Breaking the Altar
(A good ending story)
“I need my arm for a moment, Kitten.”
D hesitated before releasing his grip on H's limb. The emperor closed the obnoxiously thick report he'd been combing through and shuffled a few objects on the table. He opened a much thinner folder, tugging out a few sheets of paper and setting them on the desk before him. With everything in place, he returned his arm to his side, where D could wrap around it once more.
D hadn't been feeling well recently. He’d been trapped in the sort of all-encompassing grief that felt like a physical injury. Learning, finally letting himself learn that his god had been nothing more that a demon who had stolen half his life was. Difficult. It sapped him of his will to speak, move, live… D didn't know how long he'd been stuck in the thick of that malaise. No one seemed keen on telling him, and he wasn't particularly interested in learning, himself.
He was making an effort to pull himself out of it. It was hard to know why, exactly. The fact that other people seemed to want that for him was the clearest argument he could muster. H and Stan, in particular, had both seemed elated that D was leaving his room again. They both hovered about him, as if they were scared he would disappear again, or perhaps shatter entirely. That was good. D didn’t want to be alone anymore.
D didn’t realize he’d been dozing until a thin finger poked his nose.
“You’re drooling on my arm, Kitten,” H said, his voice sweetly teasing. D responded with a pained frown.
“... M’sorry,” he murmured.
“No- … no, you’re fine,” H reassured him. “You’re just tired. Please, go to bed.” D squeezed his friend’s arm tighter.
“I don’t wanna be alone,” he confessed after a pause. H twisted awkwardly to pet D’s thick, gray curls with his free hand.
“I don’t want that, either,” H said. “You can sleep with me in my room tonight. I’d like it if you did.” D hummed, unconvinced. He knew how late into the night H worked. He didn’t want to be alone for that long. In H’s bleak, sterile room, with nothing to look at, to distract him… D usually didn’t mind the other man’s taste in decoration. In fact, its understated elegance suited him well. It was just too bare for him right then.
A gentle kiss brushed D’s cheek.
“Please,” H said, his voice a soft rumble. “I won’t be much longer. I promise.” With a long, deep sigh, D unwound himself from his friend and stood. He trudged to the door, pausing to look over his shoulder at H. His companion smiled and made a shooing gesture. With another loud sigh, D exited into the main hall of H’s suite. He stared at the floor as he made his way to H’s bedroom. A mane of gray hair hung around his shoulders; he hadn’t bothered to tie it back. He didn’t really like touching it, or thinking about it at all. Bill was dead, and Pyronica was in prison, so there was no reason to keep it at its current length, but…
It was another change.
An unexpected scent met D as he opened the door to H’s bedroom. It was fresh, light and floral. It smelled nice. The second thing D noticed was the twin blue flames dancing in the dark.
They were so familiar.
Heart hammering, D flicked on the light. Fear and revulsion burned up his spine, through his veins, scorching him. There, on a table across from H’s bed, was an altar. Blue-flamed candles burned on either side of a terracotta axolotl. Sweet, verdant smoke flowed from its mouth like a waterfall, curling around the other pink-brown figures, depicting the aquatic god in various poses. Cool candlelight flickered off a small, shallow offering plate filled with clear water, pearls and lotus petals.
It was a fucking god. There was a god in H’s room; it had been let in. It was going to eat his life, spit him out, use him-
A scream ripped from D’s throat. He charged across the room, to the table. A line of choking smoke cut the air, and the axolotl was on the floor, smashed. The smaller ones were next. D chucked them against the floors, the walls, or simply crushed them with his fists. The offering plate was upended, soaking the woven mat. *The fucking god was on that, too.* D tried to tear it in two, but it was too sturdy. With a furious growl, he dashed it to the floor and stomped on it.
D was panting, shaking, staring wide-eyed at the mess on the floor. A small, strangled noise sounded behind him. He whipped around to see H in the doorway.
“What- what did you…” H’s voice was choked, his face a mess of lines that scrunched into something, something-
D was too furious to say what it was. He gestured wildly at the sundered altar.
”What the fuck was this doing here?!” he screamed, panic turning his voice keening and grating. “Did- did someone put it here? Did you notice before now??” H was silent for several long moments, his face going blank. He stared at the shattered terracotta. D’s frantic heartbeat thundered in his ears.
“It’s mine,” H said at length. “I’m sorry it upset you.” His voice was small and toneless. D grabbed wads of his own hair and tugged it. He hardly registered the pain in his scalp.
”WHAT?! No… no, it wasn’t here before! I remember! I-I would remember that!”
H made for the closet, his movements stiff. He pulled out a broom and dustpan.
”I would remember that!!” D insisted as H moved back to the mess. His face remained blank as he swept the broken expressions of faith into the dustpan.
“I set it up recently,” H explained as he headed for the trash can. The sound of clay falling against metal joined D’s labored, rasping breaths.
”WHY?!?” D shrieked, storming to H’s side. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.
H gripped the dustpan’s handle a bit harder. He took in a long, slow breath that D could scarcely hear.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought it would help you.”
”WHY?!?” D screamed again. He was hunched, clawing at his shirt. He needed to grab something. ”WHY DID YOU THINK A FUCKING CULT WOULD HELP ME?!?”
H flinched. He was staring at the floor, his face twisted.
… He was scared…?
No. No, no, no. D stumbled back, his heel crunching bits of shattered clay. H couldn’t be scared. Not right now. D needed him, he needed someone, and H was so strong, and so loving, and he had called out to a fucking god in his bedroom, where it was supposed to be safe.
D’s head spun. He felt like he was going to throw up. H stood still, like he was dead, like he was never going to talk to D again, staring at the floor-
D choked out a strangled, incoherent sound and bolted into the hall. He clawed at the handle of the door that separated H’s suite from the rest of the compound, tried to open it, but it was locked. D slammed bodily against the door, which didn’t budge, before he remembered that he could simply unlock it from this side. He did so with shaky fingers and exploded onto the stark, bright hall of the compound. He slammed into Stan, his Stan, who staggered back, a lungful of air forced from him.
“What the hell’s goin’ on in there, Ford?!” he barked, grabbing D by the shoulders and looking him up and down. “The door was locked. We couldn’t get in! Are you okay?!” D shook in his brother’s arms. Was he okay? Was he okay? Was H okay?
He wasn’t.
And he wasn’t.
D’s knees went weak, and he slumped. Stan moved to hold him up.
“Phospho!” Jean-Paul cried. D hadn’t noticed him.
Phospho, Phospho, D, Ford…
He didn’t want to be him.
D pushed out of Stan’s arms and pelted away from his brother, down the hall, back to his room. He slammed the door shut; didn’t turn on the lights. He crumpled to the floor, clawing at his face. People outside were shouting for him. He shakily locked the door and crawled down the hall, to his bedroom. He curled up on the floor and tried not to think.
—------------------
D sat on the floor, with his back against his bed, poking morosely at the lunch Jean-Paul brought him. He couldn’t tell if he was hungry, and he really didn’t feel like eating. Jean-Paul was perched on the edge of the bed, his tail brushing against D’s shoulder. D rolled a cherry tomato across his plate with a fork. The room’s dull lamplight cast a warm sheen on its smooth surface.
“There are a lot of people out there who want to see you, y’know,” Jean-Paul said. D hummed noncommittally. He hadn’t left his room since he ran from H. He thought it had been a few days, but without a natural light cycle, it was hard to tell. Jean-Paul lapsed into silence for several long moments, his tail twitching. “This isn’t the best way of handling stress,” he said. “Or guilt.” D’s frown deepened and he tightened the ball he was curled into. “It’s okay if you can’t help it,” Jean-Paul added quickly. “But I think you should try.”
The tomato rolled off the plate and bounced to the floor. D stared at it.
“It can be… hurtful. To other people.” Jean-paul continued. “They’re left ruminating on what happened. They don’t know how bad you feel; if you feel bad at all.”
“I do,” D mumbled into his knees.
“It might help H to hear that,” Jean-Paul said. “To know that you didn’t mean to hurt him.” D gripped the rumpled fabric of his pant leg (he hadn’t changed since the other day.)
“I didn’t,” he murmured. “D-didn’t mean to. I… I didn’t…”
He still didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. The altar, the blue flames… in his bedroom…
“I know,” Jean-Paul said, shifting his tail to brush D’s cheek. “I’m sure H knows, really. This is just… difficult for him. Because of his past.”
D finally looked up, staring with curious concern at his polymorph friend. Jean-Paul’s ears flicked.
“It’s… not the first time something of his has been broken by someone he cares about,” the raccoon said, hesitating a bit at first. “He probably, um, associates it with being in trouble. Doubly so if it’s followed by being left alone. I know you didn’t mean to, but…”
Oh. Oh, no. D’s stomach dropped and his eyes widened in horror. That was what Bill had done. That was what Bill had done to H. D scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking Jean-Paul back onto the mattress. He had to fix this. He couldn’t be like that. Couldn’t be like the god. The demon. He flung the door open and strode through the hall. He had to fix this. He had to get to H.
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H ford belongs to @alexthebordercollie
Pet guy is @is-it-cute-gf-au-edition
