@hellsking sent : “ i’m one call away , okay ? just one call. “ / random sentence starters the third !
“ yeah, i know, pa. i got it. ”
damien had dismissed the comment some time ago ; his usual careless, casual attitude, complete with the signature grin that he certainly shares with his blue dad. he was so sure of himself. he felt like a true adult, grown up, young and unafraid, ready to face the world and all of the challenges it would throw at him. he felt he needed no support because he was damien lavey, proud son of the kings of the 8th circle of hell, a force of nature in his own right and a determined – yet stubborn – demon.
his hands now hold his phone, staring at the bright screen, a finger hovering over his affectionate name for his pa ; blue dad. he’s holding his breath. his hands are shaking. the taste of iron is on the tip of his tongue from biting down too hard, his eyes barely focusing on the words on the screen he’s holding with a vice grip.
young, unafraid, reckless. once, he didn’t believe he could ever make a mistake ; after all, did he not learn from the best ? to always be aware of what he tells others, to be aware of who he trusts, especially in hell and among the other demons, some still seeking more revolution ? and that such people would use any means to achieve it ; even attempting to use the only son of the kings as a source of information, a way into their daily routine, an in.
he hadn’t wanted to believe it.
damien remembers how he couldn’t find the words to tell his fathers how he screwed up in that moment. how he barely even managed to call his pa, hardly making a coherent sentence, stumbling his way home and finally reaching both his fathers’ arms.
it’s the same thing, every time, whenever he screws up so royally that he needs to call his pa to mend it ; the shaky hands, bitten tongue, holding of breath. he keeps so casually dismissing his fathers and their concerns like the incident from a few years ago never happened, acting like he can manage just fine on his own, knowing how to deal with it and move on. but with the way the prince struggles time and time again …
damien finally presses the name in his phone, dialling the number and holding the phone up to his left ear, tensing his jaw and trying to control his breathing. he can still feel himself shaking as he reaches to wipe a tear away. please, pa, pick up.
the moment he hears his pa answer the phone, damien damn near breaks on the spot, sharply inhaling and sniffling as quietly as he can, wiping away a rogue tear while swearing under his breath profusely. he takes a moment. and though he can barely get the words out, damien manages, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible so his pa doesn’t worry nearly as much as he did the last time this had happened.
“ hey, pa ? ” he wipes away another tear and almost chokes on nothing. “ i uh, i – i think i fucked up. again. and i – can i stay home … ? ”
From the day Damien first ventured out on his own, that was their parting message, that no matter the situation, regardless of how bad things seemed or what had happened, they would have his back. They would be there to help, to fix, to pick up pieces and let him regroup; he need only call.. That is what parents are meant to do. They're to be a rock, their child's protectors, someone to count on through thick and thin and everything in between. They told Damien as much, as often as they could, from the very second those words would mean something to him, that no matter the trouble he found, he could always rely on them.
It didn't matter if they were angry about it, or worried out of their collective minds. Both would rather a phone call from him asking for help than a worse one from someone else in his stead.
His phone chimes a familiar ring disrupting talk and chain of thought. It gives him pause however brief, ending with a proclamation of punishment to be dealt by his beloved, and a son he excuses himself. I need to take this, he says, sharing a look with Lucien before he's up and away, slipping to the opposite end of the room to avoid prying ears. Truthfully when he finally answers the phone, he's expecting the usual: a plea for bail, perhaps more money to spend or a warning that a teacher may be contacting him soon in regards to Damien-style shenanigans. Those he could laugh at. Those, he had learned to take in stride.
Those would have been better.
What he hears instead hits like a blow.
The obvious efforts to mask hardly make a difference. No matter how subtle it may have been, he can sense the change in his son's tone, though this is anything but. The shaky voice on the line cuts deep, delves straight into the natural instinct to defend, protect, comfort, and fix whatever ails his only son. His fingers clench, his expression drops, so drastic a change that it catches his husband's eye from across the room, a piercing gaze barely deterred as Stan's free hand waves him down. That single gesture says, I’ve got this, though the lines on Lucien's furrowed brow speak to the concern they're both undoubtedly feeling.
Were it not for the current proceedings, no doubt Lucien would have been hovering, trying to catch the details for himself or demanding that Stan put it on speaker, but that is a luxury he does not have, thus he's left to deal with things here while Stan handles Damien's situation, whatever it may be.
What's wrong, what happened, are you okay-- questions burning on his tongue that remain unspoken. There are priorities, and details could wait until he sees his son; until he sees with his own eyes that Damien is well enough and he could bring the young demon home,, where he could pour a clearly broken heart out and Stan could help him pick up the pieces. What matters is his baby needs him, wants to come back home.. And with just one call, he would have his wish.
"Listen to me, just stay there, okay?
Stay right where you are, I'm coming to get you."