of tension. "Christophe, Gregory, and Damien." There was a long silence afterwards. The group outside carefully articulating words in quietude, their faces stretching in acknowledgement. Like their names were an answer they had sought for so long. Pip cleared his throat, attempting to steer the conversation. "But what was it that you wanted to ask?"
Stan looked at them quickly, trying to register their faces in the recollection of his memories from ages ago as fast as he could. When he spoke, his tone was more guarded. "It's not the best to talk about this in front of other… people." When the words come out of his mouth, his eyes drag towards the orange familiar blouse that belonged to Gregory.
Pip chuckled softly, wanting to try to lighten the tense air that reeked of stagnation. He gulped dryly, sensing that this was not going to end well. "Oh, I see… alright then."
Stan looks at Gregory with a scowl. His whole attitude changed just as fast as the words that left his mouth. "Why the hell is he here?" He continued, almost feeling like he was muttering to himself. His tone laced with resentment as he clicked his tongue, scowl deepening, his gaze narrowing. "How do you know Gregory?"
He turned more fully to Stan, his tone almost nostalgic. "Gregory and I go back a long way, I met him at Yardale back in Britain, actually. But he transferred before fourth grade. It wasn't easy getting through that place without him until… some things happened and so I moved here in hopes of meeting him again, but he was gone, told by an awfully kind woman." Pip added with a thin smile. "But recently, we've gotten reconnected. I'm rather pleased for that."
Stan's expression didn't soften, his focus now on Pip. "Alright… but what are they doing here?"
Pip took a steady breath, his voice firm, as though daring them to question him. "They're here to… protect these children," He said, gesturing subtly to the youngsters who'd settled around the warm glow of the room. Their heads poked from behind the couch. "And that's all that matters for now. So don't let it concern you."
Stan, Kyle, and the other two from behind them exchanged glances before Cartman barged through the boys at the front, right on the edge of the doorstep. "Oh please, protect them? Really? What are these guys, the Foreign Superheroes?" He gives a mocking snort, eyeing Christophe's dishevelled look. "Protecting them from what? Like, poverty or some lame shit that everyone goes through?"
And that's when Christophe realised Cartman did not change, not one bit.
"Cartman, shut your fat ass up! This is serious. We came here for a reason. They came here for a reason. Except it looks like our reason is solved now so all we have to do now is-"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Seriously, these guys looked like they crawled through literal fucking hell-" His gaze directs to Damien. "Like look at this guy. He looks like he fell out of Hot Topic." He snorts. "Yeah, kids, really safe with these wannabe's hanging around."
Christophe's face contorts into a scowl, his tone dripping coldly with ill malice. "Say zat again, and I'll be 'appy to demonstrate for you, Cartman."
Cartman only laughed, unfazed. "Ohhh, tough guy. Yeah, just wait 'til you get yourself involved with me. I don't care about random French guys skulking around with British Ken dolls, and Hot Topic garbage."
At least the fat lard knew he was French now.
Stan tried to whisper to maintain some sort of control over the group but in the end it sounded like a shout, "Cartman, will you just focus for a second?! We can't start a fight right now!"
Before Cartman could fight a retort, Kenny slaps a hand over his mouth and brings them all in a group huddle. And then their yelling turned into hushed whispers.
Stan turns back around, clearing his throat. "What he meant to say was—protecting them from what, exactly?"
Before Gregory could explain Christophe cuts in. "Look, we don't owe you any explanations. Just leave eet at zat."
"Oh yeah? You're saying we don't have a right to know why you're here?"
Christophe, stunned, looks at Stan, his gaze hardening. "What ze fu-"
Damien, sensing Christophe's violent tendencies quickly walks to him and places a hand in front of his face. Shoving him behind before he created another war. The other curses at him but quickly gets shut up by Gregory gently squeezing his shoulder. "Believe me, this has nothing to do with you, and we prefer to keep it that way." His face turns into a scowl. He walked closer to Stan, towering over the other in a way to intimidate him although Stan was at least 2 inches taller. The tension turned thicker with each passing second.
Though Stan wanted to reply, he only clenched his fists in response. Not wanting to start a fight, yet.
"Alright, alright." Pip interjected. Finally breaking the tense atmosphere, his tone attempted to defuse the situation. "Let's all calm down? We're here to talk, right? Not to tear each other apart."
Stan's gaze shifted, and his eyes settled back on Christophe, scrutinising him with an intensity that wasn't there before. He seemed to weigh his options, his fingers twitching slightly as if he were struggling to suppress whatever frustration had begun bubbling up. After a moment, his expression softened just enough to look civil, but there was a lingering hardness in his gaze.
Stan cleared his throat, nodding slowly, as though each movement was calculated. "Fine. We're not here to pick a fight. Right, Cartman?" He shot a look over his shoulder, where Cartman stood, rolling his eyes but saying nothing further—but his lips were twitching with a restrained, irritated smirk.
Stan looked back to Pip and the others. "Mind if we come in?" His tone was calm, even polite, but beneath it was a hint of unease, and it showed casually, as if anyone would be feeling that way. And Christophe wouldn't lie, he would feel uneasy if the guys he saw seven years ago suddenly appeared in his life again. Looking like they were being hunted down. Which was not exactly a lie.
Pip shook his head, put in an uncomfortably awkward situation between his friends. In all honesty, he had no idea what the weird tension was between them. Was it the lingering after effects from years ago, or something different?
No, it was different, everyone was past what happened seven years ago.
But he couldn't understand why they all tensed up when he mentioned Christophe's name back at school. And how much more they visibly tensed when meeting the man himself in person. Whatever it was, Pip was not eager to find out.
He gestured for them to come inside and they all stomp in, making a mess out of the doorway.
As everyone settled around the lounge area, Christophe went to the same place by the children who quickly snuggled up to him as soon as he settled back in his previous seat. He takes a nervous gulp as Stan sits across from him, against the brick of the fireplace that continuously emitted crackling embers of fire. And he locks eyes with him, and he can see it. The eyes of pure hatred, the eyes of someone who is thinking that they are losing everything.
The eyes of his mother.
And his heart skips a beat, his blood running cold. Feeling the beating organ pulse in his throat, as if it ruptured in his chest.
And he looked away. Still feeling the contagiousness of the poison that lingered in Stan's eyes.
Go away…
Just go away…
He turns his attention towards the others, in hopes of forgetting that uncomfortable presence. His eyes drag towards Cartman who was sitting where Pip was before, nearly tipping the whole chair over as he ruthlessly sat down. Kyle sat beside him, on the ground with Kenny who only had his head hung down. His blonde hair flutters and his blonder lashes disguising his eyes.
Christophe wouldn't have recognised him unless it were for the orange hoodie he was wearing.
The light that flickered across the walls casted long ever-elongating shadows in their sights. It covered the pitch black-like silence. And they knew they had to say something before suspicion rises.
The boys exchanged glances, silently communicating something that only they understood themselves. Stan turned his piercing gaze back to Christophe. And Christophe knew it despite not staring back. Not endorsing his existence.
"So," Stan said, stretching out the word. "How have things been?" His voice was casual, but his posture gave him away—a subtle tension in his shoulder, his hands flexing slightly against his knees. "What have you been up to these days?"
Christophe met his gaze evenly, and he knew they were planning something. But he just couldn't tell what. "You know… work, travel. Keeping to myself, mostly. Very uneventful. Eet would bore you out of your skull, so eet's best to not talk about. You're welcome." He shrugged, leaning back with an air of nonchalance, clearly sidestepping the question.
Kyle gives him a sceptical look, and Christophe knew he fucked up. Somehow. "Pip mentioned you were all in college just like us. How's that been?"
Christophe glanced at Pip, his brow arching ever so slightly but he went along with it. Thankful for Pip, for once. "Oui, college… eet's fine," He replied smoothly although he had no idea what college was even like. "Lots of… studying. Nozing too interesting, really."
His answer was sullen, vague, gaping with holes and it didn't seem to satisfy any of them. Stan leans forward, pressing. "So you're back here… just for the kids? No other reasons despite being so 'busy'?" He lets the words sink into Christophe. "If you were so busy, why bother anyway? I'm sure you have a lot of 'work' to do."
Christophe understood something he wished he didn't. They were here for him. And that was obvious by now.
"Oui, just ze children. For my ozzer work. I 'ad completed it quickly." His tone was cool as his gaze met Stan's with unflinching resolve. He let a brief pause fill the room, as though to reinforce the point. "Pip 'ere 'as graciously agreed to take zem een so we were just dropping by quickly. We were about to leave-"
"Dropping children to another person's place, at night? I thought you were getting ganged up by North Park kids." Kyle commented.
Sheet!
Gregory cleared his throat, "Yes, unfortunately on the way here we encountered those individuals. Thankfully Damien was with us when it happened." He shoots Damien a long wary gaze, and Damien tenses up before nodding, agreeing and leaning off of the wall behind him.
"Uh, yea. I am the Antichrist after all—from the 7th layer of Hell to be exact—but yea, just had to teach those douches a lesson."
Gregory's expression turns back to being impassive as he silently observes the situation. And he knew it was steering to the area he didn't like.
"So then, how did you all get together then? Somehow, coincidentally the three of you just happened to show up together, then?" The red-head continued.
Before Damien could say anything Gregory spoke up first, his voice steady, "We're here to ensure the safety of the children and keep them out of harm's way." He narrows his eyes. "That's all you need to know for now."
The four boys could only exchange glances, taking in Gregory's words and Damien's challenging stature that was in complete defence. Christophe knew their suspicion hadn't faded, but for the moment, they seemed willing to let their questions finally simmer.
Pip looked from face to face, a flicker of worry in his gaze as he cleared his throat. "Well then… I suppose we're all here for a good cause then." He offered a tentative smile, though he knew it was futile. "I'm sure we can manage to get along under one roof, don't you think?"
But there was no answer, until Stan turned towards Christophe with a calculated look, and that's when the scruffed brunette knew something was going to happen. Something was going to happen and he didn't know what.
"Hey, Christophe." He started, his voice overly casual, overly kind. "Mind if we… go outside for a moment? There's something really important I need to tell you."
Christophe knew it was a trap, he knew he shouldn't do it—that Stan and the other three had something against him, but in that moment, pressure and adrenaline spoke for him. "Sure, but make eet quick. We 'ave to go soon." He gives a sharp look as the others remain silent, their gazes fixed on him as Stan motioned him toward the back of the structure. Christophe hesitated as he walked, exchanging a brief glance with Gregory, who raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, looking down as if understanding. Then he looked at the children, who were overly tense, fearful, frightened. Emotions he grew so fond of. And then, he turned to Damien. He only looked away, staring at the tea that was on the table which had gone long cold, steam dissipating and non-existent in the icy cups of liquid. And then, he dragged his feet, walking out of the door frame and into the outside world, his footsteps soft against the creaking floorboards until his heavy boots hit the compacted snow again.
Stan closes the door behind him, the soft sound of the metal lock clicking was swallowed up by the harsh winter air, and just then, he whirls around, grabbing Christophe by the collar and shoving him against a nearby tree. The other didn't have any time to register it. His back slams against the rough bark. The brunette gritted his teeth as his shirt tore even more against the tree, the cold seeping through to his exposed skin, sharp and damaging the already torn shirt, revealing his flesh to the biting cold and the clawing bark, he winced. His gaze quickly fixes itself on Stan's furious expression.
Instinctively, he grips onto the sides of Stan's wrists, holding them in a vice as his teeth clench with a scowl as a low grunting sound rumbles from his throat from a fleeting struggle. "What ze 'ell are you doing, you cocksucking asshole?" He spat, his tone laced with disbelief. Stan's face twists with anger, his knuckles bone white as he clutches Christophe's collar tighter, his breath coming out in quick, sharp bursts from fury.
The air was cold and taut, a flickering lamp hung under the roof casted faint shadows and a sparkling madness. Stan's face hardened, his eyes blazed, unrelenting, refusing to back down as his hands clenched even tighter, almost ripping the rest of Christophe's shirt off. "I know what you're trying to do," He hissed, voice low and venomous. His jaw straightens and rage flashes through his eyes, he steps closer, his face inches to Christophe's, his voice growling lower, into almost a whisper from desperation, seething with savagery. "And I'm not about to let you endanger my town."
Christophe's brow furrowed, genuine confusion flashing across his face, but he didn't loosen his hold on Stan's wrists. He couldn't let his guard down, and he couldn't let Stan take control of him, not like how Damien did. But Damien didn't count, because he was the Antichrist after all. "Endanger your town?" He scoffed, feeling as though this was all a big joke, this situation, this mission, this life. "What ze fuck are you talking about? How een ze world can I endanger your town? I literally 'elped save eet last time from ze demons and Satan 'imself."
Stan only sneered, pushing closer and pulling Christophe off of the tree for a brief moment only to slam him back onto it, trying to show—prove his dominance over the other, although Christophe knew it was inefficacious, he could see how Stan's anger did not waver for one moment, like he was brainwashed with fury. "Don't play dumb." He muttered through gritted teeth, his gaze piercing. "You're hiding it—pretending that you're oblivious- but I can see right through it. So quit acting like you're here just to protect some children when there's millions of others struggling out there—harder lives to carry on with. Just admit it!" Stan's voice carried without any rationality, it carried on with more desperation, pleas filtering, as if begging for Christophe to not do what he was supposedly supposed to.
And he could see it, he could see the child from those many years ago, the eyes of the child whose father he was commissioned to-
"You are losing your damn mind." Christophe muttered darkly, his voice edging with impatience. He rolled his eyes as he twisted his grip in an attempt to pry Stan's hands off.
And then he could feel it, the bottled up emotions of pent up frustration, anger—sadness because of the lives he couldn't protect, because of the lives he took, because of who he became in the end.
"Now let go of me before you regret it."
Stan's response was swift—a quick shove that forced Christophe further back against the tree, he could feel his skin rip, pink flesh being revealed under the pale skin of his, but it didn't tear in red blood. "Not a chance." Stan spat, his tone dripping with disdain. "You think you're so tough, don't you?" He leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving Christophe's. "Well, let's see you act tough without your little escort."
The teasing words that left Stan's mouth struck a nerve deep in Christophe and he could feel his jaw tighten with an involuntary clench. A low snarl escaped him as he twisted his body sharply, breaking Stan's grip just enough to swing his fist straight towards Stan's face. His knuckles collided against Stan's cheek, its contact harsh against the other's skin, the sudden impact landing with a solid crack that sent him stumbling back, his expression switching from pure rage to stunned disbelief.
But Stan recovered quickly, wiping the corner of his mouth as a smirk crept across his face, he scoffed. "What kind of sucker punch was that?"
Christophe sighed, "I was going to go easy on you." He cracks his knuckles. "But I guess you want eet ze 'ard way you mozzerfucker."
"Don't get so cocky yet." Stan spat, his tone dripping with disdain. "Let's settle this properly then, Christophe. And I'll make you admit everything."
Christophe squared his shoulders, his gaze steely. "With no logic, I suppose zen? You're putting yourself in a losing battle, Stan."
Without missing a beat, Stan retaliated, swinging his fist low toward Christophe's ribs. The hit landed with a force that stole Christophe's breath for a split second, air being knocked out of his lungs. A sharp pain flares through his side. He grunted, grimacing as he staggered back, his hand shooting out to grip Stan's shoulder in an attempt to shove him away, creating a brief distance between them to regain his footing.
But Stan wasn't backing down. He lunged forward, slamming his knee into Christophe's side, using the momentum to force him towards the ground. Christophe twisted, his feet digging into the frozen earth as he fought to keep his balance, but Stan's weight bore down on him, relentlessly. And Christophe cursed under his breath at whoever for making him not even average height.
"Stop resisting and tell me the Goddamn truth!" Stan yelled, his voice raw with frustration. He landed another punch, this one grazing Christophe's jaw as he swerved, the impact glancing off his cheekbone.
Christophe narrowed his eyes, his voice dripping with a hint of sarcasm as he spat, "If I knew what you were so pissed about maybe I'd tell you somezing, you cocksucking idiot!"
Stan's glare intensified, his fist clenched tighter. "Don't act clueless. This isn't about you, Christophe—it's about what you represent, the kind of chaos that you're going to cause. I don't need someone like you dragging everyone I know and love in danger!"
Christophe laughed bitterly. "You zink you're some sort of saviour? Like ze world would fall apart wizhout you? Bullsheet. Whatever eet ees about me, eet's wrong. Whoever brainwashed your mind, you need to start zinking straight."
It was too late to talk sense into the man above, Stan's patience snapped, and he lunged again, aiming a punch at Christophe's gut. But Christophe was tired of letting the other play with him, hurling cheap shots at him, he sidesteps and grabs Stan's arm, twisting it behind his back with a force that made Stan wince. "You're all talk." Christophe growled into his ear, his tone a chilling, dark, murmur. "If you really want to fight me, maybe try bringing more zan empty threats."
Without another word and with a quick movement, he released Stan's arm, swiftly spinning him around and landing a sharp kick that swept Stan's feet out from under him. Stan hit the ground hard, lying there momentarily, blinking up at Christophe with a mixture of anger, disbelief, and something else—something Christophe couldn't quite place—flashing in his eyes.
"You… think you're so damn untouchable." Stan muttered, his tone quieter but tinged with raw bitterness, understanding that he indeed was in a losing battle. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his chest heaving with exertion as he scratched the back of his neck in some sort of embarrassed gesture as he tried to hold on to some semblance of composure. His face hardens, and he stares down at the pure white ground. "But you're gonna realise you're not as invincible as you think. You're going to realise that you're in the wrong for wanting to destroy something that you've never even cared about!" And he looks back up at him.
The accusation stung, and Christophe's expression softened, if only for a brief moment before his usual cold demeanour twisted into confusion, where did Stan even get the idea about him wanting to destroy South Park? He didn't know, but he'd like to find out, just like the connection with Damien and himself—Damien and the children.
He took a step back, his eyes still fixed on the other, giving Stan space as he adjusted (or tried to) his torn collar, brushing off his shoulder and the remainder of his sleeve. "I've never been untouchable, Stan. You should understand zat." Stan swallowed hard, recalling something—a memory. A glimpse of the real Christophe that had seemed long buried. The cataclysm to all the problems Christophe is facing. The cause. But Christophe pressed on, his tone sharpened with something almost like exasperation. "But trust me—ze last zing I need ees someone like you trying to 'protect' me from myself. Someone trying to use brute strength over rationality. Someone who acts wizhout zinking. Someone like you, Stan. Do you even know what you're doing? If ze ozzers see zis. What would you do against ze zree guys who can fight against ze four of you who I assume can only do ozzer people's jobs."
Stan clenched his fists, his expression unreadable as he finally pulled himself to his feet. There was no fire left in him, evident when he didn't make a move to attack again, he showed no intention of continuing it. No anger in his eyes. Instead, there was a dull ache, a quiet sense of resignation, though his hand trembled faintly at his side. The fight wasn't hurtful—that wasn't what had left him winded, it was the bitter sting of all the words left unsaid and grudges left unforgotten that lingered like a bruise that felt like it hurt, that felt like it mattered.
And for a moment, they simply stared at each, a simple understanding between them. For a moment, there was no tension, no dread in the air. Just silence. Both of them knew that the battle—though physical—was not over. But as of now (and because there were the others who were in the home), it seemed to be enough and also because Stan didn't want to get his ass kicked more than he already has. And Christophe hoped, prayed that it would stay that way. Because he really didn't want to kill anyone, not anymore. Except if they were linked to the twisted part of the world, that is.
But there was no time to savour the fragile peace that had settled between them, no time to unravel the strange, unspoken truce that had emerged from the clash. And Christophe honestly just wanted to get the fuck out of there. He realised how urgency heavily weighed on his chest, adrenaline still hammering through his veins, his senses sharp and on edge.
And then he remembered.
Elisa, Jackery. The children, Gregory, and Damien were all still in the place- oh right, and Pip. But they were still in there, with Stan's friends, where anything could take a turn for the worse. Christophe knew they would have the situation under control despite what could possibly happen, but his thoughts were louder, the doubt residing deep in his heart. The regret. The memories of the screams that he couldn't replace with anything—the screams of those who did not make it in the building that was a home to him, but didn't feel like one. The place that crashed down on him by his own decisions.
With a sharp intake of breath, he straightened, throwing one last unreadable glance at Stan before he turned and ran quickly back to the house. Every step felt heavier than the last, each movement burrowing his head in mindless—endless, thoughts. His rough hands graze the wood of the door, and he slams it open with a heavy push.
Faces whip towards him, strained eyes following his rushed movements, he can see the children jolt up, startled and quickly clutching to each other. Damien is now completely off of the wall, staring at him with a shocked expression and Gregory tightens his hold on his sword, his feet firmly planted on the ground, ready to engage in an anticipating battle he expected.
Although Christophe could see a question already forming in Gregory's eyes, he ignored it, quickly running to his side, grabbing his wrist. He turns his gaze to Pip, who only has a saddened look in his face for understanding what was happening. He sensed it all along. As soon as he opened the door.
"Keep ze children safe, oui? We 'ave to get going now. Eet's urgent…" His eyes trail towards Cartman, Kyle and the blonde boy who still had his head hung down. Motionless, lifeless. But that was the least of his worries. "College ees stressful… haha. Okay, bye." Christophe didn't give any of them the chance to ask or say anything. In one fluid motion, he squeezed tighter around Gregory's wrist, his grip steady but unyielding. His eyes lock back with Gregory, his own eyes brimming with an edge of command that left no room for argument. And Gregory wouldn't lie, he just wanted to get the bloody hell out of there.
Casting one last look at the others, his eyes lingering on the children before he flashed them a brief smile, Gregory stands up, following Christophe in a hurried dash out the door, closing it as quickly as it opened. As they fled, not exactly sensing a heated tension filled with bloodlust—they knew that a battle wouldn't be pursued—thanks to the children. But something unsettling—something uncomfortable settled, in a dailtory cognitive pursuit.
And then, they could hear a string of curses being called out, the door slamming open behind them after they closed it in a rush, and the loud chewing and crunching of biscuits resounding through the trees. Damien calls out, shoving more of the sweets in his mouth. "Fuck- guys! Wait up- God Damn it."
Christophe glanced over his shoulder towards Damien, and he felt laughter bubble up from his puffed out cheeks resembling a chipmunk- and the crumbs covering his lips. But he holds it in, because that wasn't important as of now, they had to continue with what they started. Except maybe killing the Antichrist situation. They would have to tell the sender that they could unfortunately not complete it much to their dismay. And Christophe was expecting a lot of disappointment, frustration, and a lost sense of hope coming from both himself and the anonymous commissioner.
He turns around to look ahead, not wanting to ever look back. Never. His grip on Gregory tightens as he drags him through the forest, staggering through the uprooted trees, and branches smacking his face, scratching and tearing skin.
And then they disappear into the darkness with Damien trailing behind, his focus set on rushing towards the survivors they needed to save.
. . .
The city was much different from the woods that they had just ran away from, leaving their problems there unattended. The streets fill with dim lights and the hum of early risers wrapped around the area familiarly, despite it being later in the night and early in the morning.
They move through the quiet alleys, cats growling defensively when they get near the trash bins, and the smell of weed and booze filter the air stronger as they get closer, weaving towards the old, nondescript building that Gregory had fortunately found. Although it looked weathered and inconspicuous, flickering lights enveloping the place suggested that there was life within.
Christophe grimaced, eyeing a swirl of smoke drifting lazily from one of the windows. "Don't tell me zey're already stinking ze place up." Christophe muttered, irritatingly staring at the smoke billowing building.
Gregory scoffed as he turned towards him. "Now you understand how I feel."
Christophe only rolled his eyes.
They emerge out of the alleyway into a small, paved clearing around the building, where clusters of people milled about. Christophe could see heads poking out from broken windows, faces etched with worry. Yet he could only settle his gaze on a striking figure standing near the doorway, her gaze sharp as she handled a line of weary civilians. One of them is begging to see her husband. And Christophe's heart lurches with guilt.
Once they were near the building, the woman had long, blonde hair that waved around lusciously and framed her face in loose waves. Her makeup was meticulously applied, from the light pink gloss on her lips to the subtle shading that highlighted her features.
And Christophe wouldn't lie that she made his heart thump a bit.
The woman turned towards them, a frown on her lips. She wore a tight white dress that hugged her curves with a plaid pink felt coat on top.
"Gregory, what the fuck was taking you so long?" She snapped, crossing her arms as she whipped her hair to the side. "I've been standing out here for hours. These people are driving me crazy with all their begging and shit. Can you take over, please?"
Damien quietly whistles in response, whispering next to Christophe. "What a low blow."
Her eyes widened for a moment before settling back, "Woahh… what the fuck happened to your clothes?"
But Gregory ignored her complaints and questions as he motions for the others to gather (and surprisingly Damien as well). "Christophe- Damien—this is Estella Havisham. She's… a former partner of mine and manages things behind the scenes." He turned to Estella, muttering something, to which she rolled her eyes and gave him a dismissive flick of her finger. He brushes it off with a laugh.
With a nod, he continued. "Fortunately, thanks to her connections—and wealth, might I add, we can send these people somewhere safe."
Christophe quirked a brow. "When you say zat, eet sounds like you're going to kill zem or somezing."
Gregory shot him an exasperated look. "This isn't the time for jokes, Christophe. We still have to help organise this." By 'this' Gregory could have meant a lot of things.
But Christophe didn't pay anymore attention to what Gregory was saying, his mind drifting to more pressing matters. It reminded him of something important he wanted to know about. And he turned, eyes narrowing as they landed on Damien.
Cutting off the blonde Christophe quickly interjected to the noirette. "Damien, why ze 'ell do ze children treat you like a fazzer? Zey barely even know you. Did you put some spell on zem or somezing?"
Damien raises an eyebrow at him, eyes filled with shock and a hint of indignation before it darkens and his eyes carry no sense of emotion—at least to what Christophe could tell. He shrugged, his tone dismissive although irritation spoke louder. "I don't fucking know- it's like, we have this connection—a mutual understanding, or some shit like that. I know it sounds cliche, but that's what it feels like. And no, I'm not going to put a spell on some fucking children, Christophe. Especially that Lullaby of Souls or whatever shit name it is."
Christophe's jaw clenched, remembering that calm Damien had inflicted on him the other day, a scornful laugh escaped his lips. "Oh, ees zat so?" He sneered. "Eet's convenient, no? A 'connection'. An understanding zat you can't explain. And I suppose you 'ave nozing to do wiz ze fact zey flock to you like sheep."
Gregory sighed, trying to break the two apart with words, but Damien overpowered him quickly and the blonde realised he wouldn't have been able to do anything to de-escalate this situation. It would not work one bit.
Damien's expression tightened, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You think I wanted this?" He shot back, his tone lowering, dangerously calm. "You think I asked for their trust, Christophe? Don't you remember Elisa screaming at me about how I killed her parents? I thought they hated me." He sighed, biting his words but he slips them out. "Maybe they actually used their head, realising I'm not who they think I am unlike you…" He paused, staring at Christophe's narrowing gaze, knowing he said something he shouldn't. "What is this really about, Christophe, huh? Just say it. I know you want too."
"You, Damien." Christophe snapped back. "Ze way you always act like you know best—like everyone should follow your lead. Eet's pathetic. And if zey trusted you enough to come back to you, zen maybe you did somezing to zem. Or are you saying you're innocent?"
Gregory exchanged a wary look with Estella, who watched the exchange with mild amusement, arms crossed as if she were watching a well-rehearsed play. The tension between Damien and Christophe was only growing under the guise of half-smiles and hurtful words, but it was escalating quickly. And that's what worried Gregory.
"Please, spare me," Damien said, voice mocking. "Maybe if you weren't so busy making everyone out to be some kind of villain, you'd see things a little clearer. But no, you'd rather accuse me of being the devil incarnate. You know what, Christophe? I think you just enjoy being angry. Causing destruction upon relationships. I'm surprised even Gregory can be with you-"
"Watch your words." Christophe warned, his voice rough. Though the implication strained the area. "Or you'll learn what I really enjoy."
A strange silence follows, no words being spoken but a shiver runs through the air as an eerie mist enshrouds Damien and Christophe, obscuring the edges of the area with an unnatural darkness. Christophe could hear Gregory call out to him, but he couldn't focus on the blonde boy—all he could focus on was the change—a heaviness pressing down, making the air feel thick, almost distorted. The world around him grew dim, and a chill settled, prickling the back of his neck.
Damien's smirk—that was so faint, faltered, his expression softening into something unreadable, almost… guilty. As if they weren't arguing or as if he had regretted everything he had said. He takes a step closer, his face shadowed in the dimming light. "Christophe…" He started, voice barely above a whisper.
But before Christophe could react, Damien's hand shot out, gripping his shoulder tightly. Christophe felt an electric jolt surge through him, freezing him in place. As the energy continues to shoot through him, almost knocking him backward into the dark mist behind, his vision flickers as his mind is flooded with chaotic, fragmented images—visions of the past. A past he had forgotten, a past he wanted to forget. He can feel his body trembling, stained and tainted from who he became. And for a split second, everything around him vanished.
The darkness clawed at him, swallowing his mind completely. He staggered, struggling to focus, the world slipping away from his reality, dissolving into blackness.
And then, he touched me, our blood mingling together, and a wash of blackness took over me.
The last thing he heard was Damien's voice, faint, whispering through everything the brunette was going through as he slumped in his arms, collapsing upon the darkness that consumed them—trapped from the outside world—in a euthymia of Damien's creation.
"Don't forget who you are, Christophe. Never forget. Know I'll always be here for you, no matter what."
And then, he felt nothing.
—
sorry for all the a/n buttt….
ok so idrk how i feel like christophe's 'reunion' with the 4 boys or the first appearance with estella, i feel like somethings missing but ugh idk i just want to get this chapter done with i spent way too long trying to piece some parts together. hope you enjoyed despite how bad this chapter was ;-;
this chapter is 12k words… and the whole of chapter 2 is like 35k. I was not planning it to be this long… i'm kinda nervous how long this whole story will be now if we're only chapter 2 out of like 17 (most of them including parts but this might change in the future)
but i just realised in like the prologue gregory called philip pip, oops. pretend he said philip ;-; mb i was still trying to figure out wth to do with the book. (there might be quite a lot of changes to make the story make sense)
but i think now, theres a ending (except IDK WHO TO MAKE CHRISTOPHE END UP WITH, WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK?) please let me know!
but anyway chapter 3 will be the first memory revealed to help give this story depth xdd! idk when i will post it i haven't even started. hopefully (all of it) by the end of dec at least so i might post the first part in 2 or less weeks or so! it might be late though since i really want chapter 3 to be (try) as good as possible!
see you then because i think ima hit the hay…
but please review 3!
thanks for reading and hope you enjoy