[GAAAAAAHHHHHHH
I'm finally done with this fic after SIX hours of thinking, typing, and deleting and honestly, dude?
I'M PROUD OF IT.
So here you go @lilithphase , your wish is my command (≧▽≦)!
Special thanks to you dawg, fr
This wasn't proof-read btw lmao]
[HECATE, HELLA, AND G/N CHIEF]
•A rare solace for three..•
The chief of MBCC was currently buried under a mountain of paperwork that would make even the toughest of 9-5 workers weep. Stacks of paperwork on the chief's desk were high enough to qualify as a structural building—each paper ranging between the MBCC budget reports, reports on mania spikes, sinner requests, Ninth Agency reports, and the latest activity logs of some of the most unruly sinners that is currently residing in the building.
The chief simply hadn't seen the sun for 29 hours straight.
That's why—
"No."
—The chief said, not even bothering to look up from the spreadsheet that they were currently checking. "I have three meetings, two interrogations, and a stack of forms to sign before midnight. I don't have the time to teach you how to boil water, let alone cook."
"But chief!" Hella slammed her hands on the desk, her pipe clattering against her side. "The cafeteria food tasted like horse manure today! Hell—even Hecate said—"
"I said it would be beneficial for us to learn how to cook, chief." The latter added softly, standing like a shadow behind Hella's figure.
"The answer is still no. " Chief added sternly, hands rising up to their face to massage the bridge of their nose. "Ask any of the other sinners who know how to cook to teach you both, or better yet—ask Chelsea to hire a professional cook to teach you two."
"But Hecate and I want you to be the one teaching us, chief, come on..!"
"Hella, as I said; I have three meetings before noon and the FAC is breathing down my neck." The chief sighed before continuing; "Maybe by next month, I could teach the two of you."
"NEXT MONTH..?! Chief, we'll be starved to death by then!" Hella barked.
"I'm sorry, alright?" Chief said, finally looking up with tired, bloodshot eyes, "The answer is still no. I'm just too busy.."
Upon hearing their words, Hella gritted her teeth then looked at Hecate. The duo shared a silent, knowing look before nodding.
It was time for their trump card.
Suddenly, there was an eerie silence. The atmosphere in the office shifted. A faint shimmering light seemed to distort the air around the two sinners. With a soft "POOF", the rebellious girl and stoic nightmare-user... Disappeared.
The chief, sensing the shift of pure overwhelming aura of innocence linger in the air, finally looked up aaandddd immediately felt their soul leap out of their body.
In their place stood two tiny, round, chibified versions of themselves with Hella having the eyes the side of dinner plates, shimmering with unshed tears. She held her tiny pipe like one would with a spoon and omfg, she looks like a lost child holding a teddy bear while Hecate, on the other hand, looked up with a blank but devastatingly pouty expression while holding Nightmare—now also looking suspiciously rounder and softer—letting out a pathetic mewl.
The chief froze. Their heart, hardened by months of rogue corrupters, unruly sinners, unruly paperwork, unruly civilians, and cosmic horrors, shattered instantly.
Boy, the chief didn't stand a chance.
"I..." Chief stammered, their hands shaking as they reached for a pen only to then immediately drop it. "I... I suppose... The FAC can wait an hour. Or a day."
"Really..?" Chibi Hella squeaked in a high-pitched, ughrurh, adorable voice.
The chief sighed, completely defeated by the two before slumping on their chair.
"We're going to the store."
.
..
...
..
.
Half an hour later, the trio was at the local market. The chief pushed the cart while Hella rode in the main basket, pointing aggressively at everything she found interesting (ahem, sugar, ahem) while Hecate quietly followed beside.
"Alright, let me see the list of ingredients that we need..." The chief muttered to themselves, fishing out their phone in their pocket and checking the ingredients for fried pork chops and pasta—two simple dishes.
"Okay, listen up" the chief finally spoke, tossing a bundle of parsley that they found into the cart which Hella then immediately inspected. "Cooking is like managing sinners. It's all about timing and not, well, letting things explode."
"Wait, can't we just torch the pork then?" Hella asked, eyes sparkling wide.
"No, we're searing it." Chief replied as they inspected a box of spices and herbs. "Why do we need weeds?" This time, it was Hecate who was asking the questions. "Yeah, I mean—can't you just put more salt on it? Just put more salt on it!"
"Guys, haven't you heard the term 'flavor'?" Chief explained, picking out multiple bags of spices and herbs before moving the cart to the veggie section and tossing a ripe tomato on the cart.
"Woah, chief, look! These pork chops are the size of your head!" Hella shouted, swinging a pack of meat near the chief's face and comparing the sizes. "Hella, put the meat in the cart gently and please—don't carelessly swing things around." The chief sighed. "Hecate, what are you doing?"
Hecate was standing perfectly still in front of the pasta section, staring intensely at a box of farfalle. "Chief, these ones are shaped like bowties. Are they... More 'useful', than the long ones..?" She inquired, seemingly in thought.
"Well, they just hold the sauce differently, Hecate."
"... I want the bowties," she said. The chief, knowing her tendencies and personality by now, signalled her to put it in the cart before then ruffling her hair.
By the time they reached the checkout, the cart was a chaotic mix of ingredients, cooking essentials, and "accidental" snacks that Hella had snuck in.
The chief leaned against the cart, a small smile finally breaking through the exhaustion as the thoughts about work finally dissipated from their mind.
"Ow-kayy, listen up," the chief said as they pushed the cart into the parking lot. "Tonight, we start with the basics. If either of you sets the kitchen on fire, you're doing the dishes for a month."
"Deal!" Hella immediately chirped, already tearing into a bag of chips that she snuck into the cart earlier and shared it with Hecate. "Watch out, chief. I'm gonna be the best chef in the MBCC. Those bastards who call themselves chef in the cafeteria are gonna be shaking,"
"I will try my best not to burn anything, chief." Hecate promised solemnly.
The chief watched the two munch on the chips, and a smile couldn't help but grace the chief's features. The paperwork could wait; some things were more important than the bureau reports.
As they reached their car—the chief opened the trunks and safely tucked the grocery bags in it, the scent of fresh rosemary and cold pork chops lingering in the air. With it, the chief sighed with relief and clicked the door shut.
"Mission accomplished. Let's get back to the bureau before Nightingale gets worried,"
The chief turned toward the driver's side door, but a tiny... Rhythmic tugging on their coat stopped them right on their tracks... The chief made the rookie mistake of looking down aaanddd—
Hella and Hecate hadn't moved.
No, they were standing side-by-side in their chibi forms once again with chibi Hella doing a wobbly little dance, her tiny hands clasped under her chin. "Chief... The mall is right there. And my shoes back in the MBCC have a hole in them. Do you want your favorite girl to get a toe–infection..?" She mumbled in a soft and teary voice before continuing. "Is that... Is that what you want?"
FAAHHH..!
"..."
HELL—chibi Hecate didn't even need to say a word. She simply pointed a small, shaking finger toward the towering glass entrance of the "DisCity grand mall" that was right behind the grocery store, her eyes shimmering with a level of longing and yearning usually reserved for loved ones.
"But... But the groceries..." The chief, nearing their defeat, pleaded, gesturing weakly to the car. "The pork chops... They—they might spoil..."
Hella sniffled. A single, giant tear bubbled in the corner of her eye.
"I guess... We don't need... To have fun.."
The narrator and the chief could've sworn they heard a balloon deflate in the distance.
Hella sniffled once again while Hecate looked down and pouted before speaking; "We'll just go back to our cells. It's fine. We're used to it, chief."
...!!!?
'When did she learn to use THAT tone?!'
"..."
"Thirty–minutes," the chief barked, though... Though there was no authority left in their voice. "But we're buying a cooler bag for the meat first."
.
..
...
..
The moment they stepped through the sliding doors the "chibi" facade immediately vanished and was replaced by pure sinner and teenage energy.
Cue the montage baby.
Hella treated the clothing section like a jungle gym—HER jungle gym to be specific. She didn't want sneakers, she wanted a leather jacket with "at least fifty more zippers"
"Look at this, chief! If I wear this the corruptors will die of intimidation before I even swing my pipe!" She yelled, holding up a jacket three sizes too big.
"..."
Hecate, on the other hand, wandered toward the crane machines. She stood silently in front of a machine filled with plush ravens, her eyes filled with longing (once again). "Chief," she said, her voice flat as ever but her aura radiating need. "That bird. It resembles Nightmare..."
—and so, chief spent twenty minutes and 700 DisCoins trying to get the said plush because, I mean, how could they even resist?
Before the chief could even pay for everything—Hella dragged Hecate and them into a neon–lit photo booth.
"We need proof that we're having fun!" She declared.
The resulting strip of photos showed:
•Hella making a peace sign and sticking her tongue out while chief and Hecate were still recovering from her sudden grasp and tugging.
•Hecate staring intensely at the camera lens while holding her new plush raven, chief awkwardly doing the same pose as Hella.
•The chief looking exhausted, being squeezed by both girls.
•And finally—chief finally dropping the exhaustion and pulling the two girls into them before showing a hearty smile, Hecate finally managing to show a small smile and doing an awkward peace sign while resting her head on the chief's shoulder, Hella showing the biggest grin ever and throwing a heart sign making sure to squish her face with chiefs', and Nightmare finally appearing above them seemingly smiling.
By the time they finally made it back to the car, the chief was carrying a new jacket, a bag of limited edition of "Bobo's Bizarre adventure" figurines and manga for EMP, a bag of clothes, a bag of books for Ninety–nine (Chief hopes she'll read it), and a very expensive cooler bag.
"Okay," the chief panted, leaning against the steering wheel. "Now, we go home. We cook. No more stops. If I see a petting zoo, I'm not stopping, if anything; I'm hitting the dash. If I see a sale on 'best boss' mugs, I'm not stopping too."
Hella, satisfied, leaned back in the passenger seat, already tearing into a bag of jerky and sharing it with Hecate. "Yeah, yeah. Get driving, chief. The pork chops aren't gonna sear themselves!"
Hecate, buckled into the back seatz patted her patted her plush raven.
The chief groaned, put the car into moving and prayed that the meat hadn't spoiled yet.
.
..
...
..
.
"Hecate, I need the garlic minced. Tiny pieces to be exact, so keep your fingers tucked." Chief instructed, placing a hand over Hecate's to show her the right grip. Hecate nodded, her focus absolute as she moved the knife.
"Okay, now—Hella, you're on the seasoning. Make sure to put the right amount of salt or else you'll end up tasting the ocean." Chief instructed as Hella, usually a whirlwind of motion, watched chief set an example with the utmost focus before picking up the salt cellar.
"L-like this..?" She asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.
She sprinkled the salt from a height, careful not to overdo it, just like she'd seen the chief do.
"Perfect!" The encouraged, stepping behind her to adjust her aim as she starts to add more spices. "Now, add a little more pepper to the edges. That's where the flavor is usually strong, in my experience."
Hella's chest puffed out. "Yeah, yeah—I got this. I swear, it's gonna be the best pork chop that DisCity has ever seen!"
And with that, the kitchen grew warmer as the cast–iron pan began to create smoke. "Alrighty, this is the most important part," chief uttered and both girls leaned in. "You see that? That's the sear,"
As the pork hit the oil—a violent, rhythmic crackle filled the kitchen. Chief and Hecate didn't pull away from the heat but Hella flinched a bit, worried about getting burned. They stood in a small circle, the golden light of the stove illuminating their faces.
"Now, we add the butter."
Hecate stepped forward, dumping a cold knob of butter, three minced garlic, and a sprig of rosemary into the pan. As the butter foamed and turned brownish, chief handed the spoon to Hella. "Now, you baste it. Scoop the butter and pour it over the meat. Keep doing it until I say so,"
Hella's movements were clumsy at first, the hot butter almost splashing near her hand but boy, she was determined. Chief placed a steadying hand on her shoulder and praised the two of them. "Nice, nice. Now, slow down, you're nourishing your family, Hella. Take your time."
Upon hearing the word family, Hella couldn't help but break into a proudful grin as her movements smoothened out. Her expression softened, the jagged edges of the "scrappy street kid" melting away into something softer.
A few more minutes later, the plates were set. Hecate plated the pasta she had boiled to perfect al dente, her eyes tracking the steam as it rose. She looked at chief, a tiny, rare spark of warmth in her eye causing the chief to ruffle her hair.
Chief then cut a piece of the pork that Hella had basted earlier and offered it to her first. She took the bite, chewed slowly, and burst into a loud victory–speech.
"It's better than the ones we had this morning in the cafeteria!" She loudly declared, wiping a bit of grease from her lip. Chief reached out, ruffling Hella's messy hair and giving Hecate's shoulder a gentle squeeze before they all dove in and ate.
The paperwork was still waiting, and the world outside was still as messy and dangerous as ever, but here in the quiet warmth of the kitchen in MBCC; they were just a small family sharing a meal.
.
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..
.
The chief sat back down at their desk—the blue light of the monitor illuminating the fresh stacks of reports Nightingale had left while they were gone—Hella and Hecate retreated to the sofa in the corner of the room. Hella had claimed a heavy wool blanket and dragged chief's spare laptop over to watch a movie, the volume turned down low so as to not disturbed their working "parent"/"boss" at work.
For an hour, the only sounds were the soft clicking of the chief's keyboard and their pen sliding across countless stacks of paper and the muffled dialogue of the film the duo were watching.
"HAH! Chief, look at this guy's haircut–" Hella started to whisper (if you could even call it whispering..) but a yawn cut her off halfway. "Quiet, Hella.." Hecate murmured, though her own head was already nodding, her eyes dropping as she leaned against Hella's shoulder.
By midnight, the room had already fallen into complete silence. The movie had long since ended and the screen had gone black.
The chief paused on their work, stretching their aching back, and looked over the two. The sight immediately brought a genuine, weary smile to their face.
Hela was sprawled out, her head tilted back against the cushions snoring softly with her mouth slightly ajar while Hecate had curled into a small ball beside her, her hand still clutching the plush raven even in dream.
They... Looked small.
Like two normal teenagers just trying their best.
With a tired sigh, the chief stood up and made their way over to the two—careful not to wake them up. Carefully, they scooped Hecate up first. She was light, almost impossibly so, and thankfully, she didn't wake—she only shifted a bit, tucking her face into the chief's shoulder.
After tucking her into the chief's own bed, the chief returned to the room for Hella.
Hella was.. well, a different story. Even in sleep, she was a chaotic bundle of limbs as ever. As the chief lifted her, she grumbled something about "stupid corruptors" and "more pork chops," but she didn't struggle. The chief made sure to be careful with her, mindful of her suspiciously bruised shins.
As the chief tucked Hella in and covered the two with a blanket, the girl's hand shot out, grabbing the chief's sleeve for a split second as she muttered; "No... Don't go...yet.."
"I'm right here," the chief whispered, gently prying her fingers loose and smoothing her hair away from her forehead before continuing. "I'm not going anywhere... I promise."
And with that—the chief stepped back into the office, closing the door behind them with a soft click.
The chief's eyes travelled over the desk and onto the mountain of paperwork. Their eyes burned with exhaustion but the fatigue was tempered by a strange familiar warmth.
They picked up a pen and sat back down. They've finally come to the conclusion that they wouldn't be sleeping tonight; Nightingale would be expecting these files by the morning and the bureau isn't going to run itself.
But as the chief started to continue where they left off, their gaze drifted to the photo–strip from the mall sitting on the corner of the desk. In the fourth frame, all three of them were smiling.
Genuine smiles, genuine warmth, and genuine bond.
"..."
Protecting those smiles was worth a little lost sleep.
