Man, I can't believe it took me this long to publish the first part!
Since it will be awhile before we get season 3, I'll take this time to work on Hellwalkers and my original novel. But I might make some drabbles every now and then. For the time being, enjoy part 1
Helluva Dad
Season 2
Volume 11: Sinsmas
Chapter 1- Not so Happy Sinsmas
Jake awoke to the early morning sunlight entering through the attic window. He stretched out his limbs, yawning loudly. Deathslinger's makeshift bed, comprising straw, a blanket, and a pillow, left his back in pain. When the rattlesnake said he had an extra bedroom, Jake thought he meant an actual bedroom!
Then again, why would he have two bedrooms if he lived alone in the middle of nowhere? It's not like he'd get too many visitors, anyway.
The attic was spacious despite the many boxes, barrels, and chests. Jake almost felt tempted to peek inside, but Da—he'd been taught not to peek his nose into other people's stuff.
After putting his shirt on, Jake climbed the small stairs leading down into the kitchen. Deathslinger was already there, cooking something in a pot. Admittedly, it was odd seeing the assassin who'd almost killed Millie doing such a mundane thing... in underwear.
His mouth watered at the sweet smell coming from the pot.
"What are you makin'?" he asked.
"Apple risotto."
Even just the name made his stomach growl. Sounds like something Moxxie would think of.
"Got any meat around here? I gotta feed Mortifera."
"Don't worry about that. There's a herd of NightMares livin' here, if ye recall. Let her roam free. She can hunt on her own."
Oh, that's right.
Jake went outside. The valley offered a refreshing contrast to the desert's scorching temperatures; cool air and a gentle breeze swept through. Mortifera approached and nipped his shoulder with a lively nicker.
"Good mornin', girl." Jake patted the mare's neck. "Wanna go explore? Deathslinger said there's a bunch of food for you to eat."
Jake removed the saddle and bridle and sent Mortifera off. He laughed a bit when she kicked the air during her gallop. He watched her go until she disappeared behind some pine trees.
Deathslinger was already eating when he went back inside. Jake saw no plate for him. The rattlesnake seemed to realize.
"... Oh. Sorry, kiddo."
"It's good. Guess ye ain't used to havin' company, huh?"
Jake served himself a generous portion of risotto. To his surprise, he saw little apple cubes in the rice. He joined Deathslinger at the table. The fresh, sweet-and-sour scent made his stomach growl.
Jake couldn't wait any longer and took a spoonful of risotto. His tail rattled at the party of flavors. The sweet apples, simmered onions, and crispy bacon complemented each other nicely. He ended up devouring his plate.
"Didn't Striker have a word with ya about manners, kiddo?"
"Can I have more?"
"Try addin' pepper this time."
Jake served himself another bowl and, per Deathslinger's suggestion, added more pepper. The contrast between sweet and savory made Jake think of a black-and-white waltz.
"Sooo good!" The teen devoured his second serving. "Moxxie would love the recipe!"
"Crim often complained that his kid had 'faggot' hobbies."
"I guess he doesn't cook, does he?"
Deathslinger chuckled. "Not without burnin' his neighborhood down."
Jake wasn't sure if he was joking. Still, he didn't want to start his morning talking about Crimson.
"So, ye be livin' in the sticks?" he asked, changing the topic.
"Nah. I swing by here when I need to lie low, ya know. Or to catch a breather." Deathslinger said.
"But so far from... well, everywhere? How do you get food?"
Deathslinger raised an eyebrow. "This is Wrath, kiddo. Where do ya think food would come from?"
Jake looked out the window. "... Nature?"
"There's a lake, lots of wild animals, and spices. I just bring stuff you won't find in the wilderness. We're fine as long as we don't disturb Satan's NightMares."
Jake gagged on his mouthful of water. "S-Satan's Nightmares?!" he repeated in-between gasps. "Y-Ye mean–That herd with the isabelo stallion–!"
"They're Satan's prized NightMares, kid," Deathslinger said, oddly calm. "He comes by at least twice a week."
"Oh, shit. And he lets ya be here?"
"Like I said, ye're fine, as long as you don't bother his beloved horses." Deathslinger sipped on a beer. "So, ye ran away from home, kid?"
Jake stiffened. His tail rattled.
"I... I don't wanna talk about it."
Deathslinger, much to his surprise, didn't insist. However, Jake was stunned when the rattlesnake held out his beer bottle to him.
"W-What are you doin'?" Jake asked.
"You look like you need it," said Deathslinger.
"I'm thirteen! Dad would kill me!"
"But he's not here, is he?"
After some hesitation, Jake grabbed the bottle and sipped it. He spat the bitter drink, sticking and wiping his tongue.
Deathslinger laughed. "I did that with my first beer, too. It takes a while to get used to."
To his surprise, Jake armed himself with courage and gulped a mouthful of beer without spitting it out.
"It tastes awful, but this feels so good!" Jake said.
Deathslinger got up, stretching out his limbs.
"Well, kid, I'm goin' out for a while. What are you gonna do?" Deathslinger asked.
"I'm... I'm not sure. Maybe I'll go check on Mortifera in a while... I kinda want to see the NightMares."
"Just remember: whatever happens, do not touch or disturb them."
Deathslinger departed, leaving the impling. Jake watched him go walk the lake through the window, fishing pole over his shoulder. He looks so... normal. Who would have thought?
One month later…
Sinsmas has always been a... complicated time of the year for Striker. He'd lost his mother and Jane around this date. The sinners in Dis didn't celebrate the hellborn holiday, so he didn't partake in it for years. It wasn't until he started working at Millie's farm, and then I.M.P., that he began celebrating it again, mostly because Jake loved it. Remembering his six-year-old son's attempts to wrestle him evoked a faint smile.
Striker moved his head in time to dodge a coffee mug that struck the wall instead.
"Happy Sinsmas, Clayton!"
"Happy Sinsmas, Mildred." the cowboy chuckled.
"Striker, it's time we settle this like men!" Moxxie said.
Striker smirked. "Alright, where's the other one?"
He found himself in a playful two-on-one match against Moxxie and Millie, though he avoided hurting the latter's stomach. At some point, he sent Moxxie flying toward the desk, where Bombproof was chewing on the thespian's favorite coffee mug again. Bombproof sat on top of Moxxie, pinning him down before he could recover.
"Hey, this isn't fair!" Moxxie protested.
"Ye're lucky he didn't kick ya out of the window this time." Striker said.
Blitzo arrived not long after with Loona and Stolas—with the latter hitting his head on the doorframe. Striker's tail rattled at the sight of the owl prince–sorry, former prince.
The group went into the meeting room. Stolas' reaction to Moxxie and Millie's wrestling match implied he'd likely never seen Sinsmas before. It wouldn't surprise Striker if that was the case.
"Listen up, chuckle-fucks!" Blitzo brought back the doodled whiteboard for the morning meeting. "Today, we got Stolas in the office, so I want each of your red asses on the best behavior possible. I'm looking at you, Striker."
Striker rolled his eyes. It's not his fault that Stolas' privileged ass is a pain in his.
"Uh, sir? You are literally the only one who needs to adhere to that," Moxxie said, frowning.
"And that's detention, Mox! Striker, punch him."
Striker did as told. Not hard enough to hurt Moxxie, just enough to knock him off his seat.
"Um... Wasn't there an impling in your group?" Stolas asked.
The room went silent.
"He ain't here right now," Striker said, his tail rattling.
"Now, Loony," Blitzo said before Stolas's curiosity unsettled Striker's nerves. "Stolas wants to learn how to secretate, so show him how it's done."
Loona sighed. "It's literally this: Ring, ring. 'Hello?' I.M.P. Yeah, we can kill that asshole. Wanna schedule an appointment? Thursday, cool? See you then, dipshit. It's easy as a sin, Blitzø."
"Even ye can't fuck that up," Striker told Stolas.
"Can I come with you guys if he's on the phone today?"
On the way back to the lobby, Striker checked his phone.
MESSAGES: 0
"Nothing yet?" Millie asked.
"Nothin." Striker said, putting his phone away.
"I insist we should file a missing person report." Moxxie said. "It's been a month already!"
"Ye think the police would give a shit about a missin' impling?" Striker said, his tail rattling. "'Sides, I know my boy is alright, I... I feel it in my gut. He just..." he sighed. "He needs space."
Millie placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder... and then did an unexpected mongolian chop on him. Striker staggered back, knees buckling.
"Good one, Mildred..." he groaned.
They entered the lobby as Blitzo helped Stolas sit on the desk.
"See, Stolas? Finally, something to help you out, something to do." Blitzo said. "And I can pay you for it. You could use a little money coming in, right?"
"Money coming in...?" Stolas's eyes widened. "Oh lords! I'M POOR NOW!"
Striker watched, unimpressed, as Stolas lost it and buried his face into the desk, his new reality catching up. Pathetic.
RIIING!
"Oh! Answer it, answer it!" Blitzo urged. "You can do it, Stolas. Come on, answer the phone!"
Stolas did so with a trembling hand. Somehow, he went through the conversation in-between sobs and tears. Striker's tail rattling. Smacking him to snap him out of it sounded so tempting right then.
"... Thank you. Good day, ma'am..."
With that, Stolas hung up and went back to his self-pitying tantrum.
"Close enough!" Blitzo said.
Striker sighed as Blitzo elbowed him. "Not bad, ditzy."
SLAM!
A red-haired, green-skinned Sinner burst in. Wow, that was quick.
"You said you could kill someone immediately?" she asked.
"Yes, we sure can!" Blitzo said.
The Sinner dropped her purse on top of Moxxie. Either it had bricks, or Moxxie needed a more serious workout program, as it sent him straight to the ground.
"Good, because it's Christmas."
Christmas? Oh, she must mean the Living World's equivalent of Sinsmas.
"I can't stand the idea of my fucking ex-husband enjoying this sacred holiday with my daughters when he fucking left me for another man!"
"Oh, well," Blitzo laughed nervously. "That sounds like something that can happen from time to time."
"And he probably CHEATED on me!" the woman hissed.
With a tearful, high-pitched squeak, Stolas sank behind the desk.
"Well, that's... not really killing someone over though, right?"
"Blitzø, we don't ask questions, we just do the job, remember?" Striker said.
"He doesn't deserve to live that heinous lifestyle and poison my daughters with it!" the Sinner shrieked.
Blitzo looked down. "... Look, I don't think this is a job we want to take on."
Striker turned to Blitzo. Likewise, Moxxie and Millie seemed stunned. He's... rejecting a job?
"Why not?" Stolas whined. "Maybe he deserves it. Selfish men like him don't deserve to liiive!"
"No, that's–Ugh!" Blitzo grunted and opened a portal. "Fine, we'll do your shitty job, but you're paying us double, bitch."
Striker was usually the first to enter the portal, but... his feet weren't responding. He might sound hypocritical, but... he didn't feel comfortable in killing a fellow father right now, even if he's a human target.
A cold gust of air sent a shiver down his spine.
"Blitzø, I think I'd rather sit this one out. It's too cold." Striker said.
"No problem, Clayton. We don't need another outbreak after the shit with the penguins." Blitzo said, then quickly whispered. "Think you and Bomby could monitor Stolas? He's been... sensitive."
Striker watched Stolas smashing his head on the desk again. "Ye think?"
"Why is there an animal in here?! Is this an office or a pigsty?!" The Sinner snapped at the sight of Bombproof as he tried to sniff her purse.
"Alright, just don't take too long. The sooner ye finish, the sooner that Karen will be out of our hair." Striker murmured.
...
MESSAGES: 0
Striker put his phone away. He'd hoped Jake would at least send him a Sinsmas greeting, at least to let him know he was okay.
To pass the time—and keep Bombproof from outright killing the client after she struck his snout with her purse—Striker opted to brush him a bit. Bombproof relaxed to the point he cocked back a leg, but he still monitored the client as she kept on rambling about... everything.
Stolas had somewhat calmed down a while ago, but now he was switching between checking Blitzo's borrowed phone and writing in his diary every few seconds. In the meantime, Striker noticed his fingers tapping on the table.
Seems I might not be the only one having issues with my kid.
"She's probably away from her phone." Striker assured while giving Bombproof some bacon.
"You don't know Via, she goes nowhere without her phone." Stolas checked the phone again.
Striker shrugged. Teens will be teens, I guess.
The silence that followed—other than the Sinner's rambling and Bombproof's relaxed snorts—was awkward, to say the least.
"... So... What's his name?" Stolas asked, pointing at the hellhorse.
"Bombproof." Striker answered without looking at him. "Ye've never seen a hellhorse before?"
"Not real ones, just... pictures." Stolas admitted. "I read Wrathian warhorses are rare nowadays, but they're fiercely loyal to their riders."
"Ye got the last part right." Striker stroked Bombproof's neck. "He and I have been together for a long time."
"Your son... What was his name again...?"
"Jake." Striker answered with a small frown. Seriously, ditzy has seen Jake a few times and he can't bother to remember his name?
Stolas seemed to notice the mood shift. "W-Where did he go?"
"... Somewhere. We..." Striker sighed. "We had a big fight and I'm trying' to give him space."
"How long do they take?" the client asked impatiently.
"It depends on certain factors. Killin' someone up there ain't as easy as it sounds, ma'am."
"Well, they should hurry if they expect people to just stick around without anything to do!"
Striker's tail rattled. Putting a bullet into this insufferable woman's skull was so tempting right now.
"Here's an idea," Stolas rose and yelled. "You could shut the fuck up!"
Striker raised a curious eyebrow at the rudeness. Where did that come from?
RIIING!
"Oh, yes-yes-yes!" Stolas answered the call. "Hello?"
Striker entered the break room, grabbing a beer, when he heard Stolas shouting. In the lobby, he witnessed Stolas's destructive outburst, which didn't spare the Sinsmas tree or Blitzo's phone.
"The fuck, Stolas?!" Striker yelled.
Stolas didn't hear him and focused his rage on the desk, trying to flip it over.
"WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT I AM!" Stolas banged his head against the desk, startling Striker. "I CANNOT BELIEVE I COULD BE SO FUCKING STUPID, I RUINED EVERYTHING! MOVE, YOU SHITTY DESK!"
"Are ye okay...?" Striker asked.
"And I did it for what?! These stupid, foolish fantasies?!"
Stolas threw his diary against the wall. Then, the brunt of his anger turned to Bombproof, and he tried pushing him away from behind. Rather than kicking Stolas away, the stallion sat down on top of him. This didn't stop Stolas, and he trashed beneath Bombproof, trying to squirm from beneath the hellhorse to no avail. He almost reminded Striker of Jake's two-year-old tantrums.
"GET OFF ME!" Stolas yelled. "I DON'T CARE WHAT THEY FUCKING DO! I'M SEEING OCTAVIA!"
Striker crossed his arms and watched the prince squirm and trash. On the couch, he glimpsed the client watching the scene while eating a bag of popcorn.
Eventually, Stolas's tantrum came to an abrupt halt. The owl panted to recover his breath, thick drops of sweat trickling down his face. Then Striker motioned Bombproof to get up.
"Are ye done?" Striker asked, arms crossed. "Ye don't want yer kid to see ya in that state, ditzy."
Stolas blinked. "You will not stop me?"
"Look, Stolas. Ye and I might not agree on many things, and I fuckin' hate how yer lack of self-awareness hurts others and ye didn't seem to even notice." Striker sighed. "But despite everything, I can't ignore the fact that we have something in common: we're fathers who would go to double Hell and back for our kids."
That said, Striker held out a hand and helped Stolas get up.
"Striker... Thank you."
"Don't. Ye and I aren't friends, Stolas. That's something ye'll have to earn, Ditzy." Striker said, frowning. He looked at Bombproof. "Boy, watch the office while we're gone."
Bombproof snorted.
"You're leaving a... hellhorse to watch over the place?" Stolas asked.
"Trust me, Bombproof is more than up to the task. He looked after Jake a few times when he was a tot."
Stolas blinked. "Is that a Wrathian custom? Leaving your children under the care of wild animals?"
Striker's tail rattled. "Not everyone is a privileged princess with dozens of servants and babysitters at their beck and call, ya know," he retorted, frowning.
The owl prince swallowed, not missing the irritation. "Touché."
Jake has always looked forward to Sinsmas ever since he could remember. From a young age, he loved decorating the house and eating the Sinsmas cookies before dinner, but his favorite part of the holiday was wrestling with... Dad, even though he's never been able to beat him.
This year, instead of planning pranks aimed at Moxxie, wrestling with Dad, Millie and Blitzo, and sneaking into the kitchen to steal cookies, Jake found himself in the deep Wrathian wilderness with only Deathslinger and Mortifera for company. Well, rather, mostly Deathslinger for company; other than the occasional visit, Mortifera had been spending a lot of time with the Satan's NightMare herd this past month—especially its resident stallion.
Regardless, Jake enjoyed watching his horse having a good time with others of her own kind. Sadly, the skittish NightMares would flee if they saw him approach, or the stallion would charge at him, leading to a minor scuffle with Mortifera.
As he returned to the cabin, Jake found Deathslinger outside tending to his motorbike's wheels. Didn't he 'adjust' it just yesterday?
"Ye really love that thing, don't ya?" Jake asked.
"Ye could say it's my fetish." Deathslinger said. Without looking at Jake, he grabbed one of his tools and kept working on the engine.
A short, awkward silence followed.
"... I guess ye don't like Sinsmas." Jake said.
"Celebratin' alone is pointless." Deathslinger said, oddly cold. "It's not like ye can wrestle with yerself, can't ya?"
"So you'd pick Wrath?"
"I am a Wrathian, kiddo."
Jake's tail rattled. He hadn't seen Millie's fight against Deathslinger, only the aftermath. But that the rattlesnake had effortlessly incapacitated Millie of all people gave the impling an idea of how good he was at close combat–
Something struck Jake's legs from behind and tripped him backward. He glimpsed a thick tail disappearing swiftly.
He'd been so distracted that he hadn't noticed Deathslinger standing up in front of him, arms crossed, his tail swishing behind him.
"Too slow," he taunted.
Incensed, Jake charged at him. Deathslinger sidestepped and delivered a kick straight at his left cheek, sending Jake flying a few feet away. The impling, undeterred by his stinging cheek, tried again, only to meet the same result.
Jake grabbed a nearby wooden stick, about three meters long, and charged a third time, yelling. This time, Deathslinger sidestepped, grabbed Jake's horn and threw him away.
"Fuck!"
Try as he might, Jake could not land a blow on Deathslinger. The rattlesnake calmly dodged whatever Jake threw at him. However, Deathslinger limited his counterattacks to kicks and tail whips, aside from the occasional grab.
"Seriously? What's this?" Jake exclaimed, spitting dirt.
"I know there's somethin' eatin' ya from the inside, boy," Deathslinger said. "Whatever it is, you must let it out."
"It's none of yer fuckin' business! Ye think beatin' the shit out of me will make me talk?"
"I don't need to hear it from yer mouth, kiddo." Deathslinger said, dodging Jake's reckless attempts at hitting him with the branch. "Every time I mentioned yer father, ye'd flinch or dodge the topic. That was all I needed."
Jake swung his stick, but Deathslinger caught it in his hand and pulled it out of his grasp, then used his tail to trip him again.
"What was it? He ignored a whim of yers and ye dashed off to get under his skin?"
"You don't know shit!"
"Aren't you a little old for tantrums, boy?"
Jake threw dust at Deathslinger's face and lunged, but the rattlesnake moved aside and Jake fell belly-down to the ground. Before he could get up, Deathslinger stomped a foot on him, pinning him.
"The next time, make sure the dust reached my eyes, kiddo." Deathslinger taunted, pressing his boot against Jake's back to press him against the ground. "Striker really should teach you better."
Jake kicked at Deathslinger's other foot, knocking him off balance, long enough to roll from beneath his foot.
"Why do ya even care?! Ye ain't my fuckin' father!"
Deathslinger raised an eyebrow. "Ye're right, I'm not. And yet, ye didn't seem to mind stayin' over at my place and eat my food all this time, did ya? I can send Striker a bill, if ye'd like."
Jake wiped his eyes, his tail rattling wildly. At his wits' end, he did the only thing he knew would piss Deathslinger off: he kicked his motorbike.
Deathslinger narrowed his eyes, his pupils turning into slits. "Ye didn't just do that, boy."
Jake regretted what he'd done when Deathslinger went on the offensive. Still, the rattlesnake was evidently holding back in the wrestling. Both of their tails rattled until Deathslinger trapped Jake in a neck grapple—not tight enough to hurt the impling, just enough to trap him.
"LET GO OF ME!" Jake shouted.
Deathslinger said nothing. He kept staring down at Jake, as if waiting for something.
Jake cursed and yelled, trashing and squirming violently. He even tried biting Deathslinger's arm, but the rattlesnake was bigger and stronger than him.
You think your daddy loves you?
Like Rolando.
You were too cowardly to pull the trigger, and it almost got him killed.
Like Travers.
He sliced his own wife's womb and cut you out of her while she was still alive.
Deep down, he blames you for her death.
L-Like...
If only you'd never been born, she'd still be alive.
Jake couldn't take it any longer. His angry yells became loud, incontrollable sobs as he broke down into tears.
Then Deathslinger released his hold on the impling's neck... The impling then embraced Deathslinger. The assassin froze as Jake unexpectedly wrapped his arms around him, instinctively seeking comfort. Unused to such shows of affection, Deathslinger moved his arms to push him away, but... something stopped him. Instead, he returned the gesture.
"That's right, kid. Let it out," was all he said.
For a moment, Jake remembered Dad.